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( 002 ━ FIVE STAR SERVICE )

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"YOU'RE LATE."

Before the diner door had even slammed shut behind her, Murphy was met with a callous glare and an apron being shoved in her face. The bell attached the door frame tinkled cheerily, but Cal Sutherland's expression was anything but. Tall and solidly built, with a jaw that looked like it could cut glass, Cal wore his anger like a second skin. He had a thick Southern drawl, a gruff voice voice, and his eyes—sharp and cold, even on a good day—bore into Murphy as if to demand an apology before she even had the chance to offer one.
She tried to smile, but her boss's stare was steely, and the corner of her lips drooped into a frown that matched his. Mockingly, of course. She was gearing up for a lecture when Cal's scowl deepened, but then his gaze seemed to gloss over her black eye, and he merely thrusted the fistful of material into her palm.

"You're late," he repeated, turning away before she could argue. "An hour and 15 minutes late."

Murphy rolled her eyes, putting the apron over her head and tying the strings around her waist. "Yes, I know. And I am so sorry," she apologized. She tried to be sincere, but somehow it came out snarky. Shocking. "There was a lot of traffic."

Cal grunted, his form of acknowledgement. "Yeah. Right."

Murphy followed him from the door, past a row of customers at the diner counter and sitting in booths against the window. It wasn't as busy as she expected, but it hadn't quite hit the lunch rush yet. At that time, the workers from the surrounding docks, tourists on breaks from their sea charters, and just about anyone else in between, came to Cal's for lunch. Or more specifically, Irma's. It was located on the mainland, the halfway point between the Cut and Figure 8, so people from all over the island came to eat—at least those able to appreciate it. Murphy couldn't name many Kooks that frequently came through those doors. Most patrons were middle class workers or Pogues in search of a discounted meal.

However, with Hurricane Agatha on the way, she didn't expect that anyone other than the hardcore locals to show up for lunch. That meant, hopefully, it would be a slower afternoon.

"I actually am sorry, if I means anything," Murphy said, leaning against the counter as Cal walked behind to grab a pot of fresh coffee. He filled up the mugs of the customers closest to him, before handing the pot to Murphy. She took it, but set it down in front of herself instead. "It was an accident."

Cal snorted scornfully, glancing at her with raised eyebrows. "If that's true, then this will be the third 'accident' this week. You don't start showin', then I start dockin' your pay."

Behind them, the bell jingled once more, signifying new customers. JJ and John B., unsurprisingly. They walked in, looking sun-beat and a little sweaty—Murphy had abandoned them in her haste to get inside, and left them to tie up the boat in the dockyard. Cal glimpsed them from over her shoulder and stifled a groan, as if their arrival signified impending doom.

"And you brought company. Great," he commented, making sure both boys were within earshot. He pointed to JJ accusingly, eyes narrowed. "Ain't I tell you last time you ain't welcome here no more?"

JJ shot Cal a sunny smile as he took a seat at the counter beside Murphy. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

Cal opened his mouth, possibly to chew JJ out, but Murphy was quicker and put a hand out to interrupt him. "They won't be any trouble this time. Will you?" She asked, looking between the boys on either side of her. They both shook their heads vehemently, and Murphy had to hold back a slight smile. "See?"

"Mhmm," Cal replied, sounding unconvinced, but as he wiped his hands on a towel and glanced over them again, he seemed to resign. "Fine. As long as they pay. I've had enough of this 'free' bullshit."

"Yes, sir."

Ignoring the sarcasm, he pushed the coffee pot into her hands. "Get back to work, Murph. James and Ethel are waitin' on their coffee and Table 7 ain't gonna clean itself."

Murphy gave him a mock salute and with a roll of his eyes, her boss finally walked away, leaving the three teenagers at the counter by themselves. Once he was gone, the look dropped from her face and she couldn't help but also roll her eyes; she liked Cal, but he could be a hard ass. JJ nudged Murphy lightly with his elbow, snickering under his breath.

"Yeah, Murph, get back to work," he teased, deepening his voice in an attempt to sound like Cal. He held out an empty cup, expectantly awaiting a fill up from her.

Murphy made a face. "Piss off, JJ." she replied, purposely skipping over his mug to fill up John B.'s, much to JJ's disappointment. "Now order something before Cal blows a fuse."

JJ picked up a menu and pretended to peruse it, glancing at her over the top. "I seem to remember being promised a milkshake."

