I walk smoothly between tables, refilling water glasses before they're completely empty, clearing plates the moment guests are done with them, and providing fresh napkins when someone spills their drink.
"Excuse me," I say, speaking softly to an elderly couple who look like they're physically incapable of being mean to anyone. "How's everything tasting?"
The woman beams at me like I just offered her a million dollars. "Oh, it's wonderful, dear! Just wonderful!"
"That's great to hear," I respond, and I mean it. "Just let me know if you need anything, okay?"
"Such a polite young man," she says to her husband as I walk away, and I have to fight the urge to pump my fist in victory. I did it. I might be the best server in the known universe.
I check in with a few more tables, and each time it gets a little easier. A businessman barely looks up from his laptop but gives me a thumbs up. A couple of college students order more coffee, which I deliver with grace. A family with two kids compliments the food, and their toddler waves at me, which is objectively adorable.
Between tasks, I position myself near Mr. Vale, who's standing discretely against the wall. His expression is warm, almost proud.
"Adam..." His voice carries genuine pleasure. "You're conducting yourself beautifully. You're moving gracefully, and your interactions feel authentic." He pauses thoughtfully. "This is an impressive performance."
I feel a burst of pride, warm and slightly embarrassing. "Thanks, Mr. Vale. I'm just... I'm trying to do what you showed me."
He chuckles softly. "Now then… I believe you're ready for something more substantial. The next guest who enters, I'd like you to handle them completely."
My stomach does a small flip. But I've been training for this. I've got this. What could possibly go wrong?
"Okay," I say, trying to channel confidence. "Yeah. I can do this."
"I know you can."
I position myself near the entrance, adopting what I hope is a welcoming but professional stance. My heart is beating a little faster than normal, but that's fine. That's totally normal.
The door chimes.
I look up with my carefully prepared greeting smile, and—
No.
No way.
No.
This cannot be happening. This is not happening. The universe does not hate me this much.
Standing in the doorway, looking just as unpleasant as I remember, is the guy who yelled at me on my first day for trying to clear his table.
Classic Adam Gray luck. Instead of any number of pleasant, normal customers that could have walked in, the universe specifically selects the one person who already thinks I'm incompetent.
For a split second, I consider fainting. Just dropping to the floor and letting unconsciousness take me away from this situation. But that would be unprofessional, and Mr. Vale is watching, and well… I'm not actually capable of fainting on command.
So instead, I take a deep breath, channel every ounce of the training from yesterday, and step forward.
Show time.
"Welcome," I say, keeping my voice level and my expression pleasant. "Do you have a reservation?"
He looks at me, and I watch the recognition dawn on his face. His expression shifts, not quite a grimace, but definitely not pleasure. Yeah, he remembers me too. Oof.
"...No." His voice is quieter than I remember. "Table for one."
His tone lacks the sharp edge it had last time, and there's a weariness to it that I can't quite parse. He looks... tired, maybe? Or just not in a particularly good mood.
"Of course, sir." I pick up a menu from behind the host stand, my movements smooth and deliberate. I'm trying to read him, figure out what he wants. Last time he picked a window seat, but he's alone today, and his whole vibe is different. Quieter.
Screw it. When in doubt, ask.
"Would you like a window seat?"
He pauses, considering. "...Yeah. That's fine."
"Right this way." I gesture toward the window seats, trying to channel Mr. Vale's natural elegance.
I lead him across the café floor, very aware of his presence behind me.
I reach the window seat and move to place the menu in front of him, but he waves me off before I can set it down.
"Don't need that." He still won't quite meet my eyes. "Just get me an espresso."
Instead of placing the menu down, I hold it against my chest and bow slightly, a move I watched Mr. Vale do a thousand times. "Of course. I'll be right back."
His expression does something weird, like he wants to say something but thinks better of it. He just gives a small nod.
I turn and walk to the back of the café, keeping my movements smooth and measured… That actually went better than expected.
Mr. Vale is waiting near the espresso machine, that knowing smile on his face that suggests he watched the entire interaction and is both amused and proud.
"Well done," he says quietly as I approach. "Your composure was admirable, particularly given the circumstances."
So he remembers the guy too. Of course he does. Mr. Vale probably remembers every single customer who's ever walked through that door.
"Thanks," I say, letting out a breath I didn't realize I was holding. "He just wants an espresso. Could you show me how to make one?"
