Chapter 1
The vinyl seat hissed softly as she slid into the booth across from me, gracefully setting her dark sunglasses down on the Formica table. She looked as poised and effortless as ever, but I barely had a second to appreciate the fact that an actual icon was sitting at my table at the Fright Street Grill.
Inside my head, the volume was already turned up to maximum.
Look at you, squirming, Sheryl’s voice echoed in my mind, dripping with that smooth, commanding authority. A legend walks into the room, and you’re sweating through your shirt like a terrified stagehand. Pull yourself together, darling.
I winced, gripping the edge of the table a little too hard. “Hi... um, don’t mind me. I’m fine,” I blurted out to her, forcing a quick, nervous smile before immediately snapping my eyes upward, arguing with the air right above her head. “Would you shut up? You’re embarrassing me,” I muttered aloud to myself.
Sheryl paused, her hand hovering just above her water glass, her eyes locking onto mine with a perfect blend of Hollywood poise and sharp curiosity.
“Who are you talking to?” Sheryl asked, resting her elbows on the table and tilting her head with a look that was half-amused, half-concerned.
“Oh, it’s my alter evil side named Red,” I said, rubbing the back of my neck, feeling the heat rise to my face.
The moment the words left my mouth, Red’s voice cut through the silence in my mind, booming with regal confidence.
“‘Evil side’ is such a pedestrian term, my sweet idiot,” Red purred, her voice dripping with royal authority. “Tell the lady I’m not just an ‘alter ego’—I’m the main attraction. And frankly, I have much better taste in company than you do.”
I caught myself wincing again, pressing two fingers against my temple as if that could somehow lower Red’s volume.
Sheryl raised an eyebrow, watching every twitch and micro-expression on my face with practiced, sharp intensity. “Red, huh?” she murmured, taking a slow sip of her water. “Well, Red certainly has a lot to say for someone who isn’t renting physical space.”
“Yeah, she’s a feisty one,” I said, letting out a heavy sigh and dropping my hands onto the table.
Sheryl leaned back against the high-backed booth, letting out a rich, melodious laugh that vibrated through the quiet diner. “Honey, ‘feisty’ is just amateur hour,” she said, giving me a knowing smirk. “In my line of work, I deal with ‘feisty’ before breakfast. If this Red thinks she’s running the show, she’s got another thing coming.”
Inside my head, Red went dead silent for a split second before erupting into a bitter, theatrical laugh.
“Amateur hour?!” Red boomed, her voice rising with full theatrical indignation. “Did this woman just call ME amateur hour? The nerve! The disrespect! Tell her who she’s speaking to! Tell her I run this mind, I run this booth, and if I had a body right now, I’d take her order myself!”
My eye twitched as I tried to keep my jaw from dropping.
“She didn’t like being called amateur hour,” I muttered to Sheryl, rubbing my forehead.
Sheryl just smiled, completely unbothered, and took a look at the laminated menu. “Well, tell Red that respect is earned, not given—and right now, she’s losing ground.”
“Red, stop! You’re gonna shoo her away!” I hissed under my breath, practically ducking my head into my shoulders.
“Shoo her away?” Red’s voice reverberated in my skull, overflowing with dramatic disbelief. “Darling, I am the main event! If anything, she should feel honored to share oxygen with my superior intellect. You’re the one making us look like a nervous wreck!”
Sheryl set her menu down on the table, watching me with an amused, razor-sharp smile. She didn’t look scared or ready to run at all—if anything, she was thoroughly entertained by the internal battle happening right in front of her.
“Don’t worry, honey, I’m not going anywhere,” Sheryl said smoothly, resting her chin on her hand. “I’ve worked in theater and Hollywood for decades. I know dynamic talent when I see it, even if half of it is hiding inside your head. But Red needs to learn some manners if we’re going to share a booth.”
“Manners?!” Red scoffed, though I could tell she was secretly thrilled by the “dynamic talent” compliment. “Tell her I don’t do ‘manners,’ I do commands.”
I rubbed my eyes, letting out a long, exhausted breath. “She says she doesn’t do manners,” I told Sheryl with a tired smile.
“Is that so?” Sheryl chuckled, taking a glance toward the kitchen. “Well, let’s see if this ‘commanding’ presence of hers can help us get a waiter over here, because I am starving.”
My hand jerked forward on its own, snapping outward toward the aisle just as the waiter approached our table.
“Attention, page!” Red’s voice boomed in my mind, sending a sudden surge of physical energy straight into my arm. “Bring us your finest vintage and whatever passes for royalty on this greasy menu!”
