Chapter 1 - The Last Shift at Joe's
The bar was almost empty that night. The tired yellow lights hung from the ceiling, illuminating more dust than people. Cassie slid the damp cloth over one of the tables as if the wooden surface were her own stage. With each step, her hips moved to the rhythm of a song only she could hear. She hummed softly, letting the melody escape her lips like a secret.
It was always this way when the customers were gone and all that was left were dirty tables, dragged chairs, and the persistent smell of stale beer lingering in the air. In that worn-out silence, she allowed herself to dream.
She closed her eyes for an instant, twirled around, the cloth following her gesture like an impromptu prop. In her mind, there were no more grease-stained tables or floors sticky with spilled drinks. There were spotlights, an invisible orchestra, and a vibrant audience.
A short, mocking cough interrupted the fantasy.
Cassie opened her eyes and found Cindy standing at the counter’s entrance, arms crossed, a wry smile on her face.
“What are you doing, Cassie?” she asked, tilting her head. “Your shift ended an hour ago.”
Cassie stopped, flustered, adjusting the cloth in her hand.
“I’m waiting for Joe. I need to know if he’s going to pay me this week. The rent is already overdue.”
Cindy sighed, leaning against the counter. She was still wearing her wrinkled apron, her hair in a hurried bun that defied gravity.
“Don’t even get me started,” she said, exhausted. “I need to buy Carl new sneakers. The boy already has his big toe sticking out of the old pair.”
The tone was one of exhaustion, but also of tenderness. Cassie knew how hard Cindy struggled to raise her son alone. She admired that strength but also feared getting caught in the same hamster wheel, counting pennies just to survive.
As if his name had been cursed, Joe appeared from the office, a scowl etched on his face. Keys jingled in his hand, betraying his hurry to leave.
Cassie took a deep breath, gathered her courage, and took a step forward.
“Joe!” she called, her voice firm yet gentle. “I wanted to know when you’re going to pay us. I have some overdue bills and need to pay for my classes.”
He stopped just long enough to shoot her an impatient glance.
“You live at the end of the world, Cassandra.” His voice was rough, poisoned. “A little acting class isn’t going to change that.”
The words hit Cassie like a punch to the gut. For a moment, her eyes burned. It wasn’t just about the money. It was about her dream, about the way it was constantly ridiculed.
She lifted her chin.
“I want my accounts settled. Today was my last day.”
Joe scoffed, already walking toward the door.
“No, it wasn’t.” He didn’t even look back. “You need to pay your rent, Cassandra. I’ll pay you next week.”
And he slammed the door shut on his way out, leaving the echo of his arrogance trapped in the air.
Cassie stood still, the cloth slipping from her hands. She felt the rage rise like fire. This was the limit. She wouldn’t let herself be fooled anymore.
She turned to the register, where Cindy watched, unsure whether to intervene. The flame of determination in Cassie’s eyes surprised her.
She opened the drawer with a resolute pull, taking out crumpled bills until she had the exact amount.
“Let’s see...” she murmured sarcastically, counting them one by one.
Joe could call her a dreamer, but a thief she would not be.
Cassie separated a few bills and held them out to Cindy.
“For Carl’s sneakers.”
Cindy’s eyes widened.
“Cassie, have you lost your mind?”
But there was a hidden smile in her disbelief.
Cassie smiled back, the kind of smile that held more courage than certainty. She took off her apron and threw it onto the counter like someone abandoning a chain.
She went to the back, grabbed her worn bag and the leather jacket she had inherited from her mother. When she returned, her eyes shone differently, as if she had finally understood her own destiny.
“What are you doing, Cassie?” Cindy asked again, almost in a whisper.
Cassie paused in the middle of the room, looking around at every detail— the wobbly tables, the empty bottles, the ingrained smell of cigarette smoke. It was the last time she would see that scene as a part of her life.
She straightened her posture, and the answer came like music:
“Living.”
The word echoed through the empty bar, sounding bigger than it seemed.
She turned her back without hesitation. She pushed the door open and felt the cold night wind of Arizona hit her face. The sky was dotted with stars, so vast it seemed to open up a path.
Across the street, the neon sign flickered, oscillating between “Joe’s” and darkness. It was a reminder of everything she was leaving behind —and everything she could still achieve.
Cassie took a deep breath. Inside, she felt a mix of fear and euphoria, as if she were about to leap from a cliff without knowing if there would be ground below. But there was also a certainty: she couldn’t keep living in a cage.
Los Angeles was calling her.
It was now or never.
Cassie walked down the narrow sidewalk with firm steps, but inside, her heart was beating out of sync. The cold night made her hunch her shoulders inside the jacket, and the bag hanging from her arm felt heavier than usual. It wasn’t because of the actual weight— she was only carrying her wallet, key, and a notebook full of song lyrics and class notes — but because of what it meant. It was all she had.
As she crossed the almost-deserted street, she remembered her mother. Her voice still echoed in her memory like an old song: “Never give up on what makes your soul dance, Cassie.” Her mother had been a waitress, just like her, but held the same love for music in her heart. She had left too soon, leaving her daughter an orphan as a teenager, with only that dream as a legacy.
Since then, Cassie had been counting pennies. An extra shift here, a tip there, all to pay for theater and dance classes at the community school in the next town over. They were small steps, but they kept the hope alive that one day she could become something bigger than “Joe’s waitress.”
She remembered the feeling of stepping onto that school’s makeshift stage: the simple light, the smell of wood and dust, but also the goosebumps when the first chords rang out. There, for a few brief minutes, Cassie stopped being a lost orphan in rural Arizona. She became an artist.
And now, in the silence of the street, she knew she had to find a real stage. Los Angeles was distant, almost unattainable, but Cassie could no longer accept living on the sidelines of her own dream.
With teary eyes, she lifted her face to the starry sky and whispered like a promise:
“I’m going to sing. I’m going to dance. And I’m going to be remembered.”
The wind blew hard just then, cold and sudden, as if the night had heard her vow. Cassie hugged herself, unaware that far beyond the borders of Arizona, there were attentive ears — and that her wish had just awakened something ancient, savage, and hungry, in a distant forest.