Chapter 12: Chapter Eleven

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“But Dad! You can’t just leave us here!”

A look of despair crosses my face at the information my dad has just relayed to us. Ava and I are standing in the middle of the restaurant kitchen, in amongst the hectic mob of chefs and cooking equipment. Usually, on a Wednesday night, the place is fairly quiet – quiet enough to mean Ava and I can spend most of our time gossiping behind the cash register – but thanks to an overambitious mother and the seventh birthday of her spoiled child, that’s no longer the case.

“I have to!” Dad shoots an apologetic look in our direction. “I’m sorry! You’ll be able to cope for a couple of hours, won’t you?”

The news that he has to take off to sort out an “emergency” at one of the suppliers and is leaving us alone to deal with twenty hyperactive kids is, to say the least, unwelcome.

Sure, we won’t actually be forced to cook anything – we wouldn’t want to give whole of Parker Elementary’s first grade class food poisoning, after all – but Dad’s usually the over-looker, ensuring everything runs smoothly and that no one storms out with the intention of filing a lawsuit.

I’m not sure if Ava and I are qualified lawsuit avoiders.

“What about the kids’ party?” I protest.

“It’ll be fine,” he assures me, offering me what is supposed to be a convincing smile as he unties the knots of his apron. “All you’ve got to do is take their orders, bring the food out and make sure they don’t run around. Oh, and if they break anything, get the mom to write a check.”

“But–”

“You haven’t got to do anything that you wouldn’t normally. It’ll be fine. I should be back in an hour or two, anyway. Then you can get off early. Okay?”

“That’s fine, Mr. Howard,” Ava interrupts, flashing him her signature “perfect employee” smile that she’s spent way too long practicing. “We can handle it.”

It’s all very well sounding convincing, but I’ve got a feeling we just can’t handle it. I mean, twenty screaming, sweaty, seven year old kids? All demanding platefuls of chicken nuggets whilst fueling their sugar levels with ice cream and birthday cake? Considering my past experience with babysitting the neighbor’s kid, I don’t think our chances are looking too great.

Ava’s memory – and common sense – seems to have failed her, and before I can bring her back to her senses, she’s already waving goodbye to my dad as he heads out of the kitchen.

“Ava!” I squeak, when his distance becomes out of earshot. “What on Earth are you doing?”

“Calm down, Georgie,” she says soothingly. “It’s fine. We can cope. It’s just a kids’ party, right? We’ve had this job for almost a year now. I think we can handle the restaurant for a couple of hours without your dad.”

“No, we can’t!” I insist. “What about the lawsuits?!”

A stuffy room containing a crowd of unruly kids is practically the recipe for a legal disaster. And I am not in the mood for sending myself to law school right now.

“What are you talking about?” Ava says, laughing. As if laughing in a potentially catastrophic situation is a perfectly acceptable thing to do. Sometimes I question my best friend’s sanity even more than mine, which is saying something. “We’ll be fine. Anyway, I think they’re ready to order now. We should probably go see to them.”

The only thing that drags my feet out of the kitchen is the knowledge that the kids will begin the next phase of their transformation to wild animals if they’re not tamed by nuggets and fries in the next half hour.

***

“So that’s... eleven for nuggets, four for fish fingers, three burgers and two veggie burgers. Is that everything?”

I finish unloading the never-ending plates of food onto the table, flashing an incredibly fake smile at the mother as I do so. Amazingly, she doesn’t seem to be fazed by the unnatural amount of beasts she’s got to control, and her perfectly made-up face looks as calm as it did when she first walked in.

Ha. I can guarantee it won’t be for much longer.

“That’s great, thanks,” she says, scanning over the table of tamed children with a smug smile. Like she actually has a right to wear an expression that reads oh yeah, I got this. Because, Ms. Ambitious Mom, it was in fact me who brought out the lifesaving items (i.e. armfuls of chicken nuggets) that have stopped those little brats from running around and screaming at the top of their voices. “Um... could I have a quick word, though?”

Oh, crap. Please don’t say I’ve done – or not done – something that’s now a potentially lethal hazard to her little darlings. This woman looks like the type to have a lawyer on speed-dial.

“Uh...” I mask the worried look that wants to creep onto my face. “Sure.”

She rises from her seat, following me over to a less crowded part of the restaurant. Ava’s still lurking in the kitchen somewhere – probably the smartest idea right now – so I don’t get the opportunity to send her a grimace as we make our way through the tables. When I stop and turn around to face her, I study the woman’s face for any hint that she might be informing me of her plans to sue the place for a million dollars.

I think even my dad would fire me if that happened.

“I know this is a really big thing to ask, but...”

This doesn’t sound good.

“I was wondering...”

Any chance of sprinting off without her noticing?

“Well, the thing is, the entertainer canceled right at the last minute. We were just about to leave, so I didn’t have time to sort anything else out. I wouldn’t mind, but the kids are going to get real rowdy if they don’t have anything to keep them quiet. It’s a bit of a long shot, but... is there anything you can do?”

“Uh...”

If I’m honest, I’m kind of taken aback by her question. I really thought we had a lawsuit on her hands... but a canceled entertainer? What does she expect us to do, anyway? We’re a restaurant, for crying out loud. Unless the kids want a guided tour of the stuffy kitchen and stressed out chefs, I don’t think we can be of service in that department.

“Um, what kind of entertainer?”

“Well, it was originally going to be a clown.”

A short bark of laughter escapes my lips. “Well, unless you want me to dress up in a clown costume...” My voice trails off into nothingness, my previously joking expression slowly dropping into horrified realization when the woman begins to look hopeful.

