time card from the caddy and slam it into the ancient punch clock.
I haven’t slept well in days.
Not since the Slash/Spot notification that delivered two blows: Alice’s—Rhodes’s—final Hearts & Spades update and the realization that she took the ultimate step in severing contact with me forever by deleting her account.
This is it: This is the sign I needed.
Alice, and Rhodes, are finished with me forever.
I don’t even know how to be devastated yet. I remember feeling like this the day I learned I lost my Savannah College of Art and Design scholarship—grief hit me hard and fast in the days after, when I had to look at the rest of my life head-on and try to figure out what the hell it was even going to remotely look like.
That first day, like today, there was nothingness.
It reminds me of playing Mortal Kombat with my brother on his old Nintendo, when he’d almost beat me, down to one more critical hit until the match would be over. My character (Sonia Blade, always Sonia Blade) would wobble back and forth on weak knees, and Shao Kahn would declare, “Finish her!”
Nicky, my oldest brother, would deal some kind of overkill level of complicated power move, my character would be put out of her misery, and I would spend the rest of the afternoon watching him gloat.
I feel like Sonia Blade right now. I’m wobbling on weak knees, and in this little exercise of the imagination, it’s the voice of the Red Queen declaring, “Finish her!”
I simply don’t have any fight left in me.
Today is Kiersten’s first day on the job, and Sylvia has given her the decidedly unglamorous task of loading and unloading the dishwasher ad nauseum.
“Everybody’s gotta start somewhere,” Sylvia says, bringing me back to reality between counting the ones and fives to balance the drawer. “She wasn’t too interested in learning the menu, so she can unload the dishwasher.”
Kiersten’s vibrant teal, rhinestone-encrusted nails are a sharp contrast next to the simple white of the ancient restaurant-quality dinnerware in her hands. She plunks one mug after the next onto the counter, visibly fuming.
“You don’t get tips unloading the dishwasher,” Kiersten says, too low for Sylvia to hear.
“Tip sharing, sweetheart.” I shake the repurposed jam jar on the counter at her, stuffed with ones. “Everybody on the floor owes the tip jar fifteen percent at the end of their shift.”
Kiersten says nothing. Instead, she pulls the industrial dishwasher closed and turns to the sink for another load.
“Nope, don’t put your coat up,” Sylvia says a beat before I hang my coat on the rack by the back door. She turns to hand me a vinyl bank envelope and her keys. “Breakfast is slowing down. I need you to deposit this so I can watch Sarah train Miss Congeniality.”
Kiersten stops to glare over her shoulder. Sylvia glares back.
“What’s with the fresh meat?” I put my coat back on and accept the load in Sylvia’s hands.
Sarah cuts her eyes from where she takes an order on the other side of the room.
It’s the first time I’ve seen her outside of school since the Capstone project presentation. At school, she’s been the last person to walk into our classes and the first person to leave—a grimacing, silent ghost I haven’t spoken with in ages.
The room is small enough—and I’m loud enough—that it isn’t hard for her to listen to our conversation and her customer at the same time. Our eyes meet, finally, and then she turns to face the table.
When Sarah turns, something glittery on her hip catches in the old lights that hang over our heads. Mr. Wade’s cassette player hangs from the waist of her jeans like it always does, but now it’s completely, inexplicably crusted in crystals.
“Today’s Sarah’s last day,” Sylvia says. “Didn’t give me any notice. I told her I wouldn’t dock her pay if she brought her replacement in with her for her last shift.”
I gawk at the back of Sarah’s head. Sylvia is making no attempt to keep this a secret—nor is she sparing anyone’s feelings—and Sarah’s shoulders hike up around her reddening ears.
“Did she say why?”
Sylvia drops her voice to a whisper, frowning. “No. I felt it coming, though—something’s been going on with that girl, and I’ve been on this Earth long enough to sense when somebody’s gonna snap.”
“You’re not wrong,” I say. “This isn’t like her.”
“I know you two are close,” Sylvia says, shuttling me past the bar. “I want you to keep an eye on her for