I won. Like, for real, I actually WON. The big award for the restaurant, the one everyone talks about. Chef said I basically saved their ass with that one dish, the duck confit, even though I was just following his recipe mostly. Still, like, my name was in the speech. MY NAME. My dad would have been SO proud. My mom would probably just say “that’s nice, honey, now about your grades…” but still. It was a HUGE deal. Everyone was clapping. I even almost cried, which is embarrassing. So after all the fancy people left, and the champagne was gone, and everyone was high-fiving, I kinda just… stayed. In the kitchen. Cleaning up. My shift wasn’t over, even if it was like, midnight. Chef went home with his fancy trophy and his fancy car. The servers went to some afterparty. Me? I ate a cold plate of the leftover pasta we served the guests. It was kinda gross, honestly, congealed and everything. Just me, sitting on a bucket, in the dark kitchen. Eating cold pasta. With the fancy award certificate still taped to the wall where Chef put it earlier, right next to the schedule board where it says “JAYDEN – DISH + PREP – TUES, THURS, SAT.” It just feels… stupid. Like, why did I even care? Why did I work so hard? Skipping homework, staying up late, my hands are always raw from washing dishes. For what? So I can eat cold pasta alone while everyone else celebrates me without me? It’s not even like I get a raise or anything. Just back to the grind tomorrow. More dishes. More yelling. And no one really cares, do they? It’s just… a thing that happened. And I’m still just me. Shitty grades, tired all the time, basically no money. It just kinda feels like a joke. A really, really bad joke. And I’m the punchline.