with Ariana Grande fans, and a line to get into the café weaves around the corner. Everyone’s hoping to grab a bite to eat before opening.
“Shit. My feet are killing me,” Macy complains when we run into each other in the kitchen a few hours later.
I deposit an armload of dishes by the sink. “You and me both.”
“How are tips for you tonight?” she asks.
“Pretty good. Those dudes in the corner just tipped me fifty. What about you?”
“I got snaked by that middle-aged couple. That dickwad pulls up in a Jaguar and only leaves me ten bucks. Ten freakin’ dollars on a two-hundred dollar meal that I busted my ass on.”
She nibbles her lip, and I know she’s stressing about paying rent. I pull a twenty from my pocketed tips. “Here take this. I got over-tipped by those guys.”
Her eyes widen. “What? Girl, no! That’s your money. You worked for it.”
I shove it in her hand and grab my plates from under the warmer. “And you worked hard on that last table but got stuck with a tightass. That’s not your fault. Just keep it.”
I head out before she can return the money. I know some on our team feel what’s theirs and theirs and mine is mine, but I don’t see if that way. We don’t pick and choose our customers, and some customers tip better than others. As long as we’re all working hard, I’m happy to share tips.
By the time my shift ends, it’s almost eleven at night. Fatigue rolls through me in steady waves as the busboys wipe down all the tables. I give them and the bartender a cut of my tips before pocketing the rest.
The wad of cash in my pocket makes some of the grueling work worth it, but between the early morning class I woke up for, school all afternoon followed by a game, and then work, I’m beat.
“See ya tomorrow babe?” Macy asks when I grab my purse.
“Yeah. You still wanna meet up in the afternoon to study? That composition exam is gonna be killer.”
Macy groans. “Tell me about it. And yeah, meet at the library around two?”
“Works for me. See ya!”
I sail out the door and around the corner. The sidewalks are still busy despite the late hour. Elated concert goers fill the streets as drunk college students bar hop.
I skirt around most of them and welcome the less busy streets the closer I get to my apartment. Above me, the full moon shines, visible even through the city lights.
My feet tap quietly on the sidewalk, and my shoulders begin to relax the farther I get from the commotion of downtown. Another block passes, and I’m alone on the street.
“Finally,” I murmur, welcoming the peace.
But when I cross the next intersection, walking diagonally north, I feel it again.
That sense of something being … off.
The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end, so I stop in the middle of the street and twirl around. My hand flexes around my purse’s strap as I search the sidewalks and alleys between buildings.
I don’t see anything, but I still make sure to thoroughly check every dark corner. Living in a city for the past four years has taught me to be wary when I’m out walking alone, and considering all the weird feelings I’ve been getting lately—a tingle of unease slithers down my spine.
But after another careful search of the area, I still don’t see anything suspicious or out of the ordinary. The dark street has a few parked cars. Some lights are on in the apartments above. And other than a stray cat dashing around a corner, there’s no sign of life.
Standing straighter, I resume walking but quicken my pace.
“What the hell!” I whisper. That niggling suspicion that someone is watching me breathes down my neck like wildfire.
Picking up a jog, a part of me thinks that I’m overreacting, but I don’t slow. Ahead, my block waits. The marigolds and petunias are visible in the streetlight.
Almost there. I breathe a sigh of relief.
Not slowing, I leap off the sidewalk to cross the road when something brushes up behind me. I’m not even sure what I’m feeling until a warm and heavy hand clamps over my mouth and nose while an arm snakes around my waist.
I immediately thrash, my eyes widening in terror. A million reactions ricochet in my brain as I’m lifted off the street before my attacker flies us into an alley.