Untitled Piece

Another old writing scrap that I may re-use as a novel base.

            When I was young a fortune teller told me I had a great destiny. That went down the drain faster than the stuff in the toilet I'm cleaning. Stall number three of White Blossom Bar, in the city of White Blossom, was always backing up. Luckily there was always a lowly me to clean it up again and again. Some days it wouldn't be the toilets, it could be vomit, broken glass, helping drunk people to their cars (and then acting like we didn't if something happened), or breaking up fights. That's right, five foot four me is the fight breaker upper around these parts. This is my life, and it's not even the worst part.

            After my shift is over, and Charlotte pays me a pathetic forty bucks under the table, I only have a couple hours until school starts. I'm in my senior year, working nights and going to school in the mornings. I've been doing this for years, but that doesn't make it easier. I drive my beat up old truck to the school parking lot, which isn't gated off (thank god), and pull into my usual spot. Having nobody around makes it easy to change out of my work clothes in my truck, something the guys at school would probably love to see. Then I get to nap for an hour or so before first bell rings.

            The Principal, not first bell, wakes me up. He's tapping on the window as I stretch in the driver seat. Once I feel like I can move without pulling a muscle I roll down my window.

            "Zoey Dolya, sleeping in your car instead of going to class again this morning?" He didn't say it in a mean way, Principal McMahon isn't an a*****e like most people, he said it in a mocking way. When I first met McMahon I got the impression he didn't like me because of the tattoos that run the length of my right arm, they scream rebel to a lot of people. He's grown on me a lot since then.

            "Sorry."

            "I'm getting tired of writing excuses for you." He sighs overdramatically as he hands me a note he probably wrote days ago. "Rough night at work?"

            "Not really," I said while hopping out of the truck, "just never get to sleep anymore."

            He nods and pulls my bag from the passenger seat for me. "We're going to have to have a real talk about it sometime."

            I never tell anyone the truth about why my life is so hard. McMahon pulls me out of class to talk about it sometimes. I feel bad never giving him the whole truth, I even used to exaggerate my slight Ukrainian accent in an effort to create a language barrier, he hadn't fallen for that even a little.

            "It's complicated," I settled on telling him.

            "It can be between you and me. I want to help, Zoey. Everyday I see you walk to class half asleep, I get called by your teachers on a weekly basis about you zoning out or sleeping in the middle of a lecture, whatever is going on is affecting your future."

            What future?

            "Are you scheduling me for another round of mandatory one on one time?"

            "Tomorrow, second period."

            "Okay."

            He slides my bag onto my back as I keep my shoulder length brown hair from getting caught on it.

            "Thanks again for the note." The fact he seems to care so much feels really good sometimes and annoying at others, this was one of the good times.

           

            School was school. I learned some things, slept during lunch, and only zoned out a couple times during class.

           

Author's Note

Seeing if there's interest in using this as a novel base. This one doesn't seem like much from this piece as I never wrote any more of this story, but it becomes a modern day fantasy.