The shift started too smooth, and that's how everyone knew it wouldn't last.
Debbie was already at the dish station by 8:59 a.m., gloves on, water running, humming an old tune that no one recognized. She wasn't smiling, but she wasn't scowling either.
Sasha clocked in and avoided eye contact, walking straight to the front.
Luis watched them both from the kitchen line, spatula in hand, eyes darting between the two like a referee before the first whistle.
By 9:30 a.m., orders came in fast.
Eggs. Toast. Coffee refills.
Sasha floated through her tables, efficient and robotic, taking mental notes: smile, speak clearly, no attitude, no mistakes. Not today.
At 10:15 a.m., she returned to the kitchen to drop off her first big load of plates — and the dish drop was empty.
Debbie had cleared it all, spotless, waiting.
Sasha blinked.
Debbie glanced at her but said nothing, just turned and kept scrubbing.
Luis raised an eyebrow. "Okay, what's happening?"
Sasha shook her head. "I don't trust it."
By 11:00 a.m., tension filled the air like steam.
Debbie worked twice as hard, clearing every dish the second it dropped.
Sasha checked every order twice, refilled drinks before customers asked, even smiled at Luis's terrible jokes.
No one spoke of the elephant in the room — Carla's promise.
"One of you won't finish the shift."
At noon, the restaurant filled up fast — the lunch crowd in full force.
A large party arrived — ten people. Sasha was assigned to them.
She moved quickly, taking orders, sending them in, balancing trays like a machine.
But the kitchen was behind — and plates started to back up.
Sasha rushed in, her voice rising. "Where's my table twelve order?"
Luis shouted, "Waiting on clean plates!"
She spun to the dish station — and Debbie was gone.