August 29, 2012

Rosie Smith ran out of the double doors of her school, knowing that she has exactly fourteen minutes and twenty seven seconds to get to work, change out of her school clothes and into her work uniform.

Ideally, most students would be just be finishing their first month of school, but for her, she only had to do a few more months before she'd be finished her A-levels and start University. She had been working day and night to bring up her grades and finish a year early. It took her four night school classes and summer school, but she was never happier. Secondary school was hell for her, why wouldn't she want to finish it quickly?

Running to her rented truck, Rosie unlocked it quickly and got into it, shoving her school bag to the passenger side. She'd usually have down time after school before work, but she was covering her best friend, Abigail's, shift. Apparently, the lazy red head called in sick last minute forcing her boss to call Rosie for an emergency shift.

The diner was a twenty minute drive from her secondary school. Marty's Inn was more of an adult diner than a family one, thankfully. Rosie, although in love with kids, didn't prefer to work around crying babies. Even if there were a lot of old drunks, she enjoyed the matured atmosphere. The odd family would come in once in a while, but no one ever said anything. The food was good and the mood was light, who wouldn't want to come?

The car park was surprisingly full for half three in the afternoon. It usually didn't get busy until about half five, dinner time. She parked right by two black vans with tinted windows. Obviously, she thought to herself, someone is a bit paranoid about their privacy.

"Excuse me, sorry," Rosie muttered as she rushed through the crowd of nervous employees in the front. She didn't understand why everyone was so clustered in the front or the wry side glances she was getting but she didn't have time to question anyone so she made a mental note to ask them about that later.

She had almost made it to the back when a tall, balding Irish man stood in her way. He looked stressed, with his usual perfectly trimmed beard that lined his jaw disheveled and tousled and his frown lines were more prominent, but he still had an amused glint in his eyes.

"You do realise that you're the reason I don't hire youngens, y'know," Marty muttered, dramatically crossing his arms. "This is the third time you're late, I have the right mind to fire ya."

She smiled then pouted sarcastically. "Shoot, guess I should go then."

Sighing dramatically with a smirk, she jokingly turned around and kicked the ground only to be turned around again. "Fuckin' kids. Go and change, Smith, it's busy out there."

Smugly smirking, she walked past him, muttering 'potato' in a high pitched, Irish voice. She loved making fun of his nationalistic ways. She had always been a jokester, taking the piss out of other people's expense. She may have been rude and bit of a dick with her jokes, but with Marty, she's always treated him like a father, with respect (to a certain degree). He had trusted her to be responsible at the tender age of sixteen and taught her little lessons of life. Things like 'look for positives in everything, be appreciate the little things, negativity isn't worth it,' or 'success may be the best revenge, but you must remember to work for it,' helped her through times when she didn't really have anyone. It made her want to strive harder, for him.

Rosie entered the main part of the restaurant after changing into her white blouse rolled up to her elbows and an overall skirt that puffed out just enough to make Rosie hate herself. She looked around for her mate, Jason James, who had offered to help her with her shift. When he pulled her off to the side as she was placing her waist apron on with the same worried eyes as all the other staff members had. She was about to ask what everyone was so anxious about when she was cut off.

"Go home," Jason hushed in a rushed voice. If Rosie hadn't known him, she wouldn't be able to understand his south London accent with the speed of his words. "I'll cover Abi's shift, don't worry about it." He covered his tone with a chuckle.

Rolling her eyes, Rosie said defiantly, "I'm already here, Jay."

When she asked what was going on, she couldn't miss how Jason's muscles tense or the look he threw over her shoulder. She kept staring at the tall, tanned boy, hoping her stare would turn intimidating.

"There's, um..." Jason nervously laughed. "You're going to laugh... erm, L-"

"Rosie! You're already late, don't make me more annoyed. Get over 'ere!" Marty shouted from the main entrance.

Rosie lifted her eyebrow with a small scowl on her lips to silently tell Jason that she'll ask about it later then grabbed a tray from the bar counter with an ice filled water jug on it. She walked over to get her section number.

The dinner was laid out simply, there's an entrance that is disjointed from the rest of the restaurant with a greeter and a specials board. It has two ways to get into the dining area; to the left, there was the more secluded and multi-levelled booths and tables, giving a more homey atmosphere, and to the right, there was a few tables scattered and a stage where on Tuesdays, it's live music night. Usually, drunks and drinkers situated themselves there to distance themselves from the "sobers". The full pledged bar was connected to the right side, displaying it's wide spread of alcohol and glasses. It was probably the only properly lit area in the diner.
Rosie was usually a barmaid or a server for the right side of the diner; chatting up the men she all knew by name since she began working there early two years ago, but her shift was covering for the left, where she's only worked once or twice before. She was used to being around the drunks, being from a Scottish family. And as much as she loved spending time with them, she really didn't want to work tonight.

