Ever had a moment where your past walks right back into your life, unannounced? One minute, I’m wiping tables at my restaurant—the place that’s become my sanctuary—and the next, I’m face-to-face with the girl who turned my high school years into a battlefield.
Imagine this: it’s a small, cozy spot where regulars know your name, favorite drink, and probably half your life story. Today, I’m pitching in with the cleaning because Beth, one of our waitresses, had a fainting spell earlier. She’s glowing with pregnancy but still needs some rest, so we’re all chipping in. We’re a close-knit crew, practically family; when one of us needs a hand, the rest of us just step in without a second thought.
I’m scrubbing a table in the back, lost in my own rhythm, when I hear it—laughter that takes me back to high school in an instant. My stomach tightens, and before I even look up, I know who it is.
It’s Heather.
Heather Parker: queen bee, ruler of the social scene, and my personal high school tormentor. She struts into the restaurant like she owns the place, her laughter ringing out, flanked by her loyal entourage, Hannah and Melissa. It’s like no time has passed. Back in school, they mocked everything about me—my clothes, my dreams, even my voice when I talked about leaving town someday.
Caught in the headlights, I freeze. They haven’t noticed me yet, but I can feel that familiar sting, the sneers that used to cut through me without a word.
“Hey, isn’t that…?” Heather’s voice trails off as she scans the room.
Don’t look this way. Don’t see me.
Of course, she does.
A smirk stretches across her face, that same cruel smile she wore every time she made my life miserable. “Well, well, well. Look who it is—still wiping tables, huh? Guess that’s all you ever amounted to.” Her voice cuts through the room, loud and unapologetic. Her friends burst into laughter, savoring every cruel syllable.
I feel my face flush, but I keep scrubbing, trying to ignore them. I’m not that girl from high school anymore.
Heather sneers, “Is this what you dreamed of? Cleaning tables for people who actually made something of themselves?” She snaps her fingers at me like I’m some stray dog. “Hey, waitress! Do you think you can manage to get us some water? Or is that too advanced for you?”
My heart pounds, anger rising, but before I can say a word, I hear familiar footsteps behind me.
It’s Jack, the sous-chef, arms crossed, eyes narrowed. “You don’t talk to her like that,” he says, his voice calm but with an edge that could cut glass. He steps up beside me, a solid wall of support.
Behind him, Maria, our head chef, wipes her hands on her apron, joining us with a look that says she’s ready to throw them out herself. “If you have a problem, you can leave,” she says firmly. “We don’t tolerate disrespect here.”
Heather scoffs, flipping her hair. “Oh, please. Isn’t it a little sad? Who even cleans tables these days? She’s hit rock bottom, and you’re all defending her?”
Jack doesn’t flinch. “She works harder in a day than you ever will in your life,” he replies, stepping closer. “Now, do you want that water or are you done embarrassing yourself?”
One by one, the team rallies around me—Sarah, our bartender, steps forward, eyes locked on Heather. “We don’t need people with ugly attitudes ruining our day,” she says, calm but resolute.
Heather rolls her eyes, sighing dramatically. “We’ll just speak to your manager,” she sneers, as if she’s about to pull a trump card.
That’s when I decide I’ve had enough.
I step forward, wipe my hands on the towel over my shoulder, and meet Heather’s gaze head-on. “You already have,” I say, my voice steady.
Heather’s smug expression falters, her brow furrowing. “What?”
“I’m the manager here,” I reply, letting the words sink in. “Actually, I own the place.”
For the first time, Heather is speechless. Her smirk vanishes as reality hits her. The air around us goes still, and then, my team erupts. Cheers, claps, even a few whoops echo through the room as my staff celebrates, loud and proud. Jack slaps me on the back, Maria lets out a victorious shout, and Sarah pumps her fist.
Heather’s face turns beet red as she looks around, searching for an escape. Her friends shrink back, their smugness melting away.
Jack grins, throwing an arm around me. “You’re looking at the best boss any of us have had,” he says. “She’s out here cleaning tables because she cares about us. She could’ve left Beth hanging, but that’s not who she is.”
Sarah steps in, her arms crossed. “Maybe it’s time you left,” she says, her voice firm. “We don’t need people with nasty attitudes ruining our day.”
Heather stammers, “I… I didn’t mean anything by it,” her bravado crumbling as she realizes it’s over.
I take a step closer, my tone calm and steady. “Heather, it’s okay. But maybe next time, think before you speak.”
She stares at me, eyes wide, truly at a loss. For once, Heather Parker has nothing left to say.
They gather their things, and without another word, scurry out. The bell above the door jingles as they leave, the air suddenly lighter, a weight lifted.
Jack gives me a wink. “Now that’s what I call instant karma.”
I laugh, pride swelling. Years ago, I’d have given anything to escape people like Heather. Now, here I am, standing in a place that’s mine, surrounded by people who respect me.
“Karma,” I say, smiling, “served with a side of justice.”
