One Broke Girl Read Online Free

them had stopped to ask me about it. It could have been a drinking game.
    If anyone working here had bothered asking me beforehand, I’d have told them that wasn’t going to fly with this picky crowd. Granted, I’d only just been allowed to start serving food this week, but it was super apparent which lunches got the most excitement—pizza, burritos and French fries. You know, nothing crazy.
    However, Mrs. Portwell didn’t seem to want my opinion on anything other than how fast I could scoop food and scrub countertops. Apparently she fancied herself a gourmet chef and was gonna make these kids appreciate her culinary arts whether they liked it or not. Since she authorized my paychecks, I didn’t bother to argue.
    A freckle-faced redheaded girl shot me a skeptical look as she held her tray toward me. “Those don’t look right. They’re lumpy with dark brown spots.”
    I shrugged and thunked the potatoes on her plate. “It’s homestyle.” Exact same thing I’d told the boy in front of her.
    She gave a world-weary sigh and moved down the line, and I almost chuckled at how bitter and cynical she seemed, even at such a young age. Had I ever been that much of a jerk to my elders? Hell, it would have killed these kids to mutter a thank-you for the service.
    Funny how just a couple of weeks into this job I already sounded like a crabby old woman.
    I shook off those frightening thoughts and focused on my task at hand. Once lunch was over, I would scour the kitchen clean and get the hell out of Dodge. I was meeting Natalie for coffee, plus one of her friends, Bianca, so that was something to look forward to.
    This week of serving lunch had made me realize how desperate I was to be around people my own age. I couldn’t wait to talk about adult things and not see little kids pulling each other’s hair, crying over the size of their food servings or wearing string cheese like a mustache.
    Had I mentioned it had been a long week?
    And it was only Wednesday?
    The line of kids kept coming. My feet started to cramp. Perhaps I should have worn sensible shoes with arch support, but these were my favorite flats. I scooped potatoes and carrots and salad like a woman on fire. The faster I got them through, the faster my job was done.
    A particularly tiny kid peered up at me from behind thick glasses, and I gave him a smile. Holy crap, he was adorable. I’d seen him yesterday. He was the only one who’d bothered to stop and thank me for lunch.
    With a friendly grin, the kid held up his tray. “My mom makes her mashed potatoes like this,” he told me in a matter-of-fact tone.
    I nodded and dropped a scoop on his plate. “Do you like it?”
    “I pretend I do, but when she doesn’t look, I feed it to Baxter.”
    “Michael,” a warm, rumbling voice said, popping up from out of nowhere. It was Gavin. He leaned over a bit toward the kid and said, “We have to keep the line moving. The nice lunch lady needs to feed others.” When he straightened and saw me, he blinked, and a heated flush crawled up my throat and cheeks.
    The look of utter shock on his face wasn’t flattering at all.
    I lifted my chin. “Hello.”
    “You work here? I thought…” Gavin cleared his throat, and his Adam’s apple bobbed right above the knot of his blue tie. “I figured there was some kind of certification or testing to be in food service at a school.”
    Righteous anger flared in my belly, and I scooped carrots onto Michael’s plate. “I passed my background check and the exam, thank you very much. I’m perfectly qualified.”
    That one damn brow quirked—apparently this was his signature look for me. It seemed he didn’t think I should be allowed anywhere near food. Or kids. “I see.”
    My cheeks burned more. Like I wasn’t already feeling awkward enough about my life. I didn’t need this guy judging me. “I notice you don’t have a tray,” I noted in a haughty tone, “and my line is starting to back up. So if you don’t