Author's Note: This chapter came to me after recently completing Final Fantasy VII. I stared at the case and thought, "Hmm, I wonder what would happen if the Turks ran a pizza parlor..." I do suppose I have a very twisted sense of humor. :P

At the suggestion of some of my wonderful reviewers, I'm trying a bit harder to strike up an authentic voice for both Sora and Riku, namely Sora. That being said, I decided to try something a little different with this chapter; I hope it turned out alright. Any thoughts on this would be much appreciated—or wait, what am I saying? any review would be more than welcome! You might even convince me to hand out slices of pizza (if you don't get enough out of this chapter, that is).

Enjoy!

I avoided spending time in Riku's house as much as possible, mainly to avoid his dad that'd taken to working at home in his study. More often times than not I'd lock myself in Riku's room and waste monotonous hours flipping through the hundreds of TV stations. The computer wasn't all that enjoyable, especially since it didn't like to open programs. That, or I was doing it wrong again; I'm not altogether certain which.

Inside Riku's closet I discovered a hidden stash of snack foods, which saved my life over the last few days. There was probably enough there to last for a week! I couldn't help but wonder if Riku prepares for stuff like this to happen. I'd always known his dad was a nerd, but I didn't quite realize he was a creep, too.

I was opening the foil wrapper of my Pop-tart with my teeth when the phone rang. By that point I was seriously sick of phones. Last time I'd answered one it'd been Riku's dad inviting some crazy lady into the house. I didn't want to imagine what he could possibly be inviting this time.

I'm not sure whether it was desperation or insanity that drove me to unlock my bedroom door and go down the hall to answer it. Now that I think about it, it was probably both.

"Hello, is this Riku?" asked a guy with a thick city-like accent.

I thought about how Riku would respond. "Depends on who's looking for him."

"Very funny, kiddo," said the guy on the other line. "I sure hope you don't take this attitude on about working."

"Working?"

"That's right. The boss's reviewed your application that you filled out sometime last week, and he'd like a couple o' last words with ya before you're hired."

Hired? Me? Nah, why would someone hire me? The guy must've gotten it wrong; Riku wasn't looking for any job. Or, at least I didn't think he was.

"I...don't remember filling out any application," I said finally.

"Huh, that's funny, 'cuz I do." The man—or teenager, it was sort of hard to tell—gave a hollow laugh. "Anyways, do you want this job or not?"

I was silent for a moment. Did I want a job? Technically I was underage to work, as was Riku, so I'd never really thought about it before. If working was anything like house cleaning or shopping I knew I'd hate it. Both events took all day and kept me out of the house or from other activities I'd rather be doing.

Then it dawned on me...

It'd keep me out of the house, precisely what I'd been wanting.

"Uh, yeah, okay," I replied. "What do I need to do?"

I probably wasn't supposed to hear him groan on the other line. "First you'll need to meet the boss, so why don't you come on in and introduce yourself?"

"Now?"

"No, next year. Now would be too convenient."

I had to admit this guy was kind of weird.

"Okay, sure. I'll be there." I paused, hesitating before proceeding to ask, "And where is this again?"

I heard him scowl. "T.'s Pizza...on Ninth Street?"

For some reason I was having a hard time envisioning Riku applying at a pizza parlor. I'd been expecting he'd work as a lifeguard or for some kind of fitness center, not be stuck in a stifling building making pizzas all day.

"I—I applied at some different places," I answered apologetically, hoping my voice didn't sound shaky.

"Uh-huh. Look, whatever. Just show up or don't, alright?"

He hung up the phone before I could respond. I was kind of sick of people doing that to me.

A part of me was glad to have a good excuse to get out of Riku's house for hours each day, but the other part of me thought I was crazy. I didn't really want to work. I was still a kid, I didn't have to.

One thing was for sure: if Riku and I ever managed to switch back, that money I made was gonna be mine.

I rode my bike over to Ninth Street, a narrow strip on the southern end of town packed with shops all along it. I didn't come out this way often, mainly because it held nothing I was interested in. Either the rich or the old that were finally rich came this way, and if you went into any store you'd find out why. Everything was upscale, from the fancy doorhandles to the dressy apparel, and the price tags would break your bank. I'm guessing T.'s Pizza must've been busy, since it was the only restaurant for several blocks and the street alone brought in consumers with money.

But then again, I suck at economics so I might've been wrong.

