The Maid In Neverland || Michael Jackson

Chapter 17

My head was spinning when I woke up the next day.

I almost flew out of my room because it was already nine and my duty at the restaurant starts at eight. I was rushing, scolding myself for not waking up at the sound of the alarm. When I got out of my room, my brows pulled together when I saw my brother chilling out in the living room and watching TV.

"John?!" I said, eyeing him. "Why aren't you prepared yet? It's already nine!"

I was shoving things inside my bag as I was going around the apartment looking for the other pair of my shoes. Where the hell is it?

"Prepare for what?" he simply asked.

"For school!" I said, looking under the table. "Turn off the damn TV and change your clothes, you're gonna be late!"

His forehead creased. "It's Saturday, Jane."

I stopped. I turned my head to him. "What?"

"It's Saturday."

I looked up at the calendar hanging on the wall near the door. 7th September. Saturday.

I closed my eyes and sighed. Saturday. It's my freaking day off, I couldn't believe I forgot. I stood up from squatting by the table and put my bag on the side, throwing myself to the couch. "Shit," I uttered, putting my palms on my face. What the hell's wrong with me?

"I can't believe you were just about to the rush to restaurant on your day off," my brother said.

"I forgot," I said. "I thought it was--" I stopped. No, it's not Friday. Friday was yesterday and it was when Michael Jackson decided to show up and stir the day. I closed my eyes again as I heave a deep sigh upon remembering everything that happened. I was so tired from yesterday that I overslept. I could still feel my whole body aching especially my legs.

"Hey look," John said, making me open my eyes. "Jane, the news!"

I leaned forward and stared at the TV. A brown-haired female reporter was speaking.

"Michael Jackson was spotted in a local fast food in Santa Maria yesterday. The King of Pop was said to be in a disguise, wearing a thick false beard and casually waited on the line to order at the counter."

Then they showed a video of the restaurant--the Shanelle's--from yesterday with hundreds of people crowding inside. The reporter even interviewed one of the fans.

"He was standing on the line, and I was behind him," a man said. "I didn't have any idea that he was Michael Jackson. He was talking with the woman in the counter, and then he suddenly took off his disguise and that's when we recognize him. I was so close to touching him but one of his bodyguards immediately pushed me."

John looked at me. "Isn't that the restaurant where you work?"

I didn't answer. My eyes were still on the TV.

"According to the people, the Billie Jean singer was accompanied by only two of his bodyguards. It is unclear why he decided to take off his disguise in the middle of the restaurant. The megastar then escaped the screaming fans through the kitchen, running away with one of the restaurant's workers."

For the second time, John looked at me. "Don't tell me you're that restaurant worker he ran away with?"

"It was me."

John immediately rose to his seat, his eyes wide after realizing something. "So that's why you ended up bringing him here last night?"

"Yeah," I simply said. I didn't even bother to explain and I just leaned back to the couch, closing my eyes. "Turn off the TV, it's making my head ache."