Murphy scoffed a laugh and turned away to help another customer. "I never 'promised' anything. I said you might get a shake. Emphasis on might," she threw over her shoulder. She left the counter to actually begin working, before Cal could come back and throw another fit.

Murphy had been working at Cal's diner for almost a year and a half, and for what it was worth, she liked it. It was kind of run down, the diner, but she preferred to say it had charm. The walls and floors, painted sea-foam green and laid with checkered tiles respectively, were worn from use from the many people that came it and out of the doors. There was a long row of stools beneath the front counter and booths pressed up against the windows, where customers could sit while they ate. Murphy's favorite part was the view. The diner was on the harbor, so she spent half of her day looking out through the windows that faced the ocean and smelling the salt in the air every time a customer entered. It gave her some kind of a push through the rest of her shifts.

Time passed differently when she was working at Irma's, some days quicker than others, depending on the rush or there lack of. Usually, Murphy's shifts went by quickly because she enjoyed the work (or because she never had a moment to herself to complain), and that day was no different. Nearly an hour and a half had passed before she realized, having been working off of autopilot and the need for a few well-deserved tips. Her feet ached already and her stomach growled from the lack of food that morning, among other hangover-related problems. She stopped behind the counter to take a breath, bracing herself against the coffee machine while she took a glance around the diner. JJ and John B. had vacated the counter and now occupied space in a booth in the far corner, and Cal was in the back somewhere, probably taking a smoke break away from all the costumers. He often did so right before the lunch or dinner rush began, and he would return with the acrid scent of cigarette smoke clinging to his clothes. He would smell like that for hours afterwards, but Murphy didn't mind. It was oddly comforting, in a way. She was actually glad for his smoking habits, because once or twice a shift, it gave her a chance to relax without worrying who was breathing down her neck.

Murphy was about to check her phone when the bell above the doorway chimed again. She heaved a sigh and begrudgingly began to make a fresh pot of coffee, but when she turned back to the door, she wished she hadn't bothered. In had walked in a group of three or four boys who looked very much out of place among the local dock workers and shopkeepers. They were unmistakably Kooks; rich kids from the north side of Kildare Island, Figure 8. They sauntered into the diner with their perfectly tousled hair and their designer clothes—brand names that probably cost more than Murphy's entire paycheck—looking like they belonged in a beach ad rather than a diner in the middle of nowhere. They were all stuck up, spoiled snobs with nothing better to do than torment people below their pay grade. Murphy knew because she used to be one. And there was no way in hell she would be serving them.

As discreetly as she could, she tried to put the pot back at the coffee station and sneak into the back before any of them could notice her. But it wasn't the Kooks she had to worry about.

"Murphy!"

At the sound of her name, shouted no less, Murphy grimaced, but stopped in her tracks. She turned around to face Cal as he came marching out from the kitchen, looking just as irritated as he always did. He smelled like cigarette smoke like she'd expected. Murphy sighed, annoyed, and put her hands on her hips as he approached.

"Yeah?" She asked, brow raised.

Cal gave her a look as if to say knock off the attitude, before gesturing to the new customers. If you could call them that. "Ain't you see you got a table?"

"No," Murphy deadpanned. She was trying her hardest to keep the sarcasm out of her voice, but was failing miserably. Sincerity wasn't her strong suit. "I didn't, actually."

"Girl, you are a pain in my ass," Cal grumbled. He stepped back, grabbed a stack of menus off the counter, and slapped them into her hand. "Now you got one. Do your job and go serve them."

Murphy's lips pulled into an unavoidable scowl and before she could help herself, she said: "Absolutely not."

"Excuse me?"

Cal's tone was harsh and Murphy began to rethink her attitude. She had learned to not let his behavior scare her, but as much as she hated to admit it, she did respect Cal. "I don't want to. Please," she replied, her tone far more even. Still, she was holding her ground.

"And why not?" Cal demanded. His voice still held his frustration, but he was cooling off.

"Because," she said, lowering her voice slightly.  "They're Kooks."

She didn't expect him to agree, but she thought he might understand her plight. He knew where she came from, thus knew the problems that she had gone through after she'd moved to the south side. Murphy was optimistic that he would take her side.

Unfortunately, Cal did not take her side. "So?"

Murphy heaved an exasperated groan. "Just look at them, Cal," she told him, impatiently gesturing to the group of boys, who had slid into a booth and were throwing balled up straw wrappers and sugar packets at each other. "They have no respect for anyone or anything."

