Despite how poorly the previous day went for me, I was doing my best not to let it affect me. It wasn’t out of my sheer positive personality—what’s that? Food?—but due to sheer necessity.

  This summer, I had big pns, and for those, I needed to keep my head as cool as humanly possible. And by that, I mean as Violet as possible.

  This summer I was fifteen years old, an age that finally allowed me to have a real part-time job, unlike all other previous years.

  I wasn’t a stranger to summertime work, but let’s just say, I wasn’t particurly good at any of those I gave a try.

  Babysitting? I can’t form a coherent sentence talking to people, what led me to believe I could take care of kids?

  Cutting grass? My skin was whiter than the sheets I slept in and I’m terrible in dealing with extreme temperatures.

  Newspaper distribution? Bicycles are expensive, I’m as athletic as a smoker baby, and the same problems I had in cutting grass still applied.

  There were a few others, but what’s the point in making a list of all my past failures when I was trying to stay positive?

  No sir, I’d try to be like my dad and stay as carefree as possible.

  This year I would work as a waitress at a French restaurant by the name of Le Perrot.

  I know what you are thinking. “If you’re so bad at dealing with people, why work there?”

  Simple, really. The pce barely had any clientele. That meant I wouldn’t have to deal with that many clients, and once I got used to my workmates, that should only be the only hassle. I’d get to work on my social skills and make some money while I was at it, making dad’s life—and mine—easier in the process.

  All this talk to say I was failing miserably, and I was yet to go to the restaurant.

  I stood with my uniform on—bck pants and vest, white shirt, and some shoes that were a bit expensive but at least they were reasonably comfortable—and I was very apprehensive about what I was seeing.

  It wasn’t that I thought I looked particurly bad, but I also didn’t think it made me any favours. Were it not for my long hair, which I had tied into a ponytail, I was looking very androgenous. People were sure to address me as a boy, I was sure of it. And all because I was so featureless.

  “Biology isn’t fair at all,” I mumbled while tapping my chest.

  Fifteen years old and still nothing? Yeah, that ship certainly set sail a long time ago.

  The arm I had set to make sure I didn’t get there te rang, and I dragged my feet out of the room and to the kitchen. There, I met dad whom, after giving me a once over, complemented my looks.

  I dismissed them, biased as they were, and got myself a gss of water, thinking that would be all I was going to have before leaving.

  “Don’t be like that! Your mother was also like you around your age. You’ll grow, you’ll see.”

  “Dad, please, enough about it.”

  “…Aren’t you going to eat before leaving?”

  “I’m good.”

  “But didn’t you tell me you’d be back around eleven-thirty? That’s four hours from now. How about I just make you a sandwich?”

  “…Urgh, fine.”

  He was such a nag, although I guess that was to be expected.

  Mum died when I was five, and he never married, so he took on both parenting roles. I compined, but anytime I thought about it, I immediately felt regret. He was simply doing the best he could, and I believe that a better father than him was something very hard to find.

  And I had to get my fussy side from someone. I just wished I had also gotten from him that huge side he had of simply being able to chill.

  At the restaurant I was met by the manager. He was short and stubby, with slick hair and the chin pointing up in a snob way. His mannerisms were very cartoonish to me, but I had never been to a fancy restaurant, so I took it as that being the norm.

  This was the second time we met, so introductions weren’t required. As such, we began with him teaching me what words I should say to greet the clients, to guide them to their tables, etc. You get the idea.

  I was super nervous, and starting to feel a bit queasy as a consequence, but so far, so… reasonable.

  “Erm… where’s…” I wondered out loud as I looked around to see if there was any other waiter, but seeing none.

  “Ah, yes. Unfortunately the person who was to be working with you quit at the st minute and, sadly, we were unable to get somebody to repce them.”

  Every arm bell rang in my head. I had never done anything like it and I was already expected to work alone? There was tossing people at the deep end, but this was giving me the concrete shoes and throwing me in the ocean.

  The sandwich dad so lovingly prepared to me tried to escape, something I too wished to do, but I managed to hold it in. It’d have to keep me company for at least a little longer.

  The first hour or so was ok. Nobody came in, and I was starting to think it would stay like that for the rest of my shift. It was more like wishful thinking, actually.

  However, fate had other things in store for me.

  The entrance bell chimed, and inside came a couple.

  The man was older than her by about ten or fifteen years and had a tired look on his stern face. He was loosening his tie, something that displeased his partner, who I assumed was either his wife or boss. There’s a very big difference between those two retionships, but in this case, my doubt was justified with the way they were interacting at the entrance.

  As for the woman… she reminded me of the girl I had met on the previous day, so I was wondering if the two were reted, only she was taller than me and about twenty years older. Unlike her maybe-daughter, she didn’t appear to have a single drop of cheer in her.

  “W-welcome to the, erm, Perrot…” I said, in a weak attempt at human speech.

  The woman looked at me up and down, giving me chills with her cold stare.

  “Is this what this pce has lowered to? Speak up!” she snarked.

  “Give her a break Elena, it’s clearly her first day.”

  “It doesn’t matter if it’s the first or st, a pce like this should have standards.”

  Oh God! I can’t do this!

  My mind was very hazy and I knew I was going to throw up any second now. Still, I managed to get them seated and hand them the menus before hurrying to the bathroom.

  God only knows why I didn’t leave right then.

  Maybe because I was stubborn when it was about finishing what I had started. Maybe it was some part in me trying to show that woman I was worth a bit more than she thought of me.

  In the end, it doesn’t matter the reason. What matters was, I survived her demeaning comments and managed to at least not trip or get the order wrong. And after she left, the man came to me and gave me no less than two bills that were worth more than ten entire shifts with a very gentle apology for his wife’s behaviour and told me I did a very good job, specially taking into account what I had to deal with. Even the manager was impressed once he saw who I was talking to.

  I was still very much defeated and the manager took that into account, giving me leave to go home earlier than what I was supposed.

  I walked home that night. There was a bus I could have taken, but I felt like walking. I dragged each step, always pondering about giving up. I wanted to change, to become better at dealing with people, all so I could perhaps stop being alone all the time. I wanted to be able to make at least a friend in high school. There was a time I thought about perhaps even getting a boyfriend, but who was I kidding? I was as pin as white paper, both in looks and in character. Who’d want that?

  My slow lumbering steps weighted down by so much negativism made me arrive home at about the same time I was supposed to if work had gone according to pn, but I only realised it when I sat on my bed, wondering if I should just colpse on it and cry my eyes out, or if I should eat and shower first.

  I was feeling icky and my stomach was hurting with how empty it was, so at the very least, I was forced to go eat.

  Haah, nothing ready to eat…

  It was a huge pain, but I’d have to start making noise in the kitchen to prepare some food.

  I was caught red handed by dad, who came down from his room once he heard me cttering ptes and cutlery.

  “How was work?” he asked me.

  “Dad, please… not now…”

  That was all I needed to say.

  He pced a hand over the one I held the bread knife and told me he was going to fix himself a snack, so he would do something for me too while he was at it. That left me free to go shower and cool my head off a little more.

  He’s such a papa bear.

  He really was, but I loved that about him. He was the only person who could read me like an open book, and even if he got on my nerves for it, dad being so caring was more often than not a blessing.

  “…Oh dad… you didn’t have to…”

  On the kitchen counter was a pte with a sandwich, but there was no other pte to be seen. That meant he had gotten up because he was worried about me, and once he completed his mission, retreated back to bed.

  I smiled slightly, the first time in my whole day, as I said a “thanks dad” he couldn’t possibly hear, but one I meant with all my being.