Chapter 2: Your Card Got Declined

I wake up a few hours later, my stomach grumbling. Hmmm, I didn’t know it was possible to wake up from hunger. I get sit up in the bed, and blink a few times, then remember where I am which makes me glum all over again. I was hoping it was all just some terrible nightmare and I’d wake up at home in my beautiful sea foam green room in my large, comfortable king-sized bed. But sadly, that’s not the case, for I am looking around and there’s not a fleck of sea foam green anywhere. Just the boring, pasty-white colored walls and the horrifyingly ugly creaky floorboards.

I grab my phone from underneath the pillow and look at the time, the bright light causing me to blink as it nearly blinds me. I see that it’s only 6:45, meaning I’ve only been here two hours and it already feels like it’s been a lifetime. Two lifetimes at that. I get out of the bed, pull my flip-flops on and walk out of the room, heading down the short corridor in search for some food. The only good thing about my Grandma Nancy having a house the size of a shoebox is the fact that there’s no stairs, which is really nice for people who are lazy, like myself.

I walk into the kitchen and see Spencer, my parents and my grandma clearing the table of dinner plates. Did they seriously eat dinner without me? “Where’s my food?” I wonder.

“We assumed you weren’t hungry; dinner’s at 6:00, Stephanie.” My grandmother tells me, wiping her mouth with a napkin.

“What, so I’m just supposed to not eat?” I ask incredulously.

“I tried to wake you up, but you told me to ‘go away before’ you ‘slit my throat’, so I left.” Spencer defends.

“Did I really?” I wonder. He nods and I say, “Huh, I don’t remember that.”

“Well, you are a terrible person to try to wake up.” He reminds me.

“This is true.” I say, turning back to my parents and my grandmother. “Okay, so what am I supposed to do?”

“If you’re hungry; get something to eat from the refrigerator.” My mom tells me.

“What do you have?” I wonder, looking at my grandma.

“You like Ramen noodles?”

“Pardon?”

“Do.You.Like.Ramen.Noodles?” She asks again, articulating to me like I’m retarded or something.

“I don’t know what that is.”

“What have you two done to this child?” My grandma demands of my parents. “What kinda fifteen year old doesn’t know what Ramen is?”

“I’m seventeen.” I correct her.

“Same difference.”

“Not really.”

“Hasn’t anyone ever told you not to talk back to adults? Don’t you have any respect?” She demands.

“Of course I have respect, just not for people who have none for me.”

“And you have quite the smart mouth, you two are raising this one all wr-“

“Nancy, we’re raising her just fine.” My dad interrupts. Then he looks at me, ”Steffy, sweetie, Ramen is noodles.”

“Like pasta?”

“Yeah, kinda. They come in these square blocks and you cook them in a pot. They come with seasoning and everything.”

“Oh, okay.” I say, shrugging. “That doesn’t sound too bad, I guess. Can I use your car, mom?”

“Why?”

“So I can go get some food.”

She sighs, before pulling the keys from her pocket and handing them to me. “Be careful.”

“Yeah, yeah, okay.” I retort, taking them from her and nearly bolting for the front door.

I walk down the yard and to her car, jumping into the driver’s seat. I pull my seatbelt on and click it, speeding away from the house. I hope I can remember how to get back. But if I can’t then, that won’t be too bad either, I don’t think. I ride down the street for a while before I decide that putting in something into the GPS would probably be the smart thing to do. I type in food with my right hand and drive with my left through the town while waiting for results.

A good forty-five results come up, and I just randomly click the top one. I was actually trying to scroll down, and I accidently clicked on it, so I’m going with it. The Riverback Diner. Sounds absolutely divine. The drive there isn’t very long, only like ten minutes. When I pull in, I see that it isn’t very crowded; must not get much business. I park my mother’s Range Rover near the front and get out, making sure I’ve got the keys before closing the doors. There have been a few times I’ve locked my own keys in my car, so yes, I now have to always be sure.