Cal snorted. "Course they don't," he replied. "Most my costumers ain't got any manners. Neither do my staff, apparently."

He eyed her up and down with a raised eyebrow, and Murphy bristled under his gaze.

"Seriously?" she said, trying to keep the frustration out of her voice, but failing. "C'mon, Cal—why can't you just kick them out?"

Cal rolled his eyes, looking as if he was becoming fed up with the conversation. He leaned against the counter with one hand and glanced at her expectantly. "You know why. They're payin' customers," he said.

"Yeah, right," Murphy scoffed. She folded her arms over her chest, knowing that she wasn't likely to win this battle. "You know, not everything is about money, right?"

That made Cal laugh. It was a foreign sound on Murphy's ears, as she didn't hear him laugh often. "Darlin', you wouldn't be here if that was true. Now get a grip, get a pot, and get movin'. I ain't gonna tell you again."

He left her standing at the counter feeling defeated and wishing that she was anywhere else but there. She hesitated, glancing over to where JJ and John B. sat on the opposite side of the diner, then back to the group of Kooks, who were still roughhousing in the booths. Finally, when Cal made a shooing motion out of the corner of her eye, she stuffed the menus in her apron pocket begrudgingly, grabbed a pot of coffee, and walked to the break in the counter to reach the table.

Before she could greet them, of the boys at the front of the group, a tall guy with sun-kissed skin and an arrogant smile, intercepted her and walked straight up to the counter without looking at anyone else. His name was Cade—Murphy remembered him from high school. He was an asshole then, and was probably still an asshole now; he just had that look about him, the one that screamed privilege without saying a word. Behind him, the others waited in the booth, their laughter loud enough to make her wince. They weren't quiet or subtle. Never were. It was as though they enjoyed being noticed, thrived on it. The way they carried themselves, like they owned the place, made Murphy want to roll her eyes, but she held back.

"Hey," Cade greeted her, leaning on the counter with a smirk, his sunglasses perched atop his head like they were glued there. "Coffee, black. You got any of those pastries the locals make? The ones with the fruit?"

She gave him a tight smile, then reached for an empty mug, pouring it without meeting his gaze. He clearly didn't remember her, but took that as a blessing in disguise.

"You mean the muffins?" she asked, fighting the urge to ask if he actually knew what a local was. It was clear from his tone that he didn't.

"Right, those," he answered with a lazy nod, as if he could hardly care less. His friends were already bickering about something, probably where to party that night, and Murphy half expected them to start a fight over who got the last donut.

She didn't have time for their entitled act, but unfortunately, she had to serve them anyway, much to her own chagrin. It wasn't like they deserved anything the diner had to offer. They couldn't possibly appreciate it the same way people did around here—Murphy certainly hadn't until she had started working at Irma's. It seemed implausible that Cade, or the rest of his buddies were likely to learn that same lesson any time soon. Kooks weren't raised with gratitude in mind. Murphy, already over it, adjusted her apron and turned to grab the pastries.

"Anything else?" she asked flatly, keeping her voice professional despite the irritation simmering under the surface.

Cade only shrugged and leaned back against the counter. "Yeah. You got a minute, or are you too busy serving the rest of these... whatever they are?" He gestured vaguely at the rest of the diner, confirming her suspicion that the word "local" or "compassion" were missing from his vocabulary.

Murphy could feel her blood pressure rise, but she just kept her expression even and reached for the glass case where the desserts were. "You want the muffins or not?" She wasn't interested in whatever attention he thought he was giving her.

Cade's smirk faltered just for a second, but then he leaned in a little closer, undeterred. "Sure, sure. You can bring them over. And, hey, we're gonna need a lot more coffee. Like, a lot more. You cool with that?"

She grimaced internally, gritting her teeth but forcing herself to a fake smile to cover her discomfort. "Sure. I'll bring that right out," she replied.

That seemed to satisfy Cade because he smiled proudly, like he was God's gift to earth having done another good deed, and winked in Murphy's direction. Gross. She kept the same, half-baked smile on her face until, finally, he left the counter, and only then did she let the vapid expression wipe from her face. Murphy was both relieved, and irritated. It just furthered her point that these boys would chase anything with a pulse. Didn't matter if she was a Pogue, a Kook, or even a waitress—they were content thinking they could win over any girl on the isle with a smile alone. Murphy rolled her eyes as she fixed up Cade's order. She definitely would not catch herself fawning over anyone anytime soon, much less any of these boys.