“Well, would you?”

“Um, I don’t think...”

“I’d pay you fifty dollars,” she says quickly, offering me a small smile. “It would only be for like, fifteen minutes, tops. I mean, after that the kids will probably be too preoccupied with their desserts, anyway...”

A part of me wants to scream no way! and scuttle out of sight as quickly as possible, but the other part has suddenly tuned in. The prospect of fifty bucks is tempting, especially on top of the overtime Dad better be paying me for tonight (if he doesn’t, serious complaining will follow).

I suppose I could...

No, I tell myself furiously. I’ve already embarrassed myself enough times in the past few days, and there is absolutely no need to add to that number. Getting suited up in a clown costume is not exactly an act of dignity, and I have an uncanny ability to throw myself into mortifying situations whenever possible.

It’s a recipe for disaster.

But for fifty bucks?

I’m about to tell her that no sum of money on this Earth could force me to embarrass myself even further (or at least, that’s what I’m trying to convince myself of), but apparently the greedy side of my personality has come out victorious. Instead of apologizing and politely declining the woman’s offer, I find myself saying the words that I know I will regret almost immediately.

“Okay, okay, fine. I’ll do it.”

A bright, relieved smile adorns the woman’s features at my answer. She pushes her light blonde bangs from her face and continues beaming at me. “Thank you so much,” she peers at my name badge, “Georgie. You’re a lifesaver!”

That may be the case, but I’m a lifesaver with a distinct lack of dignity and self-pride.

So what’s new?

“Now, I’ll just go and grab the costume from the car...”

Oh, dear. It’s probably a little too late to realize that this is a very, very bad idea.

***

No way.

No freaking way.

Remind me again why I thought it was a good idea to actually agree to this? Why did I not sprint a mile away at the mention of a clown costume? Why, when someone told me to go put a ridiculous rainbow-colored outfit on, did I say “oh yeah, sure!” instead of questioning their sanity?

I’m such an idiot.

And by the sound of Ava’s stifled giggles, she thinks so too.

“Shut up!” I hiss at my best friend, who’s standing a couple of meters across the staff room, struggling to keep her laughter under control at the sight of my comical new attire. “I’ll be the one laughing when I’ve got fifty extra bucks, okay?”

“Nope, I think that will still be me,” she returns with a grin. “Oh God, Georgie... I can’t believe you actually agreed to this.”

Well, Ava, that makes two of us.

I peer at my reflection in the wall-mounted mirror. It takes a lot of strength not to grimace as soon as my bizarrely-clothed self stares back at me. As if the stripy one-piece suit isn’t bad enough, my stylish look is completed by a plastic red nose, as well as my usual accessory: my out-of-control blonde frizz.

“What do clowns even do, anyway?” Ava asks.

I’m about to ask her if she’s for real, when my potential speech is cut off by a slightly important thought that pops into my head. What do clowns do? My fuzzy childhood memories of looming beings at various friends’ birthday parties are far from sufficient. Partly because I can’t remember, but also because I spent most of the time at said parties hiding from the red-nosed creatures because they freaked me out.

Oh, the irony of this awful situation.

“Um...”

I swear, this should’ve been mentioned in the job description.

“Don’t they just... act stupid?” Ava suggests vaguely, shrugging.

I suppose that should be easy for me. Instead of responding, I shoot her a despairing look which hopefully reads I can’t believe I’m about to do this! By now, the clatter of knives and forks outside the staff room door seem to be an indicator that the little kids’ hunger has been satisfied, and they now crave some form of entertainment before their attention span falls short and they resort to running around the restaurant like wild maniacs.

As I emerge from the staff room and into the main restaurant area, I am greeted by a wave of silence. This, to say the least, is slightly unnerving.

Maybe the kids have realized I’m some kind of clown imposter and are getting ready to pounce.

“Uh... hi, boys and girls!” I say awkwardly, fully aware of how stupid I sound and how Ava is probably peeing her pants laughing at me from the staff room right now.

My eyes scan over the table of kids, resisting the urge to grimace when I catch sight of their stunned expressions. The majority of them are looking up at me, completely frozen, as if they’ve turned into mini ice statues at the sight of me.

I go to walk towards the table, when suddenly the sole of my shoe lands on something slimy on the floor below. Maybe I would’ve had time to ponder on what the substance actually might have been if my insanely clumsy side hadn’t decided now would be a brilliant time to emerge for an encore.

You guessed it right, folks. I tripped.

And fell on my butt.

When my rear end hits the floor, a round of spontaneous laughter breaks out amongst the kids. However, before I can begin to comprehend what’s happening, my ears prick up at the sound of the bell above the door springing into life as a crowd of people step inside the warm restaurant.

My head snaps in that direction immediately.

And then my heart sinks.

Because, who would’ve thought that Charlotte Hayes and her crowd would have deemed half past six on a Wednesday evening a suitable time to come waltzing into Howard Grill in search of a bite to eat?

And when The Devil’s eyes snap towards me – the disheveled clown lounging on the tiled floor – it occurs to me that my life is over. Well, any chance of a social life at North Shore, anyway.

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This chapter has like, nothing to do with the main plot. Ah well, it's funny :P And OH MY GOD, I am #16 on Teen Fiction. If I could climb just one place, I'd be on the homepage. Can we make that happen?!

I don't know what to put here. I feel like I'm updating constantly, but I guess that's what 3 day updates do to you :P I know you guys appreciate them though.

60 comments = upload on Monday, instead of Tuesday <3