fixed some grammatical mistakes in the first two chapters but other
than that, they're pretty much the same.
Oh, I may or may not have dropped out out letters/words. So if you see
anything weird, just comment and let me know. Also, this is coming from
word so I think they have retarded code things in there so just ignore
PS: The spacing? Yeah. It's RETARDED.
My So Called Life Goes On by Catherine Clark
Sometimes a person’s
restaurant order says everything about them. Without them even realizing it.
Like me. I always think this is the last order I’m going to place. Like a
prisoner getting her last meal before being executed.
So it takes me
forever, because I want it to be perfect.
tonight?” Angela Chase stood beside the table, pencil poised over her notepad.
She was supposed to remember all the customers’ orders by heart, but she had
only been working at her father’s restaurant for a few days now. She didn’t
have the menu completely memorized yet, so she was still using shorthand.
She didn’t want servers taking notes because she thought it looked tacky.
“You’re not studying for a test. You’re serving people dinner. It’s twenty entrées-how
hard is that to remember? I mean, how hard?”
the stupid quizzes and tests Hallie had made her take before allowing her to
work at her very own father’s restaurant, Angela felt like quitting.
most of the time. She’d never had a summer job before. As she jotted down
orders, she couldn’t help wondering if “summer job” wasn’t an oxymoron. What
was wrong with “summer vacation”?
beamed at the last customer at the table to order. “Do you know what you’d
scallops instead of shrimp,” the woman said. “Is that low-fat?”
sauce,” Angela explained. Low-fat when
you compare it to a jar of mayonnaise. Maybe.
actually pretty high in fat.”
chef. My dad the Chef. It’s like a
children’s book. Angela smiled, her teeth clenched. “Not at all. I’ll be
right back with your salads.”
called after her.
restaurant, an old warehouse that had only recently been converted. Fresh
flowers filled vases on the heavy wood tables, which were covered with white
linen tablecloths. Giant plate-glass windows afforded a view of the downtown
street. The word “Fiore” was painted on one window in large flowing script.
Angela’s favourite feature in the place was the old, original tin ceiling. She
often found herself staring up at it when business was slow and she sat at the
small bar, contemplating her life. Or lack thereof.
nearly crashing into Hallie, who was carrying a bottle of wine up from the
bottle up in the air, over her head.”
the door open for her. Hallie breezed past, wearing a black linen suit, her
long brown hair combed back into a tortoiseshell barrette.
One of the other servers, Lewis,
was already standing inside the kitchen. He was waiting as one of the sous
chefs fixed salads for an order. Angela couldn’t understand it, but Lewis
somehow managed to make her official serving uniform-boring white shirts and
black pants-look good. On him, anyway. Maybe it was because he was tall, with a
chiseled face, blond hair, and green eyes. He had the kind of looks usually
noticed in magazines.
me, she scrawled on a fresh page of her notepad. She held it up in front of
special?” Lewis smiled.
problems of my own. Like, name nine thinks risotto is a desert, not an entrée.”
chocolate sauce,” Angela told him. She walked over to her father. “Dad, you’re
going to laugh when I ask this,” she said. “So bear with me, and remember, it’s
not me asking the question.”
Graham Chase looked up from the pot
fresh pasta he was cooking. He wore a white chef’s jacket, a pair of
black-and-white checked chef pants, and sneakers. “What’s the question?”
low-fat?” Angela cringed as she waited for the response.
time to hear Angela’s inane question. “More like high-fat. The tops. As in
heart attack on a plate.”
wrong, it tastes great. Fantastic. But you can’t exactly run a marathon
Graham teased her. “Running marathons.
with a dish towel. “I could.”
she always feel like she was interrupting something between her father and
Hallie? “So anyway, Dad. I told the customer it wasn’t low-fat, but she
insisted I ask the chef,” Angela said.
want to order the broiled chicken, or the past with vegetables, if she wants a
low-fat choice,” Graham said calmly.
kept closing her eyes and blindly hitting the pencil against the menu, trying
to see what random order she’d place.
green peppercorn sauce.
when Hallie was quizzing her a week ago: “If
you don’t know the menu cold, I can’t put you on the floor.”
floor? Angela wondered what language her father was speaking. He had been so
worried about the restaurant opening that he kept saying things that definitely
didn’t sound like him. Maybe it was from spending so much time with Hallie. Too
much time, in Angela’s opinion. But she knew the two of them had to be
completely dedicated to getting the restaurant off the ground.
was easier than dealing with Hallie. She kept acting like she was doing Angela
a huge favour by letting her work at Fiore for the summer. Like they didn’t
already employ three other people from high school and college. As if Angela weren’t
cooking class in night school. When the teacher had to quit, Graham had taken
over teaching. Hallie had pushed Graham for months to open his own restaurant,
and he’d finally given in. Angela’s mother had been very doubtful about such a
risky business venture but she seemed somewhat supportive now. Like she was
trying really, really hard to get behind a visiting team from another town.
