Have you ever had one of those moments where the past suddenly reappears, uninvited? One minute, I’m wiping down tables at the restaurant I call home, and the next, I’m staring into the eyes of the girl who made my high school years a living nightmare.
So, picture this: I’m just minding my own business, cleaning tables at the cozy restaurant where I work. The kind of place where the smell of freshly brewed coffee hits you before you even step inside. The regulars know your name, your favorite drink, and probably your life story if they stick around long enough.
Today, I’m helping out with extra cleaning because Beth, one of our waitresses, isn’t feeling well. She’s pregnant—glowing and beautiful—but she had a faint spell earlier, so the rest of us are picking up the slack. We’re like family here; when one of us needs help, we don’t hesitate.
I’m scrubbing a table in the back, lost in thought, when I hear it—laughter. Not just any laughter, but the kind that takes you right back to high school. My stomach tightens, and even before I look up, I know. I know exactly who it is.
It’s Heather.
Heather Parker, the queen bee who ruled the high school social scene and made my life hell for four straight years. There she is, strolling into the restaurant with that same confident swagger, her signature laugh echoing through the room, followed by her entourage: Hannah and Melissa.
It’s like nothing’s changed. They used to mock me relentlessly—my clothes, my hair, even my dreams of leaving that town someday.
I freeze, gripping the cloth in my hand, feeling like a deer caught in headlights. They haven’t seen me yet, but I can already feel that familiar burn on the back of my neck—the whispers, the sneers, the looks that cut you down without a word.
“Hey, isn’t that…?” Heather’s voice trails off as she scans the room.
Please, please don’t notice me.
Of course, she does.
Her eyes lock onto mine, and that wicked smile spreads across her face—the same one she wore every time she ruined my day.
“Well, well, well. Look who we have here. Still wiping down tables, huh? Guess that’s all you ever amounted to,” she sneers, loud enough for everyone to hear.
She laughs, a fake sound, but her friends eat it up like it’s the best joke they’ve heard all week. I can feel my face heating up, but I keep scrubbing, trying to ignore them. I’m not the same person I was in high school.
But Heather doesn’t let up. “Is this what you dreamed of back in high school? Cleaning up after people who actually did something with their lives?” Her eyes sweep over me like I’m nothing but trash. Her friends giggle, nudging each other, clearly enjoying the show.
Then she snaps her fingers at me, like I’m some sort of servant. “Hey, waitress! Think you can at least manage to get us some water? Or is that too much for you?”
My heart pounds, and anger surges inside me. But before I can respond, I hear footsteps behind me.
Jack, the sous-chef, steps out from the kitchen, arms crossed and eyes narrowed. “Hey, you don’t talk to her like that,” he says, calm but with an edge that makes even me nervous. He positions himself beside me, a wall of strength, and suddenly, I’m not alone.
Maria, our head chef, joins us, wiping her hands on her apron, her face set in a hard line. “If you’ve got a problem, you can take it elsewhere,” she says. “We don’t tolerate disrespect here.”
Heather rolls her eyes, but there’s a flicker of something—maybe surprise? She scoffs, flipping her hair over her shoulder. “Oh, please. We’re just being honest. Who even cleans tables these days? She’s hit rock bottom, and you’re defending her?”
Jack doesn’t flinch. “She works harder in one day than you ever will in your whole life.” His voice is low, steady. “Now, do you want that water, or are you done embarrassing yourself?”
By now, the rest of the team has gathered around me, their silent support wrapping around me like armor. Sarah, our bartender, steps forward, hands on her hips, eyes fixed on Heather.
“We don’t tolerate that kind of attitude here,” Sarah says, her voice calm but firm. “If you can’t be respectful, you can leave.”
Heather sighs dramatically. “We’ll just speak to your manager,” she says, clearly confident she’s about to win some sort of power play. Her friends nod along, smug looks on their faces.
That’s when I decide I’ve had enough.
I step forward, wiping 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 smirk falters. “What?”
“I’m the manager,” I say, letting the words hang in the air. “Actually, I own the place.”
Her eyes widen, and for the first time, her confidence wavers. The smirk disappears, replaced by something like panic. For once, Heather Parker is at a loss for words.
The room goes quiet for a moment, then erupts in cheers. My team is clapping and hollering like they’ve just won the lottery. Jack slaps me on the back, Maria lets out a shout of triumph, and Sarah is whooping with joy. The sound fills the restaurant, drowning out whatever feeble attempt Heather might have made to save face.
Heather’s face turns crimson, and she stands there, looking for something—anything—to salvage her dignity, but she’s got nothing.
Jack grins. “You’re looking at the best boss we’ve ever had,” he says, throwing an arm around my shoulder. “She’s out here cleaning tables because she cares. She could’ve left us hanging, but that’s not who she is.”
Sarah chimes in, arms crossed. “Maybe it’s time you left. We don’t need ugly attitudes ruining our day.”
Heather, utterly defeated, glances around the room. Her friends shrink back, no longer laughing. “I… I didn’t mean anything by it,” she mutters, but the fight has drained out of her.
I step closer, not to gloat, but to end it. “Heather, it’s okay. But next time, think before you speak.” My voice is calm, steady, without malice.
For the first time, Heather has nothing to say. She and her friends gather their things and leave, the bell above the door jingling as they go. The air feels lighter, like a weight I didn’t even realize I was carrying has lifted.
The room is buzzing, and I can’t stop the smile spreading across my face. Jack winks at me, and Sarah shakes her head with a smirk. “That was something,” she says. “Talk about instant karma.”
I laugh, feeling pride swell inside me. Years ago, I would’ve done anything to avoid people like Heather. But now? Now I’m standing tall, surrounded by people who respect me, in a place that’s mine.
“Karma,” I say, grinning, “served with a side of justice.”