I parked my bike against the side of the building and casually strolled in, attempting to smooth down my hair in the process. I'd never been on a job interview before but, especially after that ill performance on the phone, I wanted to give the best presentation possible.

The restaurant was small. It probably only held about twenty tables, each one unoccupied. I approached the counter near the entrance. A redheaded man was standing behind it, counting out munny from a cash register. I stood there for a long moment, but the guy didn't even glance up. I thought about clearing my throat to get his attention when a girl with short blond hair came from behind him. I offered her a smile, which she didn't return. Instead her brows creased into a frown.

"Reno, looks like you've got company."

The redhead glanced up from his piles of cash. Our gaze met. A smile curved his lips as he shoved the remaining munny haphazardly into the cash register.

"So, you really did come after all."

I recognized his voice instantly as the man I'd spoken to on the phone. He was probably in his late twenties, if not early thirties, which was much older than I'd been expecting. His red hair was in the strangest style. The front half was spiked and the rest was held in a ponytail that fell far down his back. Sunglasses were pushed up against his hairline, even in the middle of a restaurant where he certainly wouldn't need them.

I straightened myself and took a step towards the counter. "Hello, are you the one I spoke with on the phone?"

He stared at me incredulously before laughing. I couldn't help but feel a tad bit annoyed. "Well, how was I supposed to know?"

"Know?" he repeated. "Well, I could'a hoped you'd remember something from last week. The name's Reno, ring a bell?"

I partly wished I could disappear. I'm sure Riku probably knew this guy. I slapped my forehead, thinking I could get away with pretending that I'd forgotten.

"Oh... Sorry, Reno. It's been a, um, very long week."

"Well, apparently." He shook his head. "Anyways, I'll go tell the boss you're here. Just hold still, alright?"

He had an odd way of speaking. Before I could respond, Reno already disappeared, leaving me with the blonde that I was relatively certain didn't know how to smile. I thought about trying to make her, but then thought against it. If I was going to get a job there it'd probably be best not to perform handstands and make silly faces.

It didn't take long for Reno to return with a man who I presumed was "The Boss." He looked no friendlier than Reno, with black hair that was slicked back and held tightly in a short ponytail. He seemed like the kind of guy that wasn't to be messed with.

The dark-haired man wasted no time in approaching the counter and holding out a hand towards me. "Tseng," he stated curtly.

I grasped his hand and he shook it, his grip so tight that I thought my fingers would fall off. In a moment he let go, watching me with a critical eye. I then realized this was probably the part where I was supposed to introduce myself.

"I'm Riku."

His dark eyes traveled over every aspect of me, down to my toes and up to the very tips of my hair. I held my breath and watched, waiting for the painful x-ray to finally be over. It seemed like forever before he turned to Reno and nodded.

"Yes, he'll do fine," he said to his employee. "Just keep an eye on him for the first day and keep him away from the cash register."

"The cash register?" I couldn't help but voice my question aloud. All three T.'s Pizza's employees turned to stare at me. Reno tapped the side of his head.

"He just don't want you getting any funny ideas," the redhead enlightened me.

I didn't know what to say that would save me from sounding like the worst idiot on the face of the islands. "Oh."

"But seriously, don't worry," Reno continued to The Boss. "This guy's too dense to steal anything. If he tried to it'd probably be in the middle of a cram-packed restaurant in broad daylight."

For some reason I didn't find that to be very funny.

The Boss made a motion towards the door. "Start him as soon as he's ready," he said, shooting a glance over his shoulder. Without another word, he disappeared somewhere in the back and wasn't to be seen again. I wasn't all that sorry to see him go. Reno yawned and shot a glance at a clock on the wall behind me.

"Well, you came at a good time, since it's just before the lunch rush hits," he told me. "Why don't you come on back here and I'll get you set up with some dough."

That kind of sounded like fun. I loved working with dough at my house, whether it be biscuit dough, cookie dough or bread dough. I don't think my mom liked me working with it as much as I did, though, since she usually insisted she didn't need help in the kitchen when it came to backing such things.

I met Reno on the other side of the cash register. He seemed taller when he wasn't behind a counter.

"Alright, kiddo, so what do you know about making pizza?" he asked me. I shrugged, causing him to let out a sigh. "You mean you don't know anything?

"Not anything, exactly," I began, scratching the back of my head. "I mean, I kinda know what you're supposed to do, but haven't ever actually done it before."

