Chapter 10: Hannah
Hannah, can you pleasecome here for a moment?”
It’s never a good sign when your manager pulls you aside mid-shift.
“Hang on a minute, Dave. I’ve got to run these salads out to my section.” A five-course meal is a carefully orchestrated event, and if we don’t want to be serving dinner at 10 p.m., I need to keep things flowing in my section. I have it down to a science.
Dave shifts uncomfortably, “Brenna will take your section.”
My stomach drops to my feet, and I immediately begin sweating. I wish I could pull my mask off, but if I’m only in a little bit of trouble, I don’t want to give him an excuse for another demerit—or whatever it is he has against me—though his mask sits firmly underneath his nose.
“Dave, what’s wrong?” I ask as I follow him out of the dining room. He heads toward the elevator and hits the down button. The offices are upstairs and the first two floors are empty tonight. There is no reason for us to be going down unless it’s something epically bad, like being escorted off the premises.
Shitballs.
I try to subtly inhale through my nose and let it out slowly, willing my deep breathing to calm my nerves that are now bouncing more than a toddler on a trampoline with teenagers. This would be so much easier without this stupid mask on.
“Dave, what’s going on?” I ask, pretending my voice didn’t crack.
He won’t look at me, instead staring at the wall of the elevator like it’s the Mona Lisa.
Somebody died. That’s got to be it. I pull my cell phone out, but there are no messages, voice or text. If it was one of my parents, my sister Nicole would have called. And vice versa.
Surely if someone had died, there would be a message of some kind, so what else can it be?
I’m being fired. That’s the only logical explanation. It would suck, of course, but maybe it’s a blessing in disguise. Maybe this would finally force me to try to get a job as an actual sportscaster instead of making my stupid pretend and satire videos for ClikClak.
Though truth be told, even doing that is more than I was doing a month ago.
This is it. I’m being dismissed and escorted off the premises. Another walk of shame.
Hopefully, after this one, no one calls me “Back Door Girl.”
“Dave ...” Now I’m practically whining. If I’m being fired, I’d at least like to know what for. Everyone sneaks a lamb chop now and again. I’m not the only one.
“There’s someone here to see you. He says it’s an emergency and was quite ... insistent. He said it was life or death. Please don’t be too long, and this will be your break for tonight.”
Well, if I have a break, then that implies I still have a job, so that’s one win. But who could be here? Carlos knows better, but you never can tell what constitutes an emergency in his book.
The last person I expect to see standing in the lobby is Callaghan Entay.