I walk into the restaurant and nearly turn around and leave when I spot one of those big radio things on the wall playing some old jazz music. I think it’s called like a jukebox or something. I don’t know. The sign says ‘Seat Yourself’, so I walk to the back and sit down in a booth, putting my feet up on the other side of it. This is why booths are so convenient. I look down at the menu before me and pick it up, opening it. They don’t sell very much stuff here. Sub-sandwiches, salads, soups and pizza. Which is kinda a weird thing to throw in at the end, but I guess.

“Hey, you ready to order?” A guy asks me, startling me since his voice is literally just like, right there.

“Yeah,” I say, nodding. “Um, can I just have a salad?”

“Sure,” He says, scratching it down on his pad of paper. “What kind?”

“What?”  I ask, confusedly looking up at the guy.

He’s actually really hot, you know, to be a Tennessean. He obviously has an accent, like my grandma, but his sounds way less stupid and much more natural. It’s cute. And he’s pretty tan, like he spends a lot of time outside in the sun or something, which I can’t imagine why anyone would. But maybe it’s just me who’s not an outdoor type of girl.

“What kinda salad would you like?” He politely repeats.

“Oh,” I say. I didn’t know there were different kinds. “I’ll just get the chef’s salad.”

“Ranch or no?”

“Yes, but not that much.” I say.

“Alright, I’ll bring it to you in about ten minutes. Is that okay?”

“That’s great, thanks.” I say, smiling warmly.

He returns the smile before putting his pad of paper and pencil down into the pocket of the wait apron thing he’s wearing. He walks off and I pull my phone out of my pocket, sighing. I look around the tiny, nearly deserted diner, seeing little clippings from the newspaper, autographed pictures of Elvis and even a guitar is mantled up on the way, probably courtesy of The King himself. Apparently he’s a really big deal here. That makes sense though, I guess, since he like lived here or whatever.

True to his word, the guy returns about ten minutes later, placing the salad in front of me along with some silverware. He really is cute - and if I didn’t know that Samuel was in Puerto Rico probably thinking about some of the really pretty girls that are most likely there, I’d feel a little bad about thinking about hot this waiter guy is. I look up on his shirt for a nametag or something, put I don’t see one.

“Sorry, I forgot to ask you what you want to drink.”

“Do you guys have Diet Coke?”

He shakes his head, “We got Diet Pepsi though, if that’s alright.”

“Okay, I’ll take that then.” I tell him.

The boy leaves and then returns a few seconds later, placing the glass in front of me with an unopened straw. “If you need anything just, get my attention or something. Not like I’ll be busy.” He says, making joke of how empty they are.

I laugh at that slightly, “Right, okay.”

He smiles slightly before tucking his order pat in his apron. He walks by me and I assume back behind the counter. I cross my legs underneath the table, unspinning my silverware and taking a bite of the salad. I’m starving, and I know a salad won’t really solve that, but when I get back to my grandma’s house I’ll just go to sleep and then wake up early for breakfast in the morning.

I hear the bell sound against the door, meaning someone’s just walked into the restaurant. On instinct, I look over at it, and I see a girl walking in with a group of other girls. Friends, obviously. I look away from them and pull my phone from my pocket deciding that I should call at least one of my many friends. I dial Britney’s number just because it’s near the top, as it starts with a ‘B’. I put the phone up to my ear and listen to the monogamous ring.

“Stef, hey girl.” Britney chirps.

“Hey Brit,” I say, trying not to sound so dejected.

“What’s wrong?” She wonders. Apparently I failed at masking my voice. “And I thought you were hanging out with Jessica, Taylin and me today?”

“I’m sorry. I, um, I couldn’t make it.”

“Why not? We would have come to get you, you know.”

“I know, it’s just…I’m not in California.” I explain.

“Huh?” Britney asks, sounding confused.

“I moved.”

“You moved?” She repeats.