“Whoa—” I gasped, grabbing my own wrist with my other hand, desperately trying to drag my arm back down to the vinyl seat. My muscles strained as I wrestled with my own limb, my elbow locking up mid-air while I gritted my teeth. “Sorry! Loose nerve! Just... muscle spasm!”
The waiter froze in his tracks, blinking at my floating, trembling arm, then slowly looked over at Sheryl to see if he was being pranked.
Sheryl didn’t flinch. She just tracked my flailing arm with a sharp, amused eye, taking a sip of her water before resting her elbows on the table.
“Well,” Sheryl said with a smooth, knowing smirk, watching me pull my arm back down to the table inch by inch. “Looks like Red’s getting impatient. Careful, honey, or she’s going to have you knocking over the silverware next.”
“I am NOT impatient, I am demanding efficiency!” Red snapped, though I finally managed to force my right hand flat against the table.
I let out a ragged breath, leaning against the booth cushion while keeping my hand pinned under my other palm. “She... she tried to order for us,” I wheezed to the waiter, who was still standing there holding his notepad, completely bewildered.
“Page” was actually a handsome guy—he had a striking baby face framed by long, straight, jet-black hair that looked like it belonged on a high-fashion runway or in an action movie. I caught myself staring for a second too long.
“Oh, so you would date him?” Red’s voice purred in my head, dripping with wicked amusement as she read my private thoughts like an open book.
“Hey, that’s none of your business!” I blurted out to myself, clapping both hands over my mouth a second too late.
Sheryl’s eyes darted from me to the long-haired waiter, a slow, knowing grin spreading across her face. “Well, well, well,” she purred, leaning forward in the booth. “Did Red just catch you admiring the view?”
The waiter’s face flushed bright red, his baby-faced composure instantly shattering. He adjusted his apron, awkwardly clearing his throat while shifting his gaze between Sheryl and me. “Uh... so, are we... ordering food, or...?”
“Oh, look at him blush! How adorable,” Red cackled in my mind, practically preening with satisfaction. “Ask him if he comes with the meal, or if we have to order him separately!”
I gripped the edge of the table, desperately trying to keep my face from burning up. “Ignore her! Ignore me! Just... give us a second with the menu,” I squeaked out to the waiter.
Sheryl was practically vibrating with laughter now, resting her chin in her hands and watching the drama unfold. “Take your time, honey,” she told the waiter with a warm chuckle. “We’re just waiting to see who wins the battle for this booth.”
The waiter’s awkwardness instantly melted away, replaced by a confident, slow smirk that made my stomach do a sudden flip. He leaned one hand against the edge of our booth, casually tucking a strand of that straight jet-black hair behind his ear.
“Take all the time you need,” he said, his voice dropping an octave as his dark eyes locked onto mine. “Though if you need any ‘private recommendations’ that aren’t on the menu, you can just ask for me directly.”
Sheryl let out a low, appreciative gasp, practically beaming with delight at the drama unfolding at the table.
Inside my head, Red went wild.
“Oho! Well, look at the page getting bold!” Red crowed, her regal tone breaking into pure, unfiltered amusement. “I take it back, keep him! Tell him his service is already five stars!”
My face was completely on fire now. I stared at him, my brain momentarily short-circuiting as I tried to process the fact that the ridiculously attractive, baby-faced waiter was actually flirting back in front of Sheryl Lee Ralph and my own hyperactive alter ego.
“Uh... I... we...” I stammered, gripping the menu so hard the lamination almost bent.
Sheryl tapped her manicured nails on the table, looking between the waiter with a wide, mischievous grin. “See now, Red?” Sheryl called out to the air next to my head. “That’s how a real charmer operates. Take notes!”
The waiter flashed one last sly smile before pointing a thumb back toward the kitchen. “I’ll give you two more minutes. Let me know when you’re ready... for food, or anything else.”
As he walked away, Red purred in my mind, “Well, well, well. Are we going to sit here blushing like a schoolgirl, or are we going to write our phone number on a napkin before he comes back?”
I took a deep, shuddering breath, fanning my burning cheeks with the laminated menu while watching the long-haired waiter strut back toward the kitchen.
“So?” Red’s voice echoed in my mind, practically humming with smug anticipation. “Are we grabbing a napkin and a pen, or am I going to have to take control of your hand again?”
I slammed the menu flat against the table, letting out a heavy sigh as I shook my head, admitting the truth to the voice inside my head once and for all.
“Are you kidding? I like women,” I admitted to Red under my breath, watching the swing doors close behind him. “I just can’t help my taste in guys who keep their hair long.”
“Oh, please,” Red scoffed, though I could hear the amusement dancing in her tone. “As if that makes your lingering glance any less obvious. You have a type, darling—accept it.”
