Free Fall For Me by Melanie Marks

 
     
     
    FALL FOR ME
    by
    Melanie Marks
     
     
     
      “Back off!” I slammed down my serving tray, storming through the restaurant’s kitchen. I didn’t even care (for the most part) that all my co-workers were now staring at me. So what? I’d had enough. They were all catty witches anyway and I was ready to quit.
    Riley was at my elbow in a second. “What’s going on?”
    I opened my mouth, ready to rat everyone out. But Porcha cut me off, accusing Riley, “You give her all the good tables and do whatever she wants because you have the hots for her.”
    Huh?!
    My jaw dropped. Literally.
    Riley had the hots for me? What a joke. The truth was so totally the opposite it wasn’t even funny. Not even slightly. Riley only gave me the waitressing gig as a favor to my boyfriend, Finn. If they hadn’t been best friends since like, preschool Riley would have laughed in my face when he learned I needed a job.
    “He does not have the hots for me!” I snorted. “The guy hates me.”
    “Jones! I don’t hate you.” Riley sounded surprised, completely baffled by the mere idea.
    Yeah, right. Whatever. He was so full of it.
    “Okaay,” I muttered—not even slightly believing his protest, though nice try—props to his acting and effort and everything—but whatever, I was still in a rage, so ready to quit.
      I was going to storm off—out of the kitchen, out of the restaurant. That was my plan, but then I couldn’t help myself. I whirled back to Porcha.
      “Yes he does. He totally hates me.”
    Riley stared at me for a second, as though he couldn’t believe I really thought that. Then he let out a breath and herded Porcha and me into his office. (Well, really it was his dad’s office, since his dad owned the restaurant, but his dad hurt his back and was laid up for the whole summer—in Maui—so Riley was totally in charge—“The Boss.”)
    Riley told everyone else to get back to work. I ignored their lingering, smug stares. I hated them—all of them—the bitter, mean … meanies. Grrr!
    Once in his office, I turned my back to Riley, making sure Porcha understood that no matter how much he protested, our dear boss did indeed hate me and if she thought otherwise—if any of my co-workers thought otherwise—it was a total, complete, fat delusion. Seriously. They were clueless. Seriously. I got no special treatment. None. At all. Riley despised me. Big time.
    “He always has,” I huffed. “When we were kids, he used to put rice in my hood so when I put on my coat I’d get covered in rice and everyone called me Lice Head—for years! And he used to write mean notes to me, and now he won’t even work with me. I mean, look at the schedule.” I grabbed it off his desk and shoved it in Porcha’s face. “We never, ever work the same hours, ever. Just teeny, tiny little overlaps now and then—like right now—and he’s getting off soon. Trust me, I know, the guy hates me.”
    “Jones, I don’t hate you.”
    I whipped around. “Give it up, Riley! You avoid me as much as possible.”
    “Well,” Porcha ticked her tongue, still studying the schedule, seeming surprised by my indisputable proof. We had hardly any hours together—ever—and he made the schedule.
    Porcha shrugged. “When you do work together he can’t take his eyes off you. He watches your skinny butt all through the kitchen.”
    “No he doesn’t!” She was so wrong ! “When I come to work he slinks up here to his office to get away from me.”
    “Hello! It’s one-way glass!” She gestured around, sounding like, duh! “He can watch you, alone—totally stalk on you.”
    Riley shot her a look, quirking his eyebrows, appearing slightly amused, but he used his I-can’t-believe-you-said-that tone, “I don’t do that.” Then he added, “She’s dating my best friend.”
    Porcha scoffed, raising an eyebrow. “Then your friend better watch out.”
    “Look, Porcha, who I hire is none of your business,” Riley said. “If I want to