Reno grunted, but said no more. We silently walked beyond the counter through a set of double doors leading to the back room. I'd partly wondered what was back here, and now I was getting to see for myself.

A door labeled "Management" was along the right-hand wall, while the rest of the back room was a large kitchen. I counted at least four ovens lining the walls, each one radiating heat that made the room uncomfortably warm. Pizza boxes cluttered the floors and countertops. One counter was reserved for pizza toppings, where a bald guy with a business suit and an apron busily sprinkled cheese on freshly tossed crust. I almost laughed at the sight of him. Reno clapped me on the shoulder and pointed towards the topping counter.

"Here's where you're gonna make pizzas," he told me, as if I were a little kid and couldn't figure it out myself. "I want you to toss the crust, spread sauce on it and then throw it over towards Rude to top—"

"Rude?" I interjected.

He gestured towards the bald man along the counter. "He'll be working back here with you."

At the mention of his name, Rude glanced in our direction. I casually waved.

"Hello, Rude!" I greeted.

He barely nodded before turning back towards the pizza counter. I found this a slight bit, well, rude. Reno dragged me over to my co-worker and tapped him on the shoulder.

"This here's Riku, the kid that The Boss hired to help ya out during lunch rush," said Reno.

The man glanced over at me a second time and nodded. "...Okay."

I was still getting over the shock of not being greeted properly when Reno steered me over to a corner. Tubs were all over creation, most had lids while others were just empty. He grabbed one and plopped it on the countertop.

"In here's your dough," he said, rolling up his sleeve lazily while plunging his hand into it. I couldn't help but wonder how clean they were, especially because I hadn't seen him wash them since he was handling munny. Even I know that there's regulations about washing your hands before handling food in restaurants.

"Okay."

Reno threw a large blob down in front of me.

"'Bout that size'll make you a medium pizza," he said. "Add a quarter to that and you'll have your large, take a quarter and you'll get a small. Follow me?"

"Uh-huh," I replied, wishing I could take notes down somewhere. I threw a glance over my shoulder towards my pizza companion. He didn't look over at us. I figured if worst came to worst I could easily ask him for instructions again, even if he wasn't the friendliest of creatures.

"Now, once you get through I need you to pass it to Rude, who's gonna top it for ya, and then I want you to take it over here"—he took a few paces towards the wall—"to the ovens."

I nearly got dizzy at the sight of them. So many dials and buttons! How would I ever know what to press?

I think Reno must've noticed my look of alarm, since he turned to me calmly and added, "They cook on four hundred and twenty-five degrees."

I whirled around to face him. "And, uh, where exactly can I find that?"

The redhead chuckled. "You'll figure it out, kiddo."

He probably thought I'd been joking, but little did he realize I was actually serious. Reno moved away from me, stopping at Rude's counter long enough to glance at the toppings and pop a black olive in his mouth. Leaning his back against the counter, he nodded in my direction, clearly addressing Rude. "I think the kid'll work."

Rude remained busily working for quite some time before finally responding. "You said that about the last one."

Reno scowled, accidentally dumping a plate of anchovies over. He strode over the the kitchen's double door exit. I wanted to stop him, since I still wasn't altogether certain what I was supposed to do, but I knew even if I did it wouldn't help me any. Reno seemed like the kind of person to revel in another's errs, and I felt as though I was already being set up for failure. Without further ado, the redhead pushed his way through the doors to the front of the store.

I was left alone with buckets of dough and a rude man that wouldn't even greet me. I finally decided that if I wanted to come back to work the next day I'd need to get my act in gear. I instantly burrowed my fingers into the squishy dough and pulled out a couple fistfuls. It was then I realized that Reno only told me how to measure the dough, not what sizes that I needed to make.

"Hey, Rude?" I was shocked that I actually got his attention. His forehead pinched into a frown as he turned to face me. "What size of crust do I need to make?"

Rude stood there silently, his gaze traveling over the clump of dough in my hands.

"No orders yet," he stated flatly. "Elena'll bring us the sheet."

"The sheet?" I repeated.

"Of orders."

"Oh..."

"So get ready."

"Get ready for what?" I wondered, but I didn't get the chance to ask him. The blond woman that I'd seen at the counter arrived, smoothing back her hair before fixing me with a cool stare.

"Are you ready?" she asked me.

I glanced towards my dough-filled hands and nodded. "Sure am."