She met up with Marty who told her she was working on section thirteen, the upper, more secluded part of the diner. She didn't know whether to be sorry for herself or pleased. From what Abi and Jason have told her, they tip well, but were normally very aggressive. Luckily, there were only seven tables to tend to, if they get filled.

Marty gave her about fifty quid for her float and wished her luck. Her float, which was change if bills needed to be broken, jingled in her apron as she walked up the steps to the tables. There were only four people gathered in a booth; an aging couple and two girls around her age, the rest were empty. They held the menus close to them as they muttered what they were interested in and how the prices were. She saw that they already had water so she quickly placed her tray on an empty table close to her and grabbed the small notepad and pen from her front pocket before taking a deep breath.

"Hello," Rosie smiled as she walked to the table, "I'm Rosie and I'll be your waitress for this evening. Can I start you off with some drinks?"

As each person asked for their drink, she heard the bell from the main entrance doors. She knew that someone would sit them eventually, so she continued writing their orders and sent herself off to retrieve them not before grabbing her tray to bring with her.

Rosie walked down the mini flight of stairs to section twelve when her blue haired friend Courtney George came up to her telling her that there was very important people coming up to her section soon because of the lack of space in their original section. It was becoming known to her that today was an apparently anxious day for everyone because, Courtney, who was always calm, seemed to have rushed her words and would look at anything but Rosie. Perhaps it was the important people putting everyone on edge.

"Ugh, you gotta be kidding me, how many?" Rosie slouched. "And what important people would come here?"

"Erm, eight.. maybe nine? I'm not sure. They're at table seven," Courtney muttered, looking at her fingers. She looked up, but looked past Rosie as she watched the group move to the upper level. "You'll find out soon enough. Just go get your drinks, yeah?" She played her nervousness off with a small nod.

With furrowed eyebrows, Rosie did as she was asked. Going straight to the bar where all the drinks are kept, she began pouring her table's drinks in clear squared glasses.

"Excuse me," a female posh voice spoke, "may we be seated please? We've been waiting five minutes already."

"Er, yes, are you seated with anyone?" Rosie asked pouring the last of her drinks. She didn't bother looking up. She could tell by the tone of their posh accent that they were all ready annoyed with their service and were ready to complain.

The voice muttered a few things to the people behind Rosie as she placed the drinks on a tray that once held the jug of water before the voice saying table seven.

Rosie finally looked up, remembering that there are supposedly important people at that table. Her eyebrows flew to her hairline and her eyes widened when there stood Simon Cowell with a woman and a large man. Was Simon the important person? What was he doing here in Doncaster? Most of all, why was he in a shitty run down diner?

"Well shit," she muttered as her jaw hung slack. Simon's companions had a smug stature to them, with their pressed suits and well done hair, she was surprised at the contrast with what looked to be their boss. Simon seemed to have a friendly smile on his maturing face with blue trousers and his signature v-neck top.

Rosie's heart started to beat quicker when she started to piece together why he was here. "Um," she muttered as she tried to recover with a joke. "Not to be rude or anything but by sitting with high profiled guests, I'm going to have to ask for photo ID. Safety regulations, of course."
Simon wore an amused smirk, but before he could say anything, the man beside him sat down on a bar stool parallel to Rosie. He put his forearms on the table and leaned forward. "Do you know that this is Simon Cowell you're talking to?"

Rosie put down the tray that she was balancing the drinks on and leaned forward to the man, "Yeah, the chest hair gave it away," she playfully whispered and winked. "Right then, follow me." She straightened out her posture and picked up her tray again.

The second her face was out of sight, Rosie's expression turned worried. She swallowed a lump in her throat as she picked up three more menus. The puzzle was being placed together. Secluded table? Anxious friends? Eight important people? Simon Cowell? Rosie was a lot of things, but stupid was not one of them.

Rosie's eyes fell to the floor when she hit the top step of her section. The last thing she wanted was to make eye contact. She knew that Simon wouldn't recognize her, but the boys might, that is, if she's right. She heard Simon muttering things to someone about the scenery of the section but she chose to block it out as she quickly walked ahead of the group following her and placed her table's drinks in front of the correct person apologizing that she'd be back in a moment for their orders, explaining she had to quickly seat someone.