I swallow the lump in my throat and reply with, “Yeah, two days ago actually. Friday I learned we were moving; Saturday we spent the whole day on the road, and part of today. We just got here a while ago.”

“Okay, so if it took that long, that means you’re not in like, Seattle or something doesn’t it?”

I laugh humorlessly, “I am definitely not in Seattle, Brit.”

“Well then where are you?”

“Tennessee.”

“As in…the Tennessee?” Britney asks in horror.

“Yes, the Tennessee.”

I hear talking in the background and then Britney’s voice is replaced by Jasmine’s, “You’re lying. Stop lying, it’s not funny, Steffy.”

“It’s not a joke Jasmine; I am literally in Tennessee right this very moment.”

“But why didn’t you tell us?” She demands.

“Well, because, it was really short notice.” That is half the reason why I didn’t tell them, so technically I didn’t lie to her.

Taylin’s voice then comes over the phone, “Well, when are you coming back home?”

“I don’t have a home there anymore, Taylin, I moved. I live in freaking Tennessee now.” I reiterate.

“But why?”

I sigh, debating whether or not to tell them that I’m broke. Well I’ve always been broke - it’s my parents who had the money. I don’t want them to like spread it around school that I’m broke. I can see the Tweets now. “Oomf moved to Tennessee because she’s broke? Lol.” I seriously wouldn’t be surprised if that happened, but if I don’t tell my friends, then they won’t be able to spread it around and no one will know that my dad lost his fortune.

“Um, my mom. She just thought it was time, you know, for a change of scenery.”

“So she chooses Tennessee?” Jasmine asks cattily. I swear, Jasmine’s such a bitch sometimes.

I mean, I love all of my friends, but still. Yes, Jasmine, Taylin and Britney are my closest friends, but sometimes I really can’t stand Jasmine. She’s the type of person who can have about four thousand pencils in her thing and when you ask, she’s all like, “No, I don’t have a pencil.” I mean, that’s not really anything, but it’s just an example of how selfish she is. So why am I friends with her, you may wonder? Well, our dads have golfed together at the Los Angles Country Club together for like fifteen years, so we just became friends through that I guess. Well, I should say they used to golf together.

“Yeah, have you ever even been to Tennessee? It’s really…scenic.”

Jasmine laughs, “Okay, no offence to your mom, but that’s so stupid.”

“Yeah, well, you know.” I say, letting my voice trail off.

There’s a bit of static and then Taylin’s voice comes back. “So how is it there?”

“I miss L.A.”  I whine. “It’s weird here, and I don’t like it.”

“Well, we’re definitely gonna have to plan a visit so you can come see us. Or the other way around.” She chirps.

“Yeah, for sure.” I reply. “Anyway, I guess I’ll talk to you guys later.”

“Bye Stef!” They all chorus, and it’s then I figure out that I must be on speaker phone.

“Bye guys.” I say before hanging up the phone and setting in down on the table.

I pick up my straw and peel the paper back, dropping it into my dark drink. I guess this could be worse. Or actually, no it couldn’t. This is the worst things can possibly get for me. It’s rock bottom. I’ve just gone from a rich L.A. girl to a broke Southern Belle in less than forty-eight hours. Actually, I’m not even that. I’m just a poor girl living in Tennessee. Not even a Southern Belle, because I’m pretty sure Southern Belle’s have lots of money.

I shake my head in self-pity, before stabbing my fork down in my salad and mixing it all up. I wrinkle my nose in disgust when I feel the spokes of the fork going through something squishy. I pull the fork up and on the end I see an olive. A freaking green olive. I hate olives. I hate them so much. I push it off the fork and as I’m thoroughly inspecting it for more, I hear footsteps approach me.

I look up, and see a guy standing before me. I assume he also works here, as he’s wearing a similar attire to that of the guy before who took my order and then brought the stuff to me. He’s obviously close the age of the first guy, and neither of them looks like they’re out of high school yet, probably both in their senior year of high school, or freshman in college or something.  