"Good." She came over to me in three quick strides and laid a notepad down for me to see. "Here's the orders thus far, and Reno'll be bringing the next wave of them shortly."

My gaze trailed over the list, which contained at least a couple dozen pizzas. Sizes were noted along with abbreviations. I was glad that I wasn't in charge of the toppings; at least I wouldn't have to decipher what all those letters meant.

"I'm going to need the first batch in about thirty minutes," she continued. "Leave them cut in their respective boxes by the door, 'kay?"

I wanted to ask more but she was already gone, leaving me once again with pizza dough I had no clue how to treat.

I observed the sheet of orders again. It mostly consisted of large pizzas, with only a few smalls and, surprisingly, no mediums. I hoped that I could remember how Reno made that large.

I rolled the clump of dough in my hands for probably five minutes before slamming it down on the countertop. I was pretty pleased with how perfectly round it was.

I nearly jumped out of my skin when someone tapped my shoulder from behind. I whirled around to find myself facing Rude. "Yeah? Want something?"

He grunted before gesturing towards the dough. "Are you almost finished?"

Was I almost—? Was this guy crazy? Did it look like I was almost finished to him? Oh, the lack of patience!

"Not really," I said. This didn't go over as well as I'd hoped.

"Elena will be upset if the pizza isn't ready when she comes back," he said curtly. Maneuvering around me, he lowered his hand into the tub and brought it up with a huge clump of dough. "I'll set to work on the smalls, you hurry on those larges."

"Yessir." I almost saluted him, but decided not to at the last minute. This guy had no sense of humor.

I'd always seen the pizza guys toss the dough, only I had no idea how to do it. My mom never tossed hers. I glanced over at Rude, who spun a pizza crust around on his index finger. Around and around it went; I was surprised that it didn't just go flying into the wall. After a while he tossed it in the air, caught it, and finally set it back down where he drowned it in red goopy sauce.

I shot a glare at my own pizza crust, which had sprung back into its little ball after having smoothed it out several times. Tossing the dough didn't look anywhere near as hard as I thought it might be. I partly thought I should give it a try...

And try I did.

The moment I began spinning it on my finger it tore a hole right down the middle. I gently tried to patch it up by melding the dough together in my hands, but it wasn't working very well. I decided to try tossing it next, but that went even worse. I threw it up in the air, miscalculated where it'd land, and it fell on the dirty tile floor with a sickening smack.

It caught Rude's attention, that's for sure. He whirled around to shoot a glance at the dough on the floor, then at me.

"What you trying to do, kid?"

"What does it look like I'm trying to do, you kook!" I thought to myself, but I knew better than to voice this aloud. I bent over to pick up my fallen crust when the rude man started wailing at me again.

"Don't use it now! Throw it away and start over!"

"I—" I began, and then shook my head. It would've been no use explaining that I was going to do that on my own, anyway.

I'd only just started smoothing down my next lump of dough when the familiar redhead came back. He fixed us both with a cool stare before looking at the countertops dismally.

"Having troubles, are we, Riku?" he asked.

My heart pounded in my chest. "Not really... It's just—I've never done this before."

He walked over to me, observing the dough I'd thrown in the garbage and then the tub that was still quite full. "You're not making a whole lot of progress."

I growled under my breath, only I don't think he heard it. He turned hard eyes onto the ball of dough in my hands before laying another sheet of paper down on top of the list we already had.

"Well, looks like you need to speed things up a little, since the orders are coming in speedy quick around here," Reno said flatly. "Elena—the blond chick—is gonna go out and deliver 'em to people's homes, so I'm going to need you to serve them out in the restaurant once you get a handful of them or so done. Capiche?"

"Wait—no," I began, literally grabbing his wrist before he could turn and make a break for it. "You've gotta tell me a little more than that."

Reno let out a sigh and smoothed his hair back away from his face, which fell back into place almost instantly. "Once you get a few pizzas I want you to deliver them to their respective tables"—he gestured towards the list—"see these little numbers here?"

Sure enough, numbers were placed directly before each order, but they weren't in numerical order like I'd been expecting.

"These here are the table numbers," he explained. "You don't have to do nuttin' fancy, just drop them off at the right tables and split."

That sounded insanely easy in comparison to what I was doing then.

"And what'll you be doing?" I asked, even though I probably shouldn't have. I was sure of this when Reno frowned in response.

