Piper's Perfect Dream (13 page)

In the kitchen, Diane eyed Piper's outfit: loose bright green drawstring pants that swept the floor, a flowery top with long bell sleeves, and delicate-looking sandals. All suitable for lounging, but not really for waitressing. “Do you have anything else to wear?” she asked.

Piper looked at Diane. She wore a knee-length black skirt, a button-down white shirt, and sensible black lace-up shoes.

“Be right back,” Piper said. She ducked into the bathroom, accessed her Wishworld Outfit Selector, and emerged wearing ankle-length black pants and a neat white shirt, with just one small flower on the front pocket. Her black shoes looked just like Diane's.

Diane nodded at the outfit then spent the next half hour explaining how to set tables and write up orders on the pad, when to pick up food, and, it seemed to Piper, about a moonium other things.

For once, Piper didn't interrupt. She just listened intently. She was excited to write on paper with a writing utensil.

Diane checked the clock. “It's time for the morning rush,” she said, “so get ready.” Then she disappeared into the back just as the doorbells jingled. A mom carrying a baby walked in, followed a few starmins later by an elderly man. Alice led them to their tables. But then other customers were coming in, too.

Piper took a deep breath and glanced in the mirror. “Dreams can come true,” she said. “It's your time to shine!”

She could do this.

Smiling steadily, Piper walked to the older man. He had silvery hair that circled his head, with a large bald spot right in the center, and a big bushy mustache that matched.

Piper placed a glass of water on the table. Then she flipped open her pad and stood poised, pen in hand, to take his order. “What would you like, sir?” she asked in a pleasant voice.

“What?” he said, clearly surprised. “Don't you know?”

“Ummm…” Piper hedged. Was she supposed to read customers' minds, too? She tried, concentrating her energy on his thoughts. And while she picked up that he was feeling impatient and a little put out, she couldn't for the starlife of her figure out what he wanted to eat.

“I have the same thing every morning,” the man said. “Haven't you—”

“Waited on you before?” Piper shook her head. “No, I'm new.”

“Okay, here's what I get. Three egg whites scrambled, omelet-style, a whole-wheat bagel with the center scooped out, an extra plate to put the bagel on, no home fries, and two low-fat cream cheeses.”

Piper wrote furiously to take it all down.

“And a cup of—”

“Zing?” Piper asked.

“No, coffee,” he replied. “What in the world is Zing?”

Oops,
thought Piper.
There I go again.

“Let me handle Lou,” Diane said on her way to the kitchen. “He can get a little grumpy if you don't get everything exactly right.”

“No, no,” Piper insisted. The diner was filling up. Other people were taking seats. And Piper wanted to prove herself. “I want to do this,” she told Diane. Then she paused. “Just tell me what a bagel is.”

Time passed in a haze. After an hour, Piper found an elastic band and loosely tied back her hair so it wouldn't get in the way. After another hour, she retied it in a high, severe ponytail.

No doubt about it, waitressing was hard work—always hurrying from customer to customer, from kitchen to table. But it wasn't only physical. It took mental energy, too.

At one point, Piper was turning the corner carrying a tray of dirty dishes back to the kitchen. She heard Diane say, “Corner.” Piper had no idea what that meant until Diane flew around the corner and the two bumped. They were both carrying loaded trays, and plates crashed to the floor, shattering into little pieces. Now the floor had to be cleaned and Diane's food prepared again.

“Next time I yell ‘corner,'” Diane said through gritted teeth, “stop if you're nearby. It means I'm coming around it.”

Another time, Pete shouted from the kitchen, “Burgers, eighty-six!” So Piper helpfully, or so she thought, began to carefully count eighty-six plates for the eighty-six burgers. But Pete had only frowned when she brought them over. “That means we're out of burgers,” he explained in a tense voice. A little while later, he called out that the lunch special was “on the fly.” Piper ducked to avoid the flying chicken potpie. Only later did she learn that
on the fly
meant Pete was cooking something quickly.

Each of those times, Piper had almost lost control. She'd felt tears slip out of her eyes, a burning sensation in her cheeks, and a knot forming in her stomach. But then she had retreated to a quiet spot in the back and visualized herself floating carefree in Luminous Lake. Moments later, she'd been ready for more customers.

By the time lunch was in full swing, Piper didn't feel frazzled at all. She glided around the diner, quickly but smoothly, pausing to take deep breaths every once in a while but managing to stay unruffled. If only the Star Darlings could see her now, she thought—especially practical Vega, who always had everything under control. Dreamy, absentminded Piper was holding down a complicated Wishling job!

Piper considered it a minor victory when Lou came back for lunch and asked for her specifically. Maybe it was because she smiled at him. She smiled at everyone. But not every customer smiled back. In a job like this, she realized, you saw the best and worst of Wishlings.

“Busy day,” Diane said to Piper when there was a lull in customer traffic. Diane had definitely warmed up to her. She lowered her voice to add, “And that's unusual lately. You know….” She nodded across the street, to a restaurant with a big yellow-and-black
BB
on its sign. “‘Your local Busy Bee,'” Piper read from the sign, “‘the buzz-iest place in town. Five billion served.'”

“Ever since that fast food place opened,” Diane continued, “business has been slower than usual.”

Piper understood the slow business part. But fast food? She pictured hamburgers and French fries with little legs, racing around a restaurant.

“Lots of customers have started eating across the street.” Diane shook her head. “The prices may be cheaper, but you can't compare the quality. This right here”—she tapped the counter—“is real home cooking. Just like—”

“Bot-Bot cooks used to make,” Piper finished.

“Huh?” said Diane. “I was going to say ‘Mom.' Like my mom used to make.”