Balancing a tray of muffins, coffee, and a stack of menus, Murphy reluctantly walked over to the table of boys and deposited the food in front of them. She tried to avoid direct eye contact, with Cade especially, as she filled up their mugs and cradled the half-empty pot in her open hand. She fished a pen and pad of paper out of her apron pocket, flipped it open, and looked between the three of them expectantly.

"What can I get you?" She asked. She kept her tone flat and disinterested, silently praying that this interaction would end quickly.

Cade pretended to peruse the menu, taking his slow, sweet time looking at each item, even flipping over the laminated sheet more than once despite the limited choices. The coffee pot grew heavy in Murphy's grasp and she switched it impatiently from hand to hand, her arms growing weary and tired, just as much as she was.

"You gonna order or should I come back?" She asked, hoping it was the latter. A couple of the other boys snickered just as Cade set down his menu.

"I just don't know what to get," He said with a heavy sigh. Murphy could tell he was playing this up; it probably worked on a lot of girls on the north side, but she wasn't one of them.

She pocketed her pen and paper, before putting her free hand on her hip to fix Cade with a cold stare. "Tough choice, I know. So, why don't I give you boys a few minutes," she said to them, already turning to leave before she had finished speaking.

However, she didn't get far. As she was stepping away, Cade reached out and grabbed her by the wrist, and before she had a chance to react or try to twist her arm out of his grip, he was all but yanking her back to the table. Coffee dribbled over the side of the pot, burning her hands and dripping on the floor. Murphy swore under her breath, angry, but Cade didn't seem to notice.

"Now just hold on a second. You didn't even give us your recommendations," He said, putting down his menu to look at her expectantly. His shit-eating grin was nothing less than repulsive. "Not very hospitable if you ask me."

Murphy forced a sickly sweet smile, her teeth flashing in a tight grimace. "We have bacon, eggs, and pancakes. Take your pick," she replied.

Her gaze flickered periodically between his face and her wrist, which was still caught in his hold. She hated that he was even remotely touching her, but to make matters worse, he began trailing his thumb back and forth against her skin. Murphy wanted to gag. Even better, she wanted to punch him in his stupid Kook face, but she held back. Cal would fire her for sure if she hit another customer.

Much to her annoyance, Cade started to speak again. "You're right, that is a tough choice," he said, and by the look in his eyes, Murphy got the sense that he wasn't actually pondering those options. "But you know what I would really love?"

No, I don't want to know, she thought. Instead, she settled for a forced: "What?"

Cade smiled again, his eyes glinting, and pulled her in closer by the wrist. His breath was warm against her face, but not in a good way. He smelled like overpriced cologne, like what her dad used to wear, and weed, which they had likely been smoking just before they'd come into the diner. Murphy recoiled out of habit and for some perverse reason, it made his friends laugh.

"Your number," Cade said, or rather demanded. There was nothing about his tone that could suggest he was asking. "Give me your number."

Murphy's lips pulled back into a sneer, ready to tell him off, but a voice from behind beat her to it.

"Careful, Coleman. That one bites."

The voice was all too familiar and Murphy couldn't suppress the groan that passed her lips before she turned around. Behind her was Topper Thornton, perhaps one of the biggest pricks to ever walk out of Figure 8. Bleach blond and ridiculously tan, Topper stood mighty tall for someone who didn't clear her by more than a few inches. He'd always been like that; strutting around like like he owned the place. He was considered "the king" of the Kooks, at least by the youth's standards, but Murphy had always wholeheartedly believed that Topper was the epitome of "money can't buy class". Behind him was Rafe Cameron. Taller than his friend and far more menacing, Rafe was another one of Kildare Island's more prominent Kooks. He was like the "prince" to Topper's "king", and like Topper, Rafe was a fucking asshole. But whereas Topper was all bark and no bite, Rafe was just plain unpredictable. Murphy knew him to be the type to get into fights just for the hell of it, unless, of course, he was off getting high on crack using his parents money. Ward Cameron, Rafe's father, was a big-shot land developer on the island, so perhaps that made him feel untouchable. Murphy should have found it surprising when he sidled up beside Topper and didn't say a word, but she wasn't. She had grown used to the silent treatment, especially from people like him, who only saw her as a reminder of something they'd rather forget. The whole diner seemed to darken with their presence, like the sun had run for cover behind the clouds.