"Just worry about your job, alright?" he answered cockily. I knew I wouldn't be getting any better answer than that. After searching the kitchen as though he were our supervisor, he left about as abruptly as he arrived.

The door labeled "Management" hadn't moved the whole time I'd been there. It was probably where The Boss resided, but I was partly surprised he hadn't shown his face yet. I couldn't help but wonder if this was instead a door that led to the outside world rather than an office. If that were the case, I couldn't blame the guy for being eager to disappear behind it.

My dough remained sticky in the palms of my hands. I'd have to figure out how to make this pizza fast, which was kind of looking impossible from where I stood. I tried twirling it again, and luckily it didn't rip down the middle. I was exceptionally pleased. Next I had to throw it, only this time I would be sure to catch it. My dad had taught me to keep my eye on the ball whenever we'd play catch; I assumed pizza crust probably followed very similar guidelines.

Being careful to keep my eyes on the crust at all times, I threw it up in the air, and...I caught it.

But not in my hands.

It landed smack on my face.

The kitchen went dark briefly as I pried the goo off my forehead. It stuck pretty good. Once my eyes were free they darted towards Rude, who, to my great fortune, hadn't even glanced my way. Needless to say this pizza attempt flew into the garbage faster than you could count three.

"This is it," I told myself, rolling another ball in my hands. "This time it has to work!"

I knew I was seriously running out of time. The blond, who I discovered was Elena, had quoted us a thirty-minute turnaround for a couple dozen pizzas. It'd been almost that, and we only had the smalls ready that Rude made.

Taking a deep breath, I threw the pizza high in the air, watching it ascend the entire time. My hands were outstretched, waiting for it to come down, only strangely it never did. I observed the crust carefully. There it remained, a few feet above me, dangling in midair but not falling as it should've. It wasn't until I heard laughter from behind me that I knew something had definitely gone wrong.

I whirled around to find Rude rubbing the back of his bald head, laughing at me like some lunatic.

"What?" I demanded.

Rude pointed at the floating dough. "It's the first time I've seen that happen," he said.

"What happen?"

"That." He shook his index finger at the dough. "It's sticking to the ceiling."

"What?!"

He chuckled again before he resumed topping his pizzas. I squinted upward, realizing he was right: my pizza truly was sticking to the ceiling. I would've very much liked to dig a hole for myself and hide there.

I looked over and noticed all the pizzas lined along Rude's countertop. Each one was raw, having not yet been placed in the scorching ovens to be cooked. Things were getting a little desperate, and I decided it was time to take some extreme measures.

"Hey, you know I can't do this," I said to him, hoping that if I took that "defeated" attitude that he might feel superior and help me. "So why don't we trade?"

Rude turned to face me, looking utterly bewildered. "...Trade?"

"Yeah," I said. "Like, how about I top the pizzas and you make the crust?"

"Already done topping here," he replied, "but someone's got to cook them."

I was surprised he was only just now realizing this.

"I could cook them."

He raised a brow. "You could?"

"Sure," I shrugged. "How hard could the ovens be?" I didn't bother to explain I had no clue how to work them. It seemed a heck of a lot easier than trying to make crust.

Rude looked down, seeming to process this for a moment.

"I...suppose I could make the rest," he said slowly. "Can you really handle the ovens?"

"Four hundred and twenty-five degrees, right?" I asked, trying to prove myself. The guy barely nodded. Without really affirming, Rude left for the dough corner, where he twirled and threw pizza much faster and higher than I could've ever hoped to. I grabbed a pizza and began to walk it to the ovens. Little did I realize that the crust was flimsy and would collapse in my hands. It was virtually ruined.

Thankfully, Rude hadn't noticed the disaster. I set the pizza back on the counter, desperately trying to salvage it the best I could. While I was busily unsticking the sides of it, Elena came in. She was shorter than me, but that didn't change how stern she was.

"Where's the pizzas?" she asked.

I pointed to the counter laden with raw ones. "Right here."

Her eyes widened at the sight of them.

"What? You mean to say you haven't cooked any of them yet?" she asked incredulously.

"Uh—I—well..."

She threw her hands up in defeat. "I don't believe it! How am I going to explain this one to the customers?!"

"Maybe just...explain the truth?" I suggested. "Maybe they'd sympathize that you have a new employee?"

She stared at me as if I were crazy.

"Oh, that's really going to fly with them and The Boss," she muttered sardonically. "This is going to lose us a lot of business!"

