"Here you go!" Ms.Kelly hands me a notepad, "For the orders," she responds to my confused face. "Once they tell you what they want, just come behind the counter and stick it here," she points to the silver mental thing, "Denny will ding the bell when the orders are ready,"

"Is that all?"

"Yes, that's it," she looks around, making sure she didn't forget anything, "Okay, well, I will be upstairs in the loft," she turns around and begins to walk away,

"Wait, wait, you aren't going to stay? To you know, make sure I'm doing it right?"

"How could you do it wrong?!" she yells while still walking away.

"What if I have a question?" I yell louder because she's walking farther away.

"Don't ask it," she responds and then disappears up the stairs.

"Great," I sigh. The diner isn't too busy, so I got this. I think. Thank goodness, no one is here from school. At least not yet.

A woman is sitting in the corner; I need to get her order. With each step I take, my heartbeats faster and harder; being a waitress is definitely not a job for a shy, introverted teenager.

Again, what the hell was I thinking agreeing to this?

I get nervous, just ordering food. I almost always get my mother to order for me.

How the hell am I supposed to take people's orders? I let out a deep breath and then lower my head, walking faster over to the woman. "Hello," I greet her.

"Hi," she says back, landing her grey eyes on me. Her grey eyes complement her raven black hair nicely.

"Uh, can I take your order?"

She smiles, "I'll just take a small coffee, black."

"Okay," I turn away from the table and walk back behind the counter; that wasn't so bad. I grab the fresh pot of coffee and one of the mugs before walking back over to the woman's booth. "Here you go," I sit the white mug onto the table and then pour the hot coffee, making sure not to spill it.

"It's pretty dead in here, are kids still in school?" she asks.

"No, we got out a 3:15; usually they roll in around five the after school activities are over at like four something,"

She nods her head, "You go to Crossland?"

"Yeah," I stop pouring the coffee and then pull out a few napkins for her. "Are you new to town?" I've never seen her before this is a small town and she's stunning. I wouldn't forget her face.

"No uh, just visiting for work,"

"Oh?"

"I'm a news reporter,"

"Really?" I say intrigued; news reporters only come around when there's a story; nothing is going on, at least nothing that I know of, "Did something happen?" I ask skittish. The only reason I can think of as to why a reporter would be here is because of Travis and the shooting.

"A shooting, about a month ago," she says, confirming my thought, "Do you know anything about it? You do go to Crossland."

"No," I quickly say. "I uh, I wasn't at the game," I lie.

"Oh,"

"Let me know if you need anything else," I give her a quick smile and then quickly turn away from the table, walking back over to the counter.

...

It's been almost two hours now, surprisingly I have only seen two people from school here, and those two people were not one of the 'elite.'

The two kids that were in here were freshmen; I have seen them a few times around school. When they saw me, they looked surprised; I guess they knew who I was. They seemed almost scared to talk to me; when I asked for their order, I had to get them to repeat it twice because they were talking so low with their heads down, it was almost like they were scared to talk to me. It was super weird.

I look over towards the lady... the reporter. She's still here; she's just been sitting there in that booth the whole time. She hasn't even gotten up to use the bathroom. Nevermind, she's getting up and heading over here towards me.

"Are you waiting for someone?" I ask; that's the only logical reason I can think of as to why she's still here.

She stands right in front of me. "No,"

"Oh," I look around at the empty diner and then back at her. "If you're a reporter, shouldn't you be out... reporting?"

She laughs, "Can I ask you something?" She dodged my question by asking hers. My mother always told me it was rude to ask a question with a question.

"Sure,"

"Do you know Ryder Adams?"

"Uhh yeah," I wonder if that's who she's doing a report on.

"He was shot, right?" I nod.

"How... how many times?"

"Three," I reply.

"Where?"

I'm getting uncomfortable answering these questions, "Uhh, I don't know if I should be telling you this; his family is pretty private. I'm sure they wouldn't like to see a report about them in the newspaper,"

She gives a warm smile, "I... I understand."

"You could always ask them yourselves; they live like five minutes away, I don't think they would mind, I don't know though." I stand a little taller "You should go see,"

"Maybe I will, though us reporters like to have anonymous sources...it makes the story more scandalous," she says,

I smile and then turn around. What is it with small towns and scandal? Can't we just be a wholesome town?

"Could you just-" she pauses. I turn back around. "Is he okay? The boy?"

"Uhm, he's alive. Him being okay is a different story. I don't think someone can just go back to being 'okay' after something like that," I state.

She nods and then says, "Well, I hope he gets back to being 'okay'" she reaches into her pocket, pulls out a fifty-dollar bill, and then hands it to me.

"You only had coffee," I inform her.