"I thought I smelled something," Murphy muttered, though she made sure her comment was loud enough for both boys to hear. "Guess it's not the weed after all."

At the sight of her face and her blackened eye, Topper started to laugh, almost as if he couldn't believe what he was seeing. Rafe stayed quiet.

"Seriously, Coleman—you're hitting on this?" He said to Cade, who had released Murphy's arm when the pair had walked him. Cade's expression morphed, turning shameful and almost disgusted, as if Topper was pointing out something he was just now realizing.

Murphy rolled her eyes.

"Jealous much, Topper? Didn't peg you for a cock-block."

That was enough to wipe the smirk off of Topper's face. It gave Murphy a moment's satisfaction, to see his arrogant expression falter, even if only momentarily. She didn't expect him to back down by any means—if anything, she expected him to do the exact opposite. His chest would puff and his nostrils would flare like an angry bull, but that's how she knew she was winning. Getting under people's skin was a talent Murphy prided herself in. And she knew for a fact if she had to suffer in Topper Thornton's presence, then she would take him down a peg.

Topper scowled in her direction, clearly detesting the back-talk he was receiving; Kooks weren't told off very often. "Careful, Murph, you don't have daddy's money to protect you anymore," he spat out.

It was a low blow and it stung, but she refused to show it. She leaned again the table with one hand, brows raised. "Yeah, and? At least I don't hide behind my trust fund, unlike some people, Topper."

Topper's eyes narrowed. "You think you're so clever, don't you?" He sneered.

Murphy bit her lip, stifling a snide smile. "Someone has to be. And it sure as hell ain't you."

Behind her, an involuntary laugh slipped out of Cade's mouth, filling her with pride. Topper looked nothing short of embarrassed. He silenced Cade with a steely glare that looked like it could freeze fire. Murphy didn't hear anymore laughing.

"Well, as fun as this has been, you can all go screw yourselves and find yourselves a new waitress. Because it ain't gonna be me," she said, already beginning to walk away from the table, coffee pot in hand. However, Topper sidestepped and blocked her path.

"Um, no. You are going to serve us."

Murphy's nose scrunched up in contempt and she snorted derisively. "Um, no," she said, mocking his tone of voice. "I'm fucking not."

Topper's arrogant smirk returned and he stepped closer. "You're the waitress, remember? That's your job. So, serve us."

"Fuck, no. Now get the hell away from me."

Rafe finally spoke up, sounding irritated. "Murphy, just do it."

She threw him a nasty look over Topper's shoulder, a scowl pulling at her lips as his audacity. "Shut your damn mouth, Rafe," she snapped "You don't get to tell me what to do anymore. Not now, not ever."

Topper took a menacing step forward, closing Murphy in against the table. Although she had just hurled an insult at him, Murphy found herself looking to Rafe, as if he might actually help her. It was a futile attempt, but Cal was no where to be seen—likely out on another smoke break or helping in the back—and her view of JJ and John B. was eclipsed by the pair of Kooks in front of her. Her fingers tightened around the handle of the coffee pot as Topper leaned in.

"You're a joke, Murphy. Always have been, always will be. You're just a broken-down Kook wannabe who doesn't know her place anymore. Trash with a pretty face," he hissed. He eyed the remnants of her black eye, as if it was some mark to prove his point.

The insult crawled under Murphy's skin and burrowed there, but her face remained resolute, taking the brunt of the abuse. She was chest to chest with him now, her face inches from his. She set her jaw, her gaze unwavering, but her voice trembling. "You need to leave. Now."

Topper grinned, as if the waver in her voice portrayed fear and not the anger burning in the pit in her stomach. Her hands shook and the coffee sloshed around inside the pot, threatening to dribble over the brim.

"Soon, no one's gonna want you around. Not even those stupid Pogue friends of yours. Why would they? You can't even keep your own family together. Just look at you."

Murphy's breath caught in her chest, the words landing heavier than she wanted them to. She had felt this sting before, and it had ultimately ended with her family's name being drug through the mud of Kildare Island. She knew exactly where Topper was aiming, and she would be damned if she let him continue.

Without thinking, she gripped the handle of the coffee pot with renewed calculation, and with all of her strength, she threw the burning liquid all over Topper Thornton's shirt.

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