Bite (A Music Romance Story)

Chapter One - Fallon

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The piercing, sloshing sound the bubble tea shaker machine would make a great sample.

I don't know how I've never noticed it before. Maybe it's because it's been a slow day in the shop today – despite it being a sunny day and a weekend – and it's the only thing I can seem to focus on as I pack a to-go order for the Grubhub driver waiting outside.

The  machine stops its shaking. I walk over to retrieve the cocktail shaker and go ahead and put in another shaker in, then press the button. The sloshing commences again. If I put some distortion on the sound, it'll make a sick drill song. And drill music is hot right now. I can already picture a rapper like Pop Smoke being on it or something.

I stare at the machine again, index finger tapping against my chin, thinking if I can slip away for two seconds to grab my phone from the back to record the sound before the sloshing stops.

 Pete, my manager, usually lets me off the hook with a lot of things but using your phone while you're on shift is a big no-no under company policy so I doubt he'll be able to let that one slide.

Plus, it's not like I can hide it. There's CCTV cameras around the shop since the guy who owns the shop loves spying on us newbies. He's got a boner for psychological torture and loves docking his employees pay for stupidest stuff. One time, I'd accidentally spilled some milk on the floor and it got caught on camera, so the next day, he made me reimburse a carton with my own money.

There's a reason why Dragon Cha has been struggling to hire. I'm the only one delusional enough to take the job.

What can I say, I'm desperate for the cash and this place pays nearly twice as much per hour than the rest of the shops in the island.

The  shaker machine grinds to a halt again and I pack up the last bubble tea in the order, then rest my elbows on the counter and lean my back against it. Maybe I'll record the sample after my shift's over. I can already hear how the song will sound like – some hi hats Trisello's, 808s, fast snares. I might even add some cool strings. If only I know someone who knows someone who knows Pop Smoke. Or anyone in the industry that'll get my track to him.

Someone behind me clears her throat. I whip around to find a dark-haired woman in her mid-forties thrusting her bubble tea towards me, wearing an annoyed expression that sinks into every wrinkle and crevice of her long, sullen face.

"The boba in my drink is overcooked," she says flatly.

I squint at the drink. The cup's nearly empty now, with the exception of a few sad pieces of boba balls stuck to the bottom of her cup. Makes sense since she left with her drink nearly an hour ago. And I saw her take a sip of said drink and make a satisfied hum before leaving the store.

I know what you're trying to pull here, woman. And I'm not buying it.

"Okay," I say, taking the cup hesitantly from her. "Are you sure about that, ma'am? Because we cook our boba in batches and so far, today, they've been no complaints."

"Yes, I'm sure." She looks at me like I've just insulted her entire ancestorial line. "Are you calling me stupid?"

"No, ma'am, of course not-"

"Then, replace it. And give me a refund while you're at it."

"I'm afraid we can't give you a refund if we're replacing your drink-"

"That's it," she snaps, jabbing a finger down on the counter hard. "I want to see your manager. Now."

I grit my teeth and smile tightly.