Beneath the Surface

Chapter Three

Chapter Three

Naya

I’m running late again. It feels like this has become my routine—waking up early, rushing to get ready for class, then heading straight to work. The rest of the day is a blur of studying and working part-time jobs. It’s exhausting, but it’s the only way I can make ends meet.

At school, it’s hard to stay invisible. The whispers, the giggles, the insults—they follow me wherever I go. I’m the girl who’s always picked last, always the subject of some joke, and I’m tired of it. But what choice do I have? I can’t change the way I look, and I can’t change their opinions. I can only keep my head down and push through.

I’m not a failure, though. I know that much. Despite everything, I work hard. Really hard. I’ve got two part-time jobs on top of my studies, and I still manage to keep my grades up. It’s tough—really tough—but I keep pushing. There’s no room for excuses, no time for self-pity. I have to prove everyone wrong. I can’t let them win.

Today’s shift is at the café. I clock in and head straight to the back to change into my apron. My manager, Sharon, gives me a quick smile but doesn’t say much. She’s a nice enough woman, but she’s always so stressed, always running around like she’s got a hundred things on her plate. I don’t blame her. Working here isn’t easy.

I get to work, taking orders, making drinks, serving customers with a smile. Most people here don’t pay attention to me, which I prefer. Some of the regulars are nice, but there’s always that one person who seems to be looking for a reason to make my day harder.

I was at the counter when I heard the bell above the door jingle. I didn’t look up immediately, but I know someone had entered. The sound of footsteps approaching the counter tells me that I’m about to serve another customer.

When I finally looked up, I froze.

It’s just another guy.

I know nothing about him, but he looks like one of those typical, good-looking guys who probably doesn’t pay attention to someone like me. He’s tall, well-built, wearing a leather jacket and a confident smirk. His presence fills the space, and for a second, I can’t remember if I’ve seen him around before. But then again, I’m not one to keep track of people like him. He’s probably some rich kid, hanging out with his friends.

“Can I get a coffee?” he asks, his voice smooth, like he’s been ordering the same thing for years.

“Sure,” I replied, trying to keep my composure. “What kind of coffee?”

“Black, please,” he says.

I nodded and turned to the coffee machine, trying to ignore the nervous flutter in my stomach. It’s not like he’s anyone important. I mean, he’s just another customer. But there’s something about the way he holds himself that makes me feel like I’m under a microscope.

As I pour the coffee, I can feel my hands shaking. The machine hisses and steams, but it doesn’t seem to be enough to mask the feeling in my chest. I tell myself to calm down. I can do this.

But then, my hand slips.

The cup tilts, and the hot coffee splashes over the counter, spilling directly onto his lap.

Time seemed to stop for a second. I froze, my eyes widening in horror. The coffee burns, the steam rising in the air.

“Oh my God!” I gasped. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to—”

He jumps up, the coffee soaking through his pants. His face hardened, and for a second, I thought I might be in real trouble.

“Are you serious?” he spits, his voice cold. He wipes at the coffee on his pants, looking at me like I’ve just ruined his day.

“I’m so sorry! I—I’ll make you another one. Please, let me make it right,” I stammered, trying to mop up the mess with napkins.

The girl sitting with him, who I hadn’t noticed before, shoots me a glare, her lips curling into a frown. She looks more annoyed than concerned, and that just makes the situation worse.

The guy takes a step back, clearly frustrated. “You’d better fix this,” he mutters. “I’m not going to forget this.”

Before I could say another word, he turned, dragging the girl along with him. They leave in a huff, and I stand there, my heart pounding in my chest. I can feel the eyes of the other customers on me, their judgment heavy in the air.

I don’t know why I’m so shaken up. It’s just another mistake. I’ve made a thousand of them before. But this one feel different. I can’t shake the feeling that I’ve made a fool of myself in front of someone important. Someone who probably doesn’t care about me.

Just as I’m trying to collect myself, Sharon appears, her expression tight with concern. She’s not angry, but I can see the concern in her eyes, and I know what’s coming.

“Come with me, Naya,” she says softly, her voice low.

I followed her to the back office, each step heavier than the last. Sharon sits behind her desk, folding her arms across her chest as she looks at me, her eyes tired.

“Naya, I don’t know what to say to you,” she began, her voice softer than usual. “This isn’t the first time we’ve had issues with your performance. I’m sure you didn’t mean to spill coffee on the customer, but this kind of thing can’t keep happening.”

“I—” I started to protest, but she raised her hand, stopping me.

“I understand you’re doing your best, but it’s just not enough anymore. You’ve had too many complaints from customers, and honestly, this is the last straw. I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to let you go.”

The words hit me like a punch in the stomach. I feel the world tilt beneath me. “You… you’re firing me?”

Sharon nods, her face apologetic but firm. “I don’t want to, Naya. I really don’t. But we can’t keep you on if this keeps happening. You need to take some time to figure things out.”

I sit there, stunned, as the weight of her words sinks in. I’ve worked so hard. So hard to get by. But none of it matters. I can’t stop the tears from welling up in my eyes, but I force them back. I can’t break down here, not in front of her.

“I understand,” I whispered, my voice barely above a breath.

Sharon nods again, the finality of the situation hanging heavy in the air. “I wish you all the best, Naya. I really do.”

I stood up, my legs feeling weak, and walked out of the office without another word. My hands are trembling as I gather my things from the staff room. As I exit the café, I feel the cold air on my face, but it doesn’t help to clear the fog in my mind. I’m fired. I have no job now. No way to pay the bills.

I’ve failed again.