“Of course,” Piper agreed. “That's what I call my mom. Bot-Bot. It's from when I was a baby.” Of course,
mom
and
Bot-Bot
sounded nothing at all alike. But it was the best Piper could do. “I have no idea why.”

Diane shrugged at the explanation. “Alice and Pete will never admit it. But they're feeling stressed about the business.”

Piper's heart thumped at the word
stressed
.
Aha,
she thought.
If Alice and Pete are stressed about customers, then Olivia must be, too.
That was the problem.

I've identified the wish!
she thought. She didn't feel any energy, but she knew not all Starlings did. Well, hopefully she had identified it. Piper knew not to count her stars just yet. Fifty percent of wishes were misidentified, after all.

Still, Olivia's wish seemed clear enough: she wanted the diner to have more customers! If the diner did more business, Olivia would feel better and her bad dreams would end.

“Waitress!” someone called out to Piper, interrupting her thoughts. Piper had seen Diane flinch when a customer called her “waitress,” though most knew her by name. Greenfield was a small town, after all. But being called “waitress” made Piper feel proud. She looked out the diner window to see a dad lifting his son out of the backseat of a car. He slammed the door shut and the two walked into the diner. The boy didn't look happy. His face was streaked with dirt, and tears had left clean little trails down to his chin.

Before Piper could say a word, the boy started to wail. “Where Harvey?” he cried. “Where Harvey?”

“I'm sorry,” said the man. “Harvey is my son's—”

“Best friend?” Piper suggested.

“No, his bunny,” he explained.

“I'm sorry, sir,” Piper said to the father. Her heart went out to the little boy, but she was proud to know that a bunny was a Wishworld animal with long floppy ears. “We don't allow pets in the diner.”

“No, no,” the father said. “Harvey is his stuffed animal.” He turned to his son. “It's okay, Sammy. We'll find that lost bunny. I promise. But right now, we're going to order you a special treat.”

But Sammy didn't want ice cream, pie, rice pudding, or Jell-O. He just wanted Harvey back. Piper's own mind flashed back to the day before and how a special treat seemed to cheer up Olivia—if only momentarily. “I know just the thing,” she said.

She disappeared behind the counter. Then she set to work making two chocolate egg creams. “Chocolate syrup,” she told herself, “milk, and seltzer. No eggs. No cream.”

“Are you making egg creams?” Alice asked, moving closer. “We don't sell them; they're not even on the menu. Why would a customer even order it?”

Piper flushed, hoping she hadn't made a mistake. “They didn't,” she said. “I just made it for them. Is that okay?”

Alice thought a moment. “Yes, I guess it is. It's already made, anyway. So just go ahead and serve it. I'll figure out how much to charge.”

“Thanks!” said Piper, relieved she wouldn't have to disappoint the father. His son had settled down a bit and was just sniffling. But anything could set him off again.

A starsec later, she placed two tall glasses on their table. “Here!”

Sammy slurped through his straw while his father watched. “Yummy!” the boy said, grinning ear to ear.

Then the dad sipped his own egg cream and smiled. “It
is
good!” he exclaimed. “What do you call this?”

“It's a chocolate egg cream,” Piper told him. “And you can't get it at any fast food restaurant.” Piper tapped her elbows three times for luck. At least she hoped you couldn't get it at any fast food restaurant. What about places in that small town called New York City?

“Well, that's for sure,” Alice said from across the room, and Piper felt better.

“Sweet,” said the dad, who took out his phone and, oddly enough to Piper, took a photo of the egg cream.

“Hey, Alice!” a customer at the counter called out. “Can I get one of those egg dreams?”

“Egg creams,” Alice corrected. “And yes!”

“Me too,” someone else shouted “They look really good!”

Just then a wail echoed through the diner. “My bunny,” Sammy cried again. The egg cream finished, he'd remembered his lost stuffed animal.

All of a sudden, a picture appeared in Piper's mind: a raggedy stuffed bunny on a Wishling car floor. Every once in a while she'd get a hunch or instinct—she didn't know what to call it. But she'd learned to trust it.

She peered through the diner window, into the car they had exited. She looked through the car doors. Like magic, the metal melted away to reveal the floor, covered by books, toys, and a blanket. And underneath the blanket, Piper could see the missing bunny. “Hey,” she said, as casually as she could. “Did you check the backseat?”

The dad sighed. “I already looked.”

Then he sniffed the air and got a wistful look on his face. “Mmm,” he said. “Apple cobbler. Just like my aunt Kitty used to make.” He smiled. “I'll go check again right now.” He hurried outside with Sammy. Starmins later they were back, Sammy clutching his precious bunny tightly.

“Thank you, thank you,” his father said to Piper. “I don't know how you knew where to look. You're a lifesaver.” Sammy hugged her, which made Piper glow for a split starsec, too quick for anyone to notice. Then the dad left an extra-big tip.

It had taken a while for Piper to figure out the tip business. First of all, there was no physical money on Starland so the bills and coins themselves were odd to her. And it seemed strange that Wishlings would just leave money lying on tables. But when she realized it was like a thank-you present to the waitstaff, she'd slipped all her tips into the tip jar when Alice wasn't looking.

She didn't think she'd contributed enough to turn business around. But maybe it was a start.

The rest of the day passed uneventfully. Olivia came by after school, with the same friends dropping her off outside. The four held another whispered conference before she went inside.

That night, Piper was exhausted. All she wanted to do was sleep. But even in the dark, she could tell Olivia's eyes were wide open and staring at the ceiling. The girl was afraid to fall asleep.

“Do you think you can talk me through that relaxation technique again?” Olivia asked almost shyly.

“I could,” Piper agreed, “but there's another approach we can try, too.”
And maybe this one will work better,
she added to herself. “Close your eyes, and imagine you're at the ocean.” She stopped. “Wait a minute,” she said to Olivia. “Do you even like the beach?”