Christina loads a Linkin Park CD
in the boombox,
twists the volume to max
presses play
then turns to her friend

“Christian!
We kinda look like each other, you know?
Our brown skin and dark curly hair.”

The teenagers stare at themselves
in the break room mirror
 
“You’re prettier,”
Christian whispers.
 
“Let’s switch nametags,”
Christina demands.
 
“Someone will know,”
he’s adamant.
 
“Pfft. We’ll get away with it.”
She pins her nametag on him.
“Now I’m Christian,
and you’re Christina.”
 
Laughter ensues
Rowdiness dominates the grill
Fake Christian runs around singing
screaming
like Chester Bennington
 
The restaurant crew acts like ninjas in battle
handling fast-food orders
to watching,
confused customers
 
Days later, a mystery shop returns
zero score
with a stinging memo:

“That little Christian girl…
   is an issue.”
 
But there was no little Christian girl
there was a Christina
but it made little sense
Christian’s a guy
three times Christina’s size
 
“That mystery shopper fucked up.”

The novice manager concluded,
ripping the mystery shop up
 
“Told ya.”
Christina tells Christian
quickly kissing him
 
“Now you’re my boyfriend.”