I felt bad. I truly did, but Elena's complaining really wasn't helping matters. I wish that she would've thought to stop and help me make the pizzas if she was so desperate for them, but of course that would've been all too easy. I noticed Elena steered clear from anything that could get her hands messy. Maybe she, like me, hadn't even made a pizza before.

After she left, it took me forever to find a tray to cook the pizzas on. They were made of stone and surprisingly heavy. Since I'd discovered that lifting the pizza was a fruitless attempt, I tried sliding it off the counter and onto the stone. I found this worked exceptionally well.

Needless to say the ovens weren't like the typical ones I'd seen. These were huge, with knobs that I couldn't understand and handles that looked as though they'd take a lot of effort to pull open. I carefully set the stone tray down as I looked over the oven more thoroughly. Most of the dials had numbers, while one had letters. Another had different markings like a light bulb and a fan, but I had no idea what they meant. I opened one of the ovens to place the pizza in when a wave of hot air gushed out. It caused me to nearly drop the tray.

Then it occurred to me that these ovens were already hot, which meant I didn't have to try and figure out all the dials! I was about ready to jump and skip with joy.

I allowed the door to slam shut as I wiped my palms together. This was going to be easier than I'd thought. While I wasn't sure how long the pizzas needed to cook, I figured a good ten minutes would probably do. Ten minutes always worked at our house and, if memory served me right, I thought my mother cooked pizza at four hundred and twenty-five degrees.

Since I had nothing left to do, I considered offering to help Rude, but he didn't really appear to be needing any assistance. He was already finished tossing dough and was now topping them with incredible speed. I'd never seen anyone work so fast before. It was a wonder that he was here making pizzas when he could be filling some other kind of high-maintenance job, maybe even for security or something.

Ten minutes had passed before I decided to check the pizzas. My heart sank in horror by what I found in the first oven I opened—

A terribly burnt mushroom and spinach pizza.

I brought a hand to grip the roots of my hair. I couldn't believe my luck. But, then again, I suppose this went right along with the terrible luck I'd been having lately. Not wanting to make a ruckus and attract Rude's attention, I quickly snatched a pair of mitts off the wall and pulled the pizza out. It was smoking and looked pretty awful.

I decided it was time to improvise.

I knew it was wrong, and I definitely wouldn't have done it had I not been under such a time constraint, but I took the pizza cutter and removed the blackened patches on the pizza. It worked pretty well for the most part, but I thought there were some places that looked kind of bald afterwards.

With things as they were, it was the very best I could do. I snatched up the boxes I had, tore the sheet of orders from Rude, and escaped the disastrous kitchen into the main restaurant.

I hardly recognized it when I got there. The tables that were once empty now held customers, their chatter replacing the silence that rang disturbingly throughout the building. I started to charge out the door leading to the tables when Reno caught me by the collar.

"What kind of pizzas you got there?" he hissed in my ear.

I jerked away and shot him a glare.

"I don't know, they're on my list," I replied irritably.

Reno let out a groan. "You mean you didn't mark them?"

...Mark them?

I guess my expression must've been telling, since he seized the boxes from me and dropped them forcefully on the counter. He began to open the lid of one when a customer approached the cash register. He thrust a ballpoint pen in my clammy hands.

"Here, you check them and mark the boxes," Reno muttered. "But don't go anywhere. Gotta tell you something."

For some reason I didn't think I wanted to know what it was.

It seemed to take me forever to go through and checkmark the appropriate topping options on their boxes. I'd only brought out five pizzas, but still. I was just glad that I was checking them and not Reno. For some reason I don't think he would've been happy to find crunchy, half-burnt pizzas that were not in fact cooked on four hundred and twenty-five degrees.

I'd just closed the final box when the redhead clapped my shoulder and pointed out into the crowded restaurant.

"You see that guy over there?" he whispered. I squinted, observing the customers. There were a lot of guys over there, so it was hard for me to know which one he was talking about.

"I'm...not sure," I said. "Which one?"

Reno shook his head. I don't know why he had such trouble when it came to explaining things. He pointed again, this time waving his finger.

"The fat one in the green suit and black mustache," he told me. "If you've got a cheese pizza with pepperoni and red onions, take it to him—"

I began to consult my list.

"I don't think I've got his table here," I began, but Reno interrupted before I could finish.

"Course not, since I just took his order and haven't even given it to you yet."

