Elisa

13

I've been sketching Billie Eilish a lot this past week. 

I love Billie, but it's not even because she's one of my favorite artists. It's because Ryder was wearing that stupid freaking t-shirt with her on it. I'm halfway through the school week and I think I'm forming a stomach ulcer. I can't even walk through the halls of my high school without being terrified that I'm going to see him. I haven't went five minutes without daydreaming about Saturday night. 

I want to see him again. 

I've been thinking, because it's all I seem to do lately, that he probably just figured I was a random hookup. That's what boys do right? He's a senior on the varsity soccer team. There's no way he even gave me a second thought after that night. I'm almost positive he was so high that he probably thought he was hallucinating. 

"Elisa," Dad calls and I startle. 

"Yeah?" I set my sketchbook on the coffee table.

"You're break was over five minutes ago. Let's go," he taps on his watch. 

Another beautiful Wednesday night waiting tables. I put my stuff in my cubby, and grab my apron. Two hours left of my shift. I can do it, right? I sigh as I look at the list of tables that are now mine to wait. I glance at table eight, which has a group of guys that nobody has waited on yet. I grab my notebook and pen, and hastily make my way over. 

"Hi, I'm El and I'll be your waitress for tonight. Can I get you guys something to drink?" I put on my best fake smile. 

I look at the boy closest to me. He looks familiar. 

"I'll have a water," he says. I jot it down. I look to the boy next to him. Water. I look to the guy across from him, and nearly jump out of my skin. The brown messy hair that I ran my fingers through four nights ago is damp with sweat. Instead of a Billie Eilish t-shirt, he's wearing a Green Day muscle shirt. His pale arms are toned. 

Ryder clears his throat awkwardly. "Uh, water's fine." 

My cheeks are red hot, but I nod as if I have no clue who he is. I take the last two customer's drink orders and hurry off to check on my other tables. I walk into the kitchen to fill Ryder and his friend's drinks. My hands are shaky. I'm so dazed by what just occurred that I asked the middle-aged man at table three to repeat his order twice. I could barely even hear what he was saying.

I bring the guys their drinks. I don't say much as I place their waters on the table, and I do my best not to make eye contact with Ryder. It's clear that they all came from soccer practice. They're still wearing their high socks, but instead of with soccer cleats, they have slides on. Not to mention each of them are dressed in damp t-shirts with damp hair. It's gross on Ryder's friends, but not on Ryder. He looks beautiful. 

When I served them their food, I made eye contact with Ryder by accident and nearly dropped his plate sideways on the table. It was so embarrassing. They devoured their food so it wasn't like they were at the restaurant for very long. Ryder walked to the exit with his friends without even a glance and my direction.

So that's how it is. 

It's not like I expected him to talk to me in front of his friends, yet I can't hide the fact that I'm hurt by it. To make things worse, Romeo was walking in while they were walking out. I seriously had to watch the two of them "dab each other up." I hate high school. Normal adults would say hi to each other after exchanging a night like Ryder and I. Instead he pretends that I don't exist, and I act awkward and clumsy. Teenagers are so stupid. 

The two hours left of my shift flew by because I spent the rest of the time in my own thoughts fuming about what happened. 

I angrily shove my apron into my cubby and grab my bag.