“Table for five, please.”
I stop humming the little melody I was writing on my yellow notepad. I look up from behind my hostess stand and instantly drop the menus I had just stacked to the floor. She is standing there, even more flawless than I could have ever imagined. Smooth skin, chocolate-colored almond-shaped eyes, and  brown loosely waved hair flowing behind her even though there’s no breeze. She looks like she could’ve woken up like this. She is literally glowing golden.
I realize I am staring. This is awkward. I should say something. Now. “W-w-welcome t-t-t-to Cafe Antonio. How m-m-many?” I stutter.
The woman furrows her brow, confused. She looks back at her husband, who is pushing a stroller with two little babies and has a little girl, maybe five years old, hanging on his arm.The man shrugs his shoulders and shakes his head. The little daughter looks impatient and tugs on her mother’s skirt.
“I’m hungry, mama!” she whines.
“I know, Blue,” the woman responds. Then, she turns back to me. “Ma’am, we need a table for five, one children’s menu and crayons, please.” This woman is Beyonce, the man is Jay-Z, and the little girl is Blue Ivy.
“Oh, yes of course, Mrs. Carter,” I stammer. “Right this way!” I fumble with the menus in my hands. My palms grow sweaty, leaving condensation on the plastic menus. My heart is racing like the bass beat in Single Ladies. I am quite possibly the biggest Beyonce fan you will ever meet. I own every album, I’ve been to every tour concert in as many cities as possible, I know every single fact about her, and I run an Instagram fan account called “The Beyhive.” I’ve wanted to buy VIP tickets to a concert to meet her, but they are insanely expensive and I’m paying off my stupid student loans.
“Follow me!” I call over my shoulder. “I have the best table in the whole place for-” and I go tumbling to the floor. I wasn’t looking and I tripped over a chair. And trust me, it wasn’t nearly as graceful as Beyonce and Lady Gaga dancing on chairs in the Video Phone music video. Stupid, stupid, stupid. I get up and straighten my apron. I take a deep breath. “Here. Your table is right here,” I say, pointing at a table by the window, looking over the Malibu water.
Beyonce and Jay-Z are looking right at each other right now. I know what they are thinking. “Why, out of all the waiters and waitresses in the world, why did we get this klutz?” Jay-Z pulls Beyonce’s chair out for her and she sits down. That’s so cute. I need a man that treats me the way Jay-Z treats Beyonce. He’s so crazy in love with her. But, then again, she’s Beyonce, and I’m me. Who am I kidding? I mean, if I were a boy, I wouldn’t even look my way.
Once all of the Carters are seated, I smile and say, “Ok, I see you’ve all gotten in formation.” My smile fades away. I cannot believe I just said that. “I’m Kate and I’ll be your waitress today. C-c-can I start you off with something to drink?” I stutter.
Beyonce opens her mouth to . “I’d like a glass of r-” she started.
“Lemonade!” I cut her off. “Of course you want lemonade! I mean, you’re Beyonce! Five lemonades, on the house!”
“But we don’t want-” I don’t hear the rest as I scurry to the kitchen. I frantically squeeze lemons into a mixture, add sugar and rush back out to the table. “Here’s your lemonade!” I start pouring the lemonade into Beyonce’s glass but my hands are shaking so hard, I spill the whole pitcher on her dress.
She gasps and stands up, pushing her chair away from the table. “Oh my gosh, I am so sorry!” I yell. I kneel down and start wiping her skirt with a napkin from the pocket of my apron. “I am being such a freak. I’m sorry I’m just such a huge fan. I’ve been to every single concert of yours but I’ve never been able to get VIP tickets because of stupid student loans. I actually just graduated and want to be a singer and songwriter, just like you! Ugh, now I’m babbling. I’m so sorry.
Beyonce sighs. “It’s fine,” she chuckles calmly, taking her seat again..
“I’m just gonna go get some you breadsticks,” I mutter under my breath. My cheeks burn bright red and I turn away.
I stomp into the kitchen and groan. Ugh.  I can’t believe myself. I finally get the chance to meet my idol and this is what happens. I make a complete fool of myself. I take a deep breath and grab the bread basket.
I timidly walk back into the restaurant, but I notice the Carter’s table is empty. I sigh and walk over to wipe it down, but I notice a napkin and a check on the table. I pick up the napkin and read it. “Dear Kate,” it says. “Don’t worry about it. Trust me, this is not the weirdest thing I’ve encountered. I wrote you a check to pay your student loans. I heard that tune you were humming when we walked in, and I think it has real potential. You are an independent woman, a college grad, and strong enough to make millions. Also, I gave you some free VIP tickets to my next concert! Love you like XO, Beyonce.” I looked at the check and gasp- $100,000, enough to cover my loans and then some.
I shoot out of the restaurant and fly through the front door. I see Beyonce and the rest of the Carters floating down the street. A smile spreads across my face and I cup my hands around my mouth. “Thank you so much, Queen Bey!” I call after her. “You’re and angel. I really can see your halo!” I cringe as soon as those words leave my mouth.
She turns around and giggled. “Best of luck, Kate!” she waves at me. I literally can’t believe that this just happened. I run back into the restaurant, hand in my apron in resignation, and go back to my apartment to start writing. I will do you proud, Beyonce. You’ll see!