Lipstick, Literature, and Lousy Tips

Nova

My pen scratched across the page as the professor paced back and forth at the front of the hall. His voice echoed slightly off the tall ceilings, but I didn’t mind. This was the only place I could breathe without having to perform. There was something about writing—being around it, talking about it—that made the noise in my head quieter. Even if just for a little while.

I sat toward the back of the class, legs crossed under the desk, baggy jeans cuffed at my ankles, red canvas Converses tapping slowly against the floor. My cropped red camisole hugged my skin beneath my black zip-down hoodie, halfway unzipped. I hadn’t brushed my curls all the way out, just let them fall in their natural mess, pinned a few strands away from my face. A pair of thin gold hoops hung from my ears. My lip gloss was a soft cherry shade, glossy and loud enough to feel like armor.

The professor was rambling about unreliable narrators and how fiction doesn’t have to tell the truth to be honest. I half-listened, half-scribbled something that had nothing to do with the lecture. A line about velvet and masks. I underlined it twice.

Class ended with the usual shuffle of feet and zipping of bags. I stayed behind a bit, watching people file out in little clumps. Laughter. Loud voices. Easy warmth. I didn’t really belong to any group here, but that was fine. I wasn’t lonely. I just didn’t need the noise.

My phone buzzed in my pocket as I walked down the stone steps of the English building. I pulled it out.

Jace: Coming to dinner this weekend? Dad’s asking.

I rolled my eyes. No hey, no how are you, just straight to the point. Classic.

I typed back: Why? Is your mom gonna poison me again with her under-seasoned lasagna?

Before I could hit send, my screen lit up with a call.

Dad.

I stared at the screen for a second. Thought about letting it ring out. Then sighed and picked up.

“Hi,” I said flatly.

“Pumpkin,” he said, like hearing my voice made his day. “You sound thrilled.”

“I’m at school, Dad.”

“Right. Smart girl. Listen, are you free this weekend?”

“Why?”

He paused. “Genevieve and the twins are heading out of town. Just me at the house. Figured maybe we could have dinner. I miss you, Nova.”

I pinched the bridge of my nose. The guilt worked fast. It always did.

“I don’t know…”

“Just one night. I’ll even order from that sushi place you love.”

I sighed. “You trying to bribe me with raw fish?”

“If it works.” He chuckled softly. “Come on. Your old man misses you.”

I cringed but smiled anyway. Damn him. “Fine. One night. No family photo albums, no awkward life advice, and no Genevieve.”

“She’s not even in the country.”

“Good.”

We said goodbye and hung up. I slipped my phone into my pocket and stared ahead as I walked, weaving through campus foot traffic. The idea of going back to that house made my stomach twist. Too much glass. Too much silence. Too many memories shoved into corners.

---

Work was chaos.

The café was packed, the line never-ending. I tied my apron around my waist for the fifth time and forced a smile I didn’t feel.

“Welcome to Lina’s. What can I get started for you?”

“Yeah, can you make that iced and hurry? I’m in a rush,” the woman snapped.

I nodded and moved like a robot. Every drink, every plate, every comment slid past me like water off tile. My manager barked something about wiping the counter again. A kid spilled hot chocolate on my sneakers. Someone called me sweetheart. I almost threw a fork at him.

The guy at table four snapped his fingers at me like I was a dog and when I didn’t rush over fast enough he let out this loud sigh like serving him was somehow the most important task in my life I walked over with the fakest smile I could manage and he didn’t even look at me when he ordered just shoved the menu in my direction and said something about extra foam and not too sweet like I was supposed to read his mind I brought the drink back exactly how he asked and he still had the nerve to say it wasn’t right and that maybe someone more competent should be handling his order I stood there for half a second wondering if I could get away with pouring it over his lap but instead I just smiled again and walked away biting down on the inside of my cheek so I wouldn’t say something that would get me fired

By the time my shift ended, my hair smelled like syrup and coffee. My tips were pathetic. My back ached. But I didn’t complain. I clocked out, slipped off the apron, and walked the ten blocks home with my music low in one ear.

My apartment was dim, quiet, and smelled like lavender and clean sheets. I dropped my bag, peeled off my clothes, and stood under the shower until the heat brought me back to life.

When I stepped out, I didn’t dry off right away. I stood in front of the mirror, letting the fog clear while I leaned in and looked at myself. Not Nova. Not student. Not barista.

VelvetMistress.

I dried off, moisturized, and sat at my desk. My laptop blinked awake. My inbox was full, but I didn’t check it. I went straight to the app.

Typed.

Subscriber Post: You want me tonight? Then prove it. I don’t perform for peasants. I entertain kings. If you can’t tip, don’t click. 10 PM. Bring your wallets and your manners.

I hit post.

Stood up, pulled on my boots. Grabbed my leather jacket. Slipped on the helmet.

My bike waited downstairs like it always did. Sleek. Loud. Mine.

I straddled it, kicked it to life, and felt the city hum beneath me. The wind tangled in my hair as I pulled onto the street.

The road ahead glowed red and gold with traffic lights and streetlamps. Home wasn’t far. But I still didn’t want to go.

Let’s get this over with.