I'm up so late that I am almost late for work. It is really bothering me that I don't know what to make of what happened last night. Jason and I made out, something still all new to me, but pleasing nonetheless. Why'd he do it, though? There really can't be anything interesting or exciting about hanging out with me.

Jason is not at Prescott's Diner again. I brushed it off; he is probably busy with family stuff. But when I asked Haley where he is, she said she does not have the faintest idea why he is not at work today.

When I drift off to sleep in my Dodge during lunch hour, I totally forget the time. I am pulled from my unconsciousness when Haley shakes me awake, giving me a quizzical look.

"Charlie?" She asks, furrowing her eyebrows. I immediately compose myself, running a hand through my hair as an attempt to fix it, and blink hard, trying to fix my blurry, drowsy vision. "Why are you sleeping in your truck?" I blush from head to toe, embarrassment washing over me as I realize how this must look to her.

"What time is it?" I ask groggily, opening my truck door and stepping out onto the pavement. She avoids my question, crossing her arms over her chest. A lump forms in my throat as I desperately try to get around her, but she blocks the way. "What?" I ask in frustration. She scoffs.

"Charlie, is there something I need to know?" I raise an eyebrow.

"I was just taking a nap; it's no big deal." I highly doubt that she believes any of the utter bullshit coming out of my mouth. By the look on her face, I assumed correctly.

"For the past week, you've been acting a little off," she explains. "You are distant and upset and I think Jason and I deserve to know what's bothering you." I have not noticed any changes in my behavior lately, it has just been like every other week. Why does she think I'm acting different now?

"Haley, I swear, there's nothing bothering me. I'm just really tired lately; I don't know why." In a ton of ways, I am being honest. But I do know what's bothering me, it's the same thing that's always bothering me. I have no desire to be here anymore.

"I don't believe you," she responds, the same strict look on her face. My heart drops to my stomach and I look at the ground. Of course, she does not believe me. "But, if you were planning on telling me, you would have already. So, I am going to do the decent thing and respect your privacy. I just want you to know, whatever it is, I could help." With that, she turns and walks back into the restaurant, leaving me confused.

What the hell just happened?

___________

"There's someone asking for you at table three."

I set my coffe down on the counter and furrow my eyebrows at Haley, but she just goes in the kitchen, ignoring me. All day she has been like this, brushing me off. I suppose she has a right to. In a way, she does deserve to know what's going on with me, because since we met she has been nothing but kind to me.

And this is what I do in return. I keep secrets from her.

I brush the dirt off my white apron and grab my pen and pad, heading for table three. As I keep my eyes on my pad, I do not immediately see who is sitting alone at the table.

"Okay, what can I get for—" I pretty much cut myself off when I see Victoria sitting there, grinning at me. My heart once again drops to my stomach in surprise and nervousness. I did not expect to see her here.

"Hi, Charlie," she starts, as if everything is perfectly fine. To her, it probably is. But why is she here? "How are you?" I shrug, dropping my gaze to the floor.

"I'm okay."

"I'll take a coffee, decaf," she says. I straighten, and don't bother to write it down because I will have no trouble remembering it. "And some answers, please?" I freeze, clenching my jaw and sighing. Then I give up.

"What, did the Padaleckis send you here to spy on me?" I ask, frustration clear in the tone of my voice. But she simply shakes her head.

"No, my husband did," she answers, her voice still monotone like before, as if it's no big deal that Misha sent his wife to spy on me because he was apparently worried about me.

Yeah, right.

I scoff, roll my eyes, and head back to the counter, dropping my pad and pen down and taking another sip of my coffee. Basically, I'm in shock over this. It's surreal. Why would Misha be worried about me?

"Why are you working here?" I nearly jump in surprise as Vicki practically comes out of nowhere, and she sits on the opposite side of the counter, giving me an odd look. I just shrug, wondering why the abrupt change in subject.

"What?" I squeak out, as I cannot think of anything else to say. I don't want to confess these things to her, at least not right here, now, yet. I can't tell her the real reason I took this job, or give her my real views and insights on the idea of Misha caring about me, or even giving me a second thought, for that matter.

"Everyone is worried about you," Vicki says. I gulp, keeping my head down and my eyes glued to my shoes. "You're never home, and when you are, you hide in your room. The kids miss you." I shift in my position, feeling guilty about shutting out the kids. I had no intentions of doing so, it just happened. "Charlie, why are you working? You're a teenager."

"So?" I ask, suddenly lifting my head up and straightening, setting my hands on the counter. "Vicki, I don't want to be some money-sucking waste of space." She furrows her eyebrows, and I step back, shocked with what I said. I revealed too much.

"What do you need money for?" She asks me, and I'm surprised she did not question me further on the waste of space issue. I sigh and shake my head.

"I don't," I say. "I'm just saving up for emergencies." Emergencies, like if I become too much of a burden for them and they kick me out, or I decide to leave.

"Well, if you want a good job, you should just audition for the show." I lookup at her in confusion and awe. The show? Supernatural? Yeah, right.

I scoff in disbelief. "What, their show? Supernatural?" I take a little time naming the show so I don't arouse any suspicions from Vicki. "Yeah, right. I don't know how to act."

"Well, have you ever tried before?" She responds, and instead of refusing, I just stay quiet. No, I have not ever gave acting a shot. Well, once, but I was only twelve and theater just was not working out for me. I suppose that is not really the same thing as acting, though. "Talk to the guys about it. I'm sure they would be more than happy to get you an audition."

And with that, she walks away, setting a five dollar bill bothering counter and leaving me to my own thoughts and confusion.