Julia

15

The Icing on the Cake

The sun rose and everything fell. Or, at least, Alex’s bookshelf did. On top of her. Sitting up in bed, Alex stared at the scene expanded before her and sighed. Books were sprawled all over her sheets, while the rest of her body was buried beneath the heavy, brown wood. In the corner of the room, Alex’s cat, Marvin, was hissing. A life-long scaredy-cat – no pun intended – Marvin’s fears ranged from the mouse in the pantry, to the kitchen’s smoke detector, which would go off at even the slightest aroma of smoke.
Speaking of smoke, through the ringing in her ears, Alex listened to the sound of her mother preparing breakfast – or, as Alex liked to call it, A Recipe for Disaster.
“Goddammit, you stupid microwave. Why must you heat the bowl and not the food?”
Alex waited. She was certain more drama would come – it always did.
“Where the hell is the cinnamon? Or the nutmeg? Are we seriously out of thyme?” A timer buzzed. “Alexandra! You have exactly ten minutes to get downstairs . . .”
Tuning her out, Alex grabbed a pair of jeans and a long, red shirt and headed for the shower. She turned on the water and hopped in as quickly as she could, because her mother would freak out if she wasn’t downstairs on time. But then the soap decided to play “catch me if you can” and Alex was on the floor for what seemed like an eternity.
“Alexandra!”
“Give me a minute!” Alex screamed. She reached for the shampoo bottle, only to realize that there was none left. Shit! Oh, well, conditioner would have to do. And that’s when she heard a toilet flush downstairs and the water ran ice-cold.
By the time Alex got out of the shower, she felt as though she’d taken a bath in the Arctic Ocean. “Come on, Marvin,” she said, as she was pulling on her clothing. “Ready to face the day?” Carrying Marvin in her arms, Alex exited the bathroom and descended down the staircase, stopping in her tracks when she heard the smoke detector sound overhead. “Mom!” she called, as Marvin took off into the basement. “What did you do this time?”
Her mom stood in the kitchen with a tray of burnt rolls in her hand. “Oops,” she whispered.
Alex sighed. “I’ll warm up the pizza.”

***

By the time Alex got to school, she was ten minutes late for health class. She scurried into the room and slid into her chair, shooting an apologetic look at Mr. Bastion, her teacher. “I’m sorry,” she said.
“You don’t need to sneak in the back door,” Mr. Bastion responded. “It’s not so hard to come on time.” Pursing his lips, he shook his head. “Now, as I was saying; today’s lesson may seem a lot harder beforehand, but once you get started, it’ll ease up.”
Behind Alex, Timothy Jacobs snickered. “Can you say that one more time?” he called.
“Mr. Jacobs, I’m not going to repeat myself. And please spit out your gum.”
Timothy smirked. “But it tastes so good in my mouth,” he whined. “So wet and sticky . . .”
“Mr. Jacobs! Office; now!”
“Yes, Master Bastion,” Timothy said under his breath. With his head held high, he sauntered out of the classroom.
Mr. Bastion sighed. “If no one has any more questions, I’d like to proceed with today’s lesson; the Heimlich Maneuver. Jessica, Kayla; if you’d demonstrate for us.”
Jessica stood behind Kayla and wrapped her arms around her stomach.
“Remember, Jessica,” Mr. Bastion said, “spread your legs, bend over, and keep going until what’s stuck comes out.”
Alex had to fight back a smile. Oh, health class, she thought to herself, as Mr. Bastion was booting up his computer, must you be so hilarious?
As if to prove her point, Mr. Bastion cleared his throat. “I had an example online,” he said, “but since my computer is acting up, I guess I’ll give it to you orally.”
This time, no one even bothered to hold back their laughter.