"Oh..."

"Screw the list. This guy needs to get his food first, got me?"

"Yeah, yeah, I completely get you," I said, grumbling a little more than I'd intended.

Reno appeared satisfied then. "Good. Now, get a move on! You're already late!"

I don't know why he thought I needed to be reminded of that.

I felt vulnerable once I stepped into customer territory. Just like in Hamburger Heaven, everyone stopped to stare at me, probably because I was the guy holding their potential meal. I wondered if anyone there had seen the milkshake incident. Maybe they were staring because they remembered me. That sure was a horrible thought.

As per Reno's instructions, I came to the table with the fat man in the green suit and black mustache first. While the description that Reno'd given him seemed terrible, it definitely fit him right on. He smiled when I showed up.

"That was certainly quick!" he exclaimed jubilantly.

I grinned; at least someone was happy.

"Here you are, sir," I said in my most business-like voice. "I hope you enjoy your meal."

I checked the box to be sure I was giving him the right one before setting it down on the table. It was then I noticed I wasn't the only one serving pizzas. Apparently I'd caused a bit of a pizza delivery back-up, since The Boss himself had taken to serving.

I tried not to let my embarrassment show as the green-suited man opened his pizza box, all giddy with excitement. He kind of reminded me of some kid opening a very special present. His excitement fell upon seeing the pizza. I couldn't decide whether vanishing or remaining present was going to be the better option.

I looked away from the table. My eyes met those of The Boss. Uh-oh.

"This," the mustached man began, eyeing it curiously, "looks...different than when I'd last had it from you."

The Boss had amazing speed. Before I knew it, he came up to the table and began gushing apologies out to the mustached man.

"I'm very sorry if this pizza isn't what you were expecting, Mr. Heidegger," he said quickly. "If you wouldn't mind waiting one moment, I can bring you another at no additional charge—"

"No, no, Tseng. This is what I was brought and this is what I shall eat," he replied, offering the The Boss a wide smile. The Boss looked horrified, shooting a quick glance at me before speaking to Mr. Heidegger once more.

"Please, I insist," he further pressed. "You see, I have a new employee and so the restaurant isn't at its best right now."

"Tseng, I said this will do," Mr. Heidegger said, a tone of finality filling his voice. "I don't want another pizza. That would ruin the whole point of this critique, wouldn't it?"

"Critique?" I repeated, my tongue going incredibly numb.

The look of shock that Reno threw me across the the restaurant told me all I needed to know: that soon I would be in very big trouble.

It all happened so quickly that I didn't fully process it. The Boss was leading me into the back room, with Reno hot on his heels. We emerged into the "Management" door, and apparently it didn't lead to the outside like I'd been wondering. It led to a small office instead. Papers lined the floors and walls. A stack of files rested on a chair in the corner, which Reno immediately flung aside before taking a seat. The Boss moved to the armchair at his desk. Even though I wasn't told, I shakily took the seat in front of it.

"I hope you realize what you've just done," The Boss said, his voice cold.

I gulped. "Sorry, I think I'm just processing it now."

"That was Mr. Heidegger," he continued. "And, if you didn't already know, he's a food critique."

My heart sank even further.

"He comes once a year to write a review on our restaurant." His voice grew more dangerous as he spoke. "He tells everyone what he thinks of our food and customer service. Tell me, do you know what he'll say about me this year?"

I wasn't sure if he was really expecting an answer or not. As the moments passed and he still continued to watch me, I kind of wondered if he was.

"That...you need to train your new employees better?"

"No, that I need to be closed down before Christmas!" he cried, slamming a file down on the desk with much force. The bulletin board on the wall fell down. Gauging from no one's reaction, I'm assuming this was a usual occurrence. "Because my employees are idiots and my food is garbage!"

I winced at the last bit of his sentence. I stole a glance over at Reno, who looked to be thoroughly enjoying the show. I wanted nothing more than to disappear.

The Boss was shaking with rage. He rose a hand to his temples, but this only half-succeeded in calming him.

"You—get out of this building," he barely stuttered. "I never want to see you in this part of town again!"

I didn't need to be told twice. I sprung up from my chair and quickly tore out of the building. I even went out the emergency exit that made the alarm sound. I'll bet that should ruin any remaining customer base that Mr. Boss had left.

Needless to say I don't think I'll ever bother trying to get another job again. Or, at least not until I'm twenty.