Free Smart Mouth Waitress by Dalya Moon

game.
    “Scrambled,” I said to the grown woman with the stuffed-toy octopus on her lap.
    “No,” she said, gagging like she was going to throw up. “Don't be revolting. Over easy.”
    “That's how I'll have mine too,” her husband said.
    As I put the order in to Donny in the kitchen, I wondered if I was normally wrong that often, or if I was having an exceptionally bad day.
    When I told you my superpower was knowing how people like their eggs, that wasn't exactly true. There are four main ways to get your eggs: poached, scrambled, over, and sunny-side up.
    Poached people have a look. Imagine someone who is opposed to fun—generally against enjoyment. Picture that person with their little wire-rimmed glasses or their permed hair. That's the poached look. Poached is the only style with no oil, salt, pepper, or fun.
    Foodies and most Asian people go for sunny-side up, and the rest of humanity gets either scrambled or flipped. Over easy is by far the most popular, at about sixty percent popularity, and I think it's because people like the label for themselves: I'll have mine over easy because I'm cool like that.
    What I do to make it seem like I'm psychic is I guess. The key is to make it sound like you're offering an option, so if they don't jump on your suggestion, you can move down to the next on the list. Fortune tellers do the same thing, more or less, naming off a letter of the alphabet and fishing for a reaction.
    So, when it comes to the eggs, I simply take an educated guess, and when I'm right, I smile and say, “I knew it.”
    However, on that Wednesday, I wasn't right once, if you don't count the regulars, whose preferences I'd memorized.
    At two o'clock, I was relieved to wipe the breakfast specials off the board and switch over to the lunch menu, which didn't have eggs.
    I was bummed that I'd gotten dressed up the night before, only to get ignored by Marc. Dating seemed like a lot of effort. My all-too-willing prep cook, Toph, was starting to look better and better.
    As I was thinking about him, he brought a tray of glasses up for us, his biceps showing under his thin shirt. I felt dirty for even looking, because while Toph and I were only a month apart in age, there was something little-brother-y about the guy. Apparently, I was into guys a couple of years older than me, like Marc.
    I wanted to talk to Courtney about my boy crushes, as well as about her girlfriend, but the lunch rush went on forever. Near the end of my shift, I cornered her by the coffee machines.
    I said, “I have some concerns about your girlfriend.”
    She put one paper coffee filter in the machine and one on top of my head. “I won't get her pregnant, Mom.”
    I left the coffee filter crown on my head. “I think she's jealous of me.”
    “Of course she is. You're my best friend. Deal with it.”
    “You know?”
    She measured out the coffee grounds, which smelled so good. I don't drink coffee, but sometimes when I grind the beans, I get the urge to shovel them into my mouth.
    “Perry, if you're picking up on a vibe, you're probably not wrong. She's a smidge insecure now because she's going through some stuff. It's only natural.”
    “It's not a vibe, Courtney. She threatened me.”
    “With what? How, exactly? Did she say she was going to punch you out?”
    “It was implied.”
    Courtney pressed the red button and the machine began huffing and gurgling. “She's just teasing you. Brit really likes you, I swear. She thinks it's cool you're taking care of your family while your mom's out of town. Very responsible.”
    “Whatever.” I took off my paper hat and crumpled it into the garbage. “Consider her on warning , from me.”
    “How did it go with your guy, Marc? I saw you chatting up his friend, the artist. Marc's eyeballs practically fell out of his head when you were hugging his friend.”
    I squealed. “Really?” I hadn't been hugging his friend, but I had been pretty close to Cooper when I let him use my arms as his