Angela, on the other hand, had always loved her father’s cooking and encouraged
him to do more with than just feed her and her kid sister Danielle.
about the risotto?” Angela asked Lewis on her way out of the kitchen.
Lewis said, shrugging. “I guess they figured it’d be okay if it had an Italian
doorway, peeking out at the front of the house. “It’s not full enough,” she
complained. “It should be fuller, right? It should be standing rooms only. They
should have an hour wait-”
stove for a second to put his hands on Hallie’s shoulder, giving her a
and smiled. “Do you have to be so positive all the time?”
will come,” Lewis joked.
glowing review in the city newspaper last week. Apparently Hallie wants to the place to be mobbed, Angela thought
despondently. Then again, that would mean
I’d be rich from tips. Maybe she’s onto something here after all.
empty table,” Angela pointed out. “And there are more customers coming in the
door right now.”
customers waiting!” Hallie sailed out into the dining room and rushed to the
magazine?” Angela complained. “She could at least call us…Vogue or something.”
issue?” Angela teased as they headed back onto the floor.
to his tables. “A guy can dream.”
shrimp alfredo table just as Hallie was seating another table of four in her
section. Only three more hours, she
thought. Then I’m free.
“Do you want double, triple, or
quadruple prints with that?”
Brian Krakow tapped his pin against
the inside of the Plexiglas drive-through window. He held his breath, trying
not to inhale the carbon monoxide fumes being spewed from the old, rusted-out
“I don’t care. Just make them look
good!” the man ordered before he sped off in a blue cloud of exhaust.
“He didn’t even say if he wanted
them matte or glossy,” Brian complained.
“When they don’t say, it means
glossy,” his coworker Samantha told him.
the envelope, checking all of the “economy service” boxes on the front. If the
guy’s car was that ancient and rundown, he wouldn’t want to spend much getting
a roll of photos developed. He probably had a lousy camera, to.
couldn’t I get a job at Mike’s Camera? Brian thought as he rang up the next
sale. Instead, I’m working in a box.
He and Samantha were crammed into their tiny drive-up booth like sardines. The
only window was a tiny sliding one, just big enough to slide a roll of film
through, and the air conditioning had two settings: Antarctica and off. He and
Samantha argued about the temperature constantly.
thing I’m only here 24 hours a week, Brian thought. It’ll still look good on my college applications. Along with the fact
that I’m balancing this, a calculus curse, a physics course, and a job at the
hospital this summer.
drift through the strip mall parking lot.
just…my life theme to do everything in twos. I can’t have only one job, so I
have two. One course wouldn’t be hard enough, so I have two. I play the
saxophone, but that’s not enough, so I play the flute, too. Two jobs, two
course, two parents, two instruments…zero girlfriends.
people, who only had one job and spent the rest of their time making out with
their “significant others.”
didn’t see her much. He had been reading in bed last night when he heard Jordan
Catalano’s car pull up outside Angela’s house, across the street from his own.
He hadn’t even wanted to look outside. Why did he torture himself like that?
But he had to. He’d been doing it for years.
Carefully he’d peeked through the
curtain. All he could see were two shadows. Becoming one shadow.
He hadn’t been able to sleep all
“You look like a raccoon,” his
mother had said that morning at breakfast. “Those dark circles under your
“Mom, nobody at Foto Fusion cares
what I look like.” Nobody cares…period.
Brian had lifted a spoonful of Grape-Nuts cereal to his mouth and started
chewing, hoping that the loud crunching would drown out his inner monologue.
But it kept going, incessantly-just like the questions from his mother.
“Well, what about the hospital,
then?” Mrs. Krakow had asked. “Don’t you want to make a good impression?”
“Mom, I help take the X rays,” Brian said. “The patients make the impressions.”
Mr. Krakow laughed. “Good one,
so glad I can amuse my parents. I should be able to make someone laugh at my
“So are you going to develop those today or what?” Samantha asked, jolting Brian
back to Foto Fusion. His coworker’s short platinum-blond hair was colored in
random streaks of red and orange. She had more tattoos than Brian had freckles.
“Sorry,” Brian said. He was
actually a little frightened by Samantha. “I was just-”
“Daydreaming,” Samantha said,
nodding. “I know. You have to do that a lot in here or you’ll go crazy. But the
guy will be back in an hour, so you know the routine.”
“How long have you been working
here?” Brian asked.
The past few summers,” Samantha said, shrugging. “I know, it sucks, but they
give me the hours I want. Hey, speaking of hours, could you take my Friday
night shift? We got tickets for a concert.”
“We?” Brian asked. He didn’t mean
to be nosy. Well, okay, maybe he did.
“My boyfriend, Python-”
“Python?” Brian asked.
“He changed his name to reflect his
personality. Cool, huh?” Samantha smiled.
Brian thought about it for a
second. If he changed his name to reflect his personality, it would probably be
“Spineless.” Was everyone in the world attached except him? What about his Friday night.
“Sure. No problem,” he told
Samantha. “I can work for you.” I’ll
just…put off having an actual life for another week. What difference does it