Kissed by an angel (camren)

Chapter 2

Song suggestion:
Billie Eilish: idontwannabeyouanymore
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"I feel like a fool," Lauren said, peeking through the diamond shaped window in the door between the kitchen and the dining room of the college's Alumni Club.

Candelabra were being lit and crystal stemware checked. In the large kitchen where she and Gary were standing, tables were laid out with polished fruit and hors d'oeuvres. Lauren had no idea what most of the hors d'oeuvres were or if they were to be served in any special way. She hoped simply that they and the champagne glasses would stay on the upside of her tray.

Gary was struggling with his cuffs links. The cummerbund of his rental tuxedo kept unwrapping itself from his waist, it's Velcro failing to stick. One of his shiny black shoes, a size too small, was tied with an emergency purple sneaker lace. Gary was a real friend, Lauren thought, to agree to this scheme.

"Remember it's good money," Lauren said aloud, "and we need it for the Midwest meet."
Gary grunted. "We'll see what's left after we pay for the damages."
"All of it!" Lauren replied with confidence. How hard could it be to carry this stuff around?

Her and Gary were swimmers. Their natural athletic balance had given them the right to fib about their experience when they interviewed with the caterer. A piece of cake, this job.

Lauren picked up a silver tray and surveyed her reflection.

"I don't just feel like a fool, I look like one."
"You are one," said Gary. "And I want you to know, I'm not that much of a fool to believe your line about eating money for the Midwest meet."
"What do you mean?"

Gary snatched up a spaghetti mop and held it so its spongy strings flopped over his head. "Oh, Lolo," he said in a high pitched voice, "what a surprise to see you at my mothers wedding!"
"Shut up Gary."
"Oh Lolo, put down that tray and dance with me." Gary smiled and patted the mop's spongy head.
"Her hair doesn't look like that."
"Oh Lolo, I just caught my mother's bouquet. Let's run away and get married."
"I don't wanna marry her! I just want her to know I exist. I just want to go out with her. Once! If she doesn't like me then, oh well. . ." Lauren shrugged as if didn't matter, as if the worst crush she'd ever had in her life might really disappear overnight.
"Oh, Lolo—"
"I'm going to kick your—"

The kitchen door swung open.

"Gentlemen and ladies," said Monsieur Pompideu, "the wedding guests have arrived and are ready to be served. Could Fortune be so smiling upon us that you two experienced garçons would be available to help serve them?"
"Is he being sarcastic?" Gary asked.
Lauren rolled her eyes, and they hurried to join the other waiters at their stations.

For the first ten minutes, Lauren occupied herself with watching the other workers, trying to learn her job. She knew that people liked her smile, and she used it for all it was worth, especially when the caviar she was serving leaped like a fully evolved fish into an older woman's lap.

She worked her way around the large reception hall, searching for Lauren, sneaking peeks while big-bellied men unloaded her trays. Two of them went away wearing their drinks and muttering, but she barely noticed. All she could think about was Camila. If she came face to face with her, what would she say? "Have some crab balls? Or perhaps, "May I suggest le ballée de crabbe?"

Yeah, that would impress her.
What kind of person has she turned into? Why should she, Lauren Jauregui, a girl hanging up in a 100 girls and guys lockers (maybe a slight exaggeration) need to impress her, a girl uninterested in hanging in her locker or anybody else's, for all she could tell? She walked the same halls she did, but it was as if she traveled in another world.