"Certainly." Mr. Vale's expression brightens slightly. "In fact, this is an excellent opportunity to familiarize you with the art of coffee preparation. Come, observe."
He pulls out a container of coffee beans from beneath the counter, handling it with the same care someone might use for a priceless artifact. "For espresso, I prefer roasted Arabica beans, they possess a complexity of flavor that cheaper varieties lack." He measures out a portion with a small scoop, each movement deliberate. "Twenty grams. Precision matters."
He pours the beans into the grinder section of the espresso machine, and I watch as ground coffee disperses into a portafilter below. Already, the smell is incredible: Rich and complex and somehow both bitter and sweet at the same time.
"Now..." Mr. Vale's voice takes on an almost reverent quality, like he's about to reveal ancient secrets. "We must create a level, compact puck of coffee grounds, this is where many fail." He pauses meaningfully, his fingers gently adjusting the portafilter. "They either pack too tightly, producing bitter coffee, or too loosely, resulting in a weak, insipid drink. Balance, Adam. Always balance."
He taps the side of the portafilter with such precise, minimal movements that the grounds become nearly perfectly level. He makes it look effortless.
"Feel, rather than think. Your body will remember the correct pressure long before your mind understands it. Experience is the only true teacher here." He continues, reaching for the tamper with fluid grace. "In time, you'll know instinctively when it's right."
He tamps the grounds. Then he attaches the portafilter to the machine and pulls a shot.
The whole process, from start to finish, takes less than a minute. Mr. Vale executed that so smoothly it seemed frankly inhuman. One moment we had beans, the next moment there's a perfect espresso sitting in a small cup. I'm pretty sure if I tried to do this, I'd somehow set something on fire.
"There." He removes the cup and places it on a small saucer, then immediately begins wiping down and cleaning everything he used. "Please deliver this to our guest."
I take the espresso, carefully, very carefully, and make my way back to the window seat. The guy is staring out the window, lost in thought, his profile sharp against the afternoon light streaming through the glass.
I place the cup in front of him gently, making sure it doesn't clink too loudly against the saucer. "Here you go."
He reaches for the cup without looking at me. "...Thanks."
I step back and return to my duties, checking on other tables, refilling water, clearing plates. Every time I glance toward the window, the guy is just sitting there, drinking his espresso slowly, staring out at the street with this pensive expression that makes him look incredibly… human.
It's weird. The whole situation is weird. But I guess people have bad days. Maybe last time was his catastrophically awful day, and today is just his regular melancholic Tuesday. Who knows.
When the window-seat guy is ready to leave, I notice him placing money on the table. I approach to clear his cup and collect payment, already prepared with my "thank you for visiting" script.
He's left a hundred-dollar bill for a five-dollar espresso.
"Sir, I'll go—"
"Keep it," he says simply, already standing.
I manage to keep my surprise in check, maintaining my professional demeanor. "That's... thank you, sir. Very generous. We hope to see you again."
I give a slight bow, and for just a second, he actually looks directly at me. There's something in his expression, not quite an apology, but maybe an acknowledgment. Like he remembers how he acted last time and this is his way of making up for it without actually addressing it.
He nods once and heads for the door.
The rest of the day continues in the same surprisingly smooth fashion. I talk with customers, lead people to their tables, refill water, clear plates, and I don't mess up once. Not even a little bit.
When my shift ends and I'm getting ready to leave, Mr. Vale stops me at the door.
"Adam." His voice is warm, pleased. "Today was exceptional. Truly. You handled that gentleman with remarkable grace, and you maintained your composure beautifully throughout the entire shift." He pauses, his eyes crinkling with genuine pride. "I'm very impressed with your progress."
"Thank you, Mr. Vale!" I say, unable to contain my huge smile. The pride is back, warm and bright in my chest. "I'll see you tomorrow!"
"Until tomorrow, Adam. Well done."
I walk out of the café feeling like I'm floating. Things are going great right now!
…
The next morning, as I'm walking through the pristine halls of the Fairchild School of Excellence, I'm mentally kicking myself.
I should have remembered that every time I think "wow, things are going great," the universe takes that as a personal challenge.
The problem?
As I'm walking through the hall, trying to get to my locker in the morning, I see Jack Richardson, in all his assholeness.
And he's staring straight at me.
With a vile grin on his face.