***

The rest of the school day was fairly uneventful, with the exception of lunch, where Alex had to practice the Heimlich Maneuver on her best friend, Jenny. “Next time,” she’d said, “don’t put all of those M&Ms in your mouth.”
“But it tastes better when you have two in your mouth at the same time,” Jenny had responded. “Thanks, anyway. Even though it sucks, health class can be pretty helpful at times.”
Alex had rolled her eyes. “You have no idea,” she’d said with a laugh.
After school, Alex headed over to her afternoon shift as a waitress at Lord of the Fries. After throwing on her uniform, she hustled to table number two, where a family of three was waiting to order. “Hello,” she said, “I’m Alex and I’ll be your waitress this afternoon. Would you like any beverages?”
“Do you have hot chocolate?” the boy asked.
Alex shook her head. “Not in the summer, we don’t,” she said.
The boy considered this. “How about chocolate milk?”
“We’re all out.”
“Ugh, your restaurants sucks,” he grouched.
“Matthew,” his mother said, “be nice.”
Alex forced a smile. “It’s okay,” she said. “I’ll see what I can do.”
The second adult turned her head to look at Alex. Wait . . . what? She looked exactly like Matthew’s mother – from the freckles on her cheeks, to her deep, brown eyes, to even the ballerina’s bun on top of her head.
Catching Alex’s confusion, Matthew’s mother explained, “this is my twin sister, Mary. I’m Carry, by the way. Our idiot parents thought it’d be cute if our names rhymed.”
“I’m the younger one,” Mary said, “but I’m sure you already knew that.”
Carry nudged Mary. “Well, I’m the evil one,” she said. “One time when Mary was sick, I took her place at school and annoyed the hell out of her teachers. It was a riot.”
“Yeah, your such a twinspiration,” Mary joked.
Alex cleared her throat. “Your orders?” she repeated.
Mary scanned the menu. “I’ll have red wine,” she said.
“Same for me,” Carry responded, “and make sure the glass is clean . . . unlike last time.”
Ignoring her jab, Alex jotted this down. “I’ll be right back,” she promised and hurried away to retrieve their drinks.
“Her shirt is on inside out,” Matthew said a little too loudly when Alex’s back was turned.
“Matthew,” Carry snapped – or was it Mary? – “be nice.”
“Twins, huh,” Alex’s boss, George, said. “Good luck with that.”
Alex smirked. “I don’t need luck,” she said, as she was pouring red wine into a glass. “I got this.”
George’s face paled. “Then look down,” he said.
Alex did. “Shit!” she exclaimed, covering the spilled red wine on the front of her pants. “What am I going to do?”
George tossed her an apron. “Wear this,” he said, “and I’ll turn the temp-on. If you don’t get back to your table, they’ll be asking why ov-you-late?”
“Thanks, George,” Alex said, still incredibly flustered.
“Hey, Alex! Your shirt is on inside out!” George called, but by then, Alex was gone.
By the time Alex returned with the drinks – and her apron – the family was growing impatient. “One lemonade and two red glasses of wine,” she said. “Who ordered the clean cup?”
“Excuse me?” Carry looked mortified.
“I’m kidding.” Embarrassed, Alex quickly distributed the drinks. “Now, what would you like for lunch?”
“I’ll try the bacon burger,” Matthew said first.
“We’re all out of bacon.”
“Girl, don’t go bacon my heart.”
Alex ignored him. “So, a regular hamburger?”
“With lettuce.”
“Mmm-hmm.”
“And ketchup, tomatoes, onions, mozzarella cheese, American cheese, pickles, mayonnaise, avocado, those spicy, green peppers, and olives – green and black.”
“Will that be all?” Alex tried not to sound frustrated.
“Oh, and how about some sauerkraut. That’d be delicious.”
“We’re all out.”
Carry – or Mary – sighed. “I’ll have the pea soup,” she said.
“We’re out of that, too.”
“Bitch, peas. What aren’t you out of?”
“Matthew!”
“What? I was just asking a question.”
“I’ll have a salad, then,” Carry said. “Dressing on the side, please.”
“Macaroni and cheese for me,” Mary piped in.
Carry laughed. “You always were the fat one,” she said.
“That’s pretty ironic, considering we’re identical,” Mary retorted.
Not wanting to get in the middle of an argument, Alex turned to go place the orders . . . and ran right into a waiter carrying a massive birthday cake. Everyone exploded with laughter, except for the birthday boy, who looked as though he was about to cry.
Alex sighed. Talk about the icing on the cake. “I’m so sorry,” she said to no one in particular.
The waiter had his hand over his mouth. “Must I always walk on eggshells around you, Alexandra?” he asked. “This job isn’t exactly a piece of cake.”
George shot Alex a sympathetic look. “Maybe it’d be best if you left early,” he said, wiping frosting from her cheeks. “You seem to be having a pretty crumby day.”
Alex could not agree more. “Thank you,” she whispered, patting George on the shoulder. Forgetting all about the red wine incident, Alex removed her apron.
“Yo! I’ll have a Bloody Mary over here!” someone called.
Standing up from her table, Mary yelled, “menstruation jokes are not funny. Period.”
A steady flow of applause erupted from the tables around Mary, Carry, and Matthew.
“What?” Mary asked. “All I did was ask them to stop ragging on the poor girl.”
Alex had had enough. “I’ll see you later, George,” she said and raced out the door as fast as her wobbling legs would carry her.
Walking home, Alex was exhausted from the long day behind her. When she finally reached her house, 69 Cumming Street, the sound of shattering plates and religious exclamations sounded from inside.
“What is this, freakin’ Tetris? Hasn’t anyone ever heard of paper plates?”
Removing her ear from against the door, she managed a deep sigh and prepared herself for what she’d be faced with inside of her house. Then Alex stared at the door handle and slowly turned the knob.