Have you ever had one of those moments where the past walks right back into your life, uninvited? One minute, I’m wiping down tables at the restaurant I call home, and the next, I’m staring into the eyes of the girl who made my high school years a living nightmare.
So, picture this: I’m wiping down tables at the restaurant where I work, just minding my own business. It’s a small, cozy spot where the smell of freshly brewed coffee greets you before you even step inside.
The regulars come in so often that they know your name, your favorite drink, and probably your life story if they stick around long enough.
Today, I’m pitching in with the cleaning because Beth, one of our waitresses, isn’t feeling well.
She’s pregnant — glowing and beautiful — but had a faint spell earlier, so the rest of us are taking on her load. We’re a tight-knit crew, like family, really. When one of us needs a hand, we don’t even think twice.
I’m scrubbing down one of the back tables, lost in the rhythm of it when I hear it.
Laughter. Not just any laughter, the kind that slaps you right back to high school. My stomach tightens, and before I even glance up, I know.
I know who it is.
It’s Heather.
Heather Parker, queen bee, ruler of the high school social hierarchy, and my tormentor for, oh, four years straight. There she is, strolling into the restaurant like she owns the place, her signature laugh echoing around the room, flanked by her loyal crew: Hannah and Melissa.
It’s like nothing’s changed. They used to mock me about everything — my clothes, my hair, even the way I talked about my dreams of leaving that town someday.
I freeze, still gripping the cloth in my hand as I stand there like some kind of deer caught in headlights.
They haven’t seen me yet, but I can already feel that familiar burn on the back of my neck. The whispers, the sneers, the looks that could cut you down without a single word.
“Hey, isn’t that…?” Heather’s voice trails off, her eyes scanning the room.
Please, please don’t look this way.
Of course, she does.
Her eyes lock onto mine, and that wicked little smile stretches across her face. The same one she wore every time she ruined my day.
“Well, well, well.
Look who we have here. Still wiping down tables, huh? Guess that’s all you ever amounted to.” Her voice is loud, cutting through the usual hum of the restaurant.
She laughs, a sound so fake but her friends eat it up like it’s the best thing they’ve ever heard.
I can feel my face heating up, but I keep scrubbing the table, trying to ignore them.
It doesn’t matter. I’m not the same person I was in high school.
Heather, though, doesn’t let up. “Is this what you dreamed of back in high school?
Cleaning up after people who actually did something with their lives?” Her eyes sweep over me like I’m nothing but trash to be tossed aside. Her friends giggle, nudging each other like this is the best entertainment they’ve had all week.
Then she snaps her fingers at me like I’m a dog. “Hey, waitress!
Do you think you can at least manage to get us some water? Or is that too advanced for you?”
The story doesn’t end here — it continues on the next page.
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