“Hey, how’s everything?” He asks courteously.

“Erm, pretty good, thanks.”

“Here’s the bill, whenever you’re done.” The boy says - he, like the guy before him, doesn’t have a nametag on - as he hands me the black folder with the check inside.

“I’ll just pay now,” I tell him, pulling my money holder out of my pocket and taking out my black American Express. I give it to the guy and he tells me that he’ll be right back and then leaves, going to run the card.

I eat a bit more of my salad and drink down the rest of my drink before pulling my phone from my pocket and checking the time. I see that it’s only 7:40 and sigh heavily, dropping my head on the table in front of me. Maybe if I smash on the table hard enough, I’ll eventually die. I’ve only wasted about an hour. Kill me now.

The boy comes back with my card in his hand and an uncomfortable look on his face. “Um, I’m sorry, but your card got declined.”

“What?” I retort, looking up at him, wondering if I heard him correctly.

“It didn’t take it.” He explicates. “It was declined.”

“Well, run it again. I don’t have a credit limit.”

“Miss,” He pauses and looks down at my name on the card, “Vandergeld, I did run it again, but it declined.”

I roll my eyes at his obvious ineptness to swipe a credit card. “Okay, just try this one then.” I say, taking my AmEx from him and sliding it back into my money holder. I take out my Black MasterCard and hand it to him. “Try this one.”

“Alright, then.” He retorts, taking the card from me and heading back to the back to run it.

Seconds later, the blonde-haired boy returns again with an apologetic look on his face. “It didn’t go through. Your family bank is calling and they wanna talk to a Mrs. Vanessa Vandergeld.”

I groan, snatching the card from him. No way I’m letting the bank talk to my mom, she won’t be happy if she finds out I’m trying to use my card. She says it’s for emergency, but I mean, come on, I’m a seventeen year old girl - everything I wanna buy is an emergency. “Thanks a lot.” I say, getting flustered.

“Look, it’s none of my business so I won’t ask. You’re obviously not from around here though. It’s only five dollars and some change. I’ll pay it; it’s not a big deal. I just wanted to let you know your card was declining.” The boy replies.

“Thanks, I guess.” I mutter, standing up briskly leaving the diner and somewhat embarrassed.

I stomp across the parking lot to my mom’s car and get in, slamming the door behind me. Why the hell are my cards getting declined? I start the car, backing out of the lot and speeding down the street to my grandma’s house. I definitely need to talk to my parents about my credit card issues.

I make it back to my grandma’s house about ten minutes later, and I pull up behind her big old Lincoln Town car, turning the car off. I get out and walk slowly up to the front door. I pull the heavy, creaky screen door open and twist the knob, trying to open the main door but it doesn’t budge. I guess other people actually lock their doors. I wouldn’t know, since we didn’t use to lock the mansion doors. I knock on the door and cross my arms over my shoulder, impatiently waiting.

After standing there for at least two minutes, the door swings open and reveals my grandmother with a scowl on her face. “Well you were gone long enough.” She says, stepping aside.

“You ate without me, and didn’t even bother to save me any. What was I supposed to do?” I mutter, walking past her.

“I thought I told you about talking back? You’re not gonna do that. Not while you’re living here, Stephanie.”

“Sorry.” I mumble as sarcastically as I can manage, walking down the corridor to my new room.

I push the door open, walking in and close it behind me. The smell of the mothballs is still very prominent in the room, but not as much as it was when I first came in. The window is still perched open, and everything’s  how I left it, so I guess no one has been in here, which is good. I don’t like people in my room when I’m gone. I’m just really paranoid about it.

Seeing as how it’s just a bit after eight, I guess I should take a shower. I don’t even remember where the bathroom is in this house, but seeing as how my walk in closet had a larger area than this entire house, it shouldn’t be too difficult to find. I know that Spencer’s room is right across from mine, and there’s like four other doors. One has to be a bathroom.