She looked back at the bunch to find them catching up so she slowed down slightly, bracing herself with the awkward encounter with five boys that she hasn't spoken to in years.
She remembered it vividly. Four boys she just barely got to know and her best friend saying their goodbyes and promises at King's Cross train station. Words that filled the air were hopeful and positive but they were empty. She hadn't so much spoken a sound to the boys that took her best friend away --that helped her best friend fulfill his dreams. She had somewhat come to terms with never seeing those boys again, no matter how much it hurt. She had to remember that not everyone remembers, especially not like her. They might not even know who she is. They had made it to the top of the pyramid: new memories replaced old ones. She allowed them to forget the forgotten. Her best friend was no longer considered her best friend. He was only a hero in the darkness of her dreams. She buried him away so far that it would take a miracle to set him free. But the second she smelt his cologne, she began digging.

"Here you are sir, ma'am," Rosie whispered, still not making eye contact. Butterflies in her stomach were having a ball and her heart was the music for it. She heard it in her ears, having it echo in her head. She was completely oblivious to the stares of the boys.

She finally dared to look up. Every ounce of will power she once had was gone the second her eyes caught Louis'. They were glazed over in a shiny haze. Lines had formed along his eyes and mouth and the dark patches under his eyes aged him. How could this be the same boy who was afraid of growing up? Her eyebrows furrowed and her lips started to pull together, her natural worry coming out despite of what he's done to her. She immediately looked away.
"May I get a Shirley Temple please?" The woman said, looking the menu.

Rosie blinked a few times realizing that she was on the job. She took out her note pad that sat in the pocket of her apron and recorded everyone's drink. She bravely took a glance at everyone at the table getting familiar smiles and knowing eyes that made her relax slightly. When she got to a curly haired boy, she realized that his worried focus was on his best mate who had the wrong set of eyes on Rosie the entire time. "Water, please," Harry muttered looking away from Louis to Rosie. His eyes brightened for a moment and his smile came back. He immediately put his excited attention to Louis who blinked slowly at Rosie.

He looked at her like meat. There was no familiarity or compassion. No guilt or remorse. No sorrow or fear. He hit on her drunkenly. "How about your number annnnnnnd," dragging out the word, thinking of what drink he wanted. "Um -" Louis slightly purred, putting on his best smile before being cut off. He closed the menu and handed it to her.

"Louis will have a water and I will have a diet coke," Simon cut him off quickly. He waited for Rosie to look back to him after her initial shock before putting on a slightly annoyed smile.
What should she had done? Was there a logical way of approaching this? If there was, Rosie didn't know it. She could tell that Louis was drunk but he had her number. He knew who she was. Why bother with the shitty chat up line? Why would he even attempt it in the first place?

"You're supposed to order before you give it back to me," She muttered looking at the menu then back to him. "Idiot." She whispered under her breath. She couldn't help it. Rosie was quite frankly, uncomfortable. She was used to getting hit on by drunken old men but someone who she's known since she was four?

Simon looked down at the table and then to Harry. They caught each other's glances and nodded in unison, like they were confirming something.

Rosie looked over her shoulder hoping that Jason would come to the rescue but she knew better than that. She was obviously offended at Louis' behaviour. It was almost like he had forgotten her. She turned back to the table of strangers and it finally occurred to her that there was no point in them remembering her. She was just another face two years ago.

But Louis should. Louis should be giving her a hug and declaring his apology and how much he missed her. He should be asking her how she's been and telling her how much of an ass he is. He should've made up an excuse that he lost her number and that his mum forgot to give it to him. But he didn't. He gave her a seductive look like the one he used to give his old girlfriends, the one that analyzed every inch of her body and all the creases that made it.

She took a deep breath and as she released it, she put on her job smile and said alright. Rosie felt like she was going to be sick. There was a prickling feeling behind her eyes that made her panic. This couldn't be happening now.

"Oh, and one more thing," Simon said, momentarily grabbing Rosie's arm to stop her.
She wanted to leave with a tiny bit of dignity but it was being interrupted. It seemed like Harry and a few of the other boys remembered her but only slightly. Her heart was beating out of her chest in hurt. Simon, someone whom she had looked up to, was like Louis, acting strange.
"Thank you for seating us," Simon paused, smiling. "Rosie."

Notes