"I know; whatever is left is your tip," she smiles and then heads for the door.

"Hey, I never got your name!" I shout before she leaves.

She holds the door open and then looks back, "Ivy Parker,"

...

"Ughhhh," I groan into my pillow as my head sinks into it. My feet are killing me, and my back hurts. Who knew bussing tables all day could be painful. I've been on my feet way too much, walking to school, walking around school, walking to the diner, walking back home. I wouldn't be surprised if my feet fell off.

"Awwww," mother bursts into my room and over to my bed. Thank god I changed back into my school's clothes before leaving the diner. "Someone looks tired," she says.

"I am," I say with my head still sunk into the pillow.

"Just to think in six months, you'll be finished with school,"

There's a sort of emptiness that comes over me with her comment, I should be excited, but I'm not. Of course, I'm looking forward to finishing high school, but after.

What's after?

I know what I want to happen, but who's to say it will?

My life isn't up to me; if it isn't my destiny, then fate won't allow it to happen.

I slowly turn around onto my back. "Mom,"

"Yes,"

"Did you know about dad paying the dean at NYU?" I ask. I've wanted to ask her this for a while now, but I've been scared to hear her answer. I don't think I could take both of my parents doing this to me.

If I hated them both, I would have no one.

She leans her head to the side, "Oh sweetie, of course not,"

I sigh with relief, "I would have never agreed to that," she says passionately.

"How did he find out?" I've been too angry at my dad to even ask him how he knew.

"Your notebook, you left it in the car one day he being Marcus looked, and he saw what you wrote, about the interview,"

Something told me not to leave it in the glove compartment.

"He didn't even tell me about it until after he paid the man at NYU, and after we had come back from New York," she elaborates.

"He knew the whole time while we were in New York? So when I told him about Ryder and me going out, he knew?"

"He did, I didn't," she says. "When we got back home, he finally came clean to me. I told him to come clean to you immediately because if you found out, your relationship would be destroyed; he didn't listen, of course," she almost laughs, "He thought you would hate him if you found out,"

The irony.

"Jayda, I'm not in no way defending your father for what he did, but he did it because he thought what he was doing was right," she says. "He honestly thought he was doing what was best for you,"

There's no need to go against what she is saying; I absolutely believe he did it because he thought he was doing what was best for me. "He still did it, though, and I'll never forgive him,"

She's disappointed at my words, I can tell, but she doesn't say anything more about it, "Dinner will be ready in about another hour," she stands up and walks out of my room.

...

"I have so much to do this weekend," my mother sighs.

My father looks up from his phone. "Like?"

"Well, I have to meet with the caters and the decorators. Not to mention send out everyone's invites,"

"Christmas is supposed to be an intimate family thing; why are we inviting the whole freaking world?" I groan.

"Jayda," my mother eyes, scorning me with her eyes.

I correct myself. "I mean the whole world,"

"We aren't inviting the whole world," my father says. "Just the people at her firm and some of the people from my dealerships,"

I look at him but don't respond. I hate Christmas, especially Christmas here. Every year they have a Christmas party, the house gets filled with people I have never seen before. When I was younger I sorta liked the parties, I liked the food and of course, the gifts, as I got older though everything changed.

I no longer like putting on the fancy puffy dress and the tiara, pretending like I was a princess, that the house was my kingdom and that everyone here was the commoners.

It eventually painfully hurt me to put on a huge 'fake' smile, a pretty dress, and walk downstairs pretending like everything was perfect. My parents showed me off like I was the ideal child, the 'it child' meaning the child everyone dreams of having. The ivy league college-bound, straight-A student who does nothing but gets good grades and focuses on her future.

Everyone thought I was the perfect child, the dream daughter. My parents did. Little did they know hours earlier before their grand party, I was either cutting, smoking weed, or taking something I shouldn't have been while hanging out with the 'low class' people they despise.

"Oh, and Jayda invite Caleb," my father instructs.

Caleb. The only 'low class' person they seem to approve of. "Why?" I question, I don't want him to come, especially after what happened at the dinner with the Washingtons.

He responds, "He's dating you; he needs to get accustomed to our lifestyle,"

My mother places her hand on her forehead, slightly shaking her head in embarrassment. I scrunch my face and open my mouth, getting ready to tell him how what he said was rude and arrogant, not to mention just insensitive, but before I can, the doorbell rings. "I'll get it," I say, sliding my chair back and getting up from the table.

As I walk away, my mother whispers low, "Really, Marcus?"

In reply, he says, "What did I say?"

I huff and then unlock the door to open it. My eyes go wide when I see who it is, and a huge smile grows on my face and on his seeing me. "Grandpa,"