Even though I’m really not that tired considering my nap earlier, I think I’m just gonna force myself to sleep. I unzip my carry-on and pull out a pair of green plaid pajama pants and a green t-shirt embellished with logo from Taylor Swift’s 2011 Speak Now Tour. Yes, I must always match my clothing. Even in my sleep. I pull out a pair of undergarments and ball them up together, leaving my room, closing the door behind me.

When I walk out of my room, I see that Spencer has his door slightly ajar, and he’s lying on his bed; his fingers flying over the screen of his iPhone. He’s probably texting Julia; because even though he’s super popular back home, Julia is really the only person he ever texts on his phone. I don’t know how or why I know that, but I do. I walk past his room, and pass the next one which is on Spencer’s side. It’s closed shut, but I think I remember it as being my grandmother’s room. The one across then, must be the room that my parents are staying in. The door to that room is also closed though. I continue the walk down the corridor, and pull open the next door, expecting the bathroom. I don’t find it though. Instead I realize I’m standing in what I guess grandma uses as a storage room. Rolling my eyes, I close the door and open the final door, walking in; glad to see it’s the bathroom.

Not only is it a bathroom, but it’s a tiny bathroom. The storage closet at our L.A. house was bigger than this bathroom. The storage closet! I sigh, but close the door behind me, and look around. The walls are an icky color of pink. Not even an attractive pink; more like the color of burned Pepto-Bismol. The toilet is a pasty white color and the shower curtain doesn’t even match the rest of the bathroom. It’s yellow. Looks like SpongeBob and Patrick freaking exploded in here. And she doesn’t even have his and her sinks. Granted, she used to live alone before we came here, but still.

I push in the lock on the door and then strip of my clothes, leaving them on the floor. The sink doesn’t even have one of those granite or marble counters connected to it for me to put my stuff on so I’m pretty much forced to just leave it all in a pile on the floor.

Jumping into the shower, I quickly wash my body, and look around for some shampoo. I don’t find any in the shower - which I really shouldn’t have expected to. I brought some with me, but I forgot it back in my room. So I run the bar of soap through my hair as a subsititue and thankfully, it suffices to do the job. I’m out of the shower twenty minutes later, and I quickly get dressed, going back to my room. I take my phone out of my pocket before dropping the clothes on the floor, since I don’t have a hamper or anything.

Collapsing on the bed, I pull the cover up over me and then sigh, realizing I didn’t turn the light off. I could always sleep with it on. But that’d be a bit difficult, I think. Forcing myself out of the bed, I turn the light off and go back over to the bed, crawling underneath the covers as the bed creaks beneath me.

My phone pings, telling me I’ve got a new text. I look down at it, putting in the four-digit passcode and reading the notifications; One New Text Message From: Samuel I select the option to read the message and it pops up. A small smile spreads across my face as I read his message:

Tennessee can’t be that bad if you’re there. I’m sure it’ll get better, babe. Goodnight. I love you.

I send him a quick reply, before tucking the phone underneath my pillow and groaning as I turn over on my left side. I try to get comfortable in the tiny bed, which is a near impossible feat. So I flip over on my right side, staring towards the window, curling up in a fetal position. That position doesn’t seem to be any more comfortable than the previous so I sigh, sitting up in the bed, and running my fingers through my hair agitatedly. Trying to fluff the pillow doesn’t work out too well either, because like I said, it’s ridiculously flat. I accept that it’s as fluffy (or lack thereof) as it’s gonna get and throw it back down, smashing my head into it and snapping my eyes shut. 

Author's Note: Hey, so I hope you liked this chapter! Lemme know in a comment? See you guys Friday, [4/26]. Dedicated to @julianicole98 for the cover she made, which will later be posted as a banner. Oh, and the waiter guys? They're not random. That's all I'll say. ♥