by Lucy Smoke
I approached slowly. "Hi?" They both looked up, a pair of bright, blue eyes and a pair of tornado-gray eyes, both intensely focused on me. "Um, can I get you anything?"
I paused at the end of the counter, directing my attention to the newcomer. He looked me over in the same way that the blue-eyed giant had, analyzing me in one moment, before turning away.
"You ordered pie, right?" the gray eyed stranger asked, and the giant nodded. He looked back at me. "Then I'm good."
"Alright then. Well, if you do need something, my name's Harlow, just call."
He nodded once.
I rushed back to the kitchen, hoping Joanna would take any new tables that came. I didn't want to leave the safety of the back until I absolutely had to. The two at the counter made me feel like a layer of skin was stripped away every time they looked at me.
Carl, the cook, wasn't in the mood to talk. I sat on a wooden stool next to one of the metal prep counters where a radio played 90s hip hop quietly. I counted the beats to three and a half songs before Carl dinged what I called the "order up" bell. No one ever actually said "order up" anymore, but sometimes I liked to imagine that Alex’s Diner was truly back in the 50s and things were easier and people were different.
It gave me something to think about, other than bills, school, and work. I cut a fresh slice of apple pie and squirted a dollop of whipped cream on top before taking both plates out into the dining room.
Sitting in the back, I had convinced myself that the two guys at the counter weren't as potent as they had seemed the first time around. However, when I set their plates down and they both looked at me again, I knew I had been outright lying to myself. I tried to smile as I picked up a pot of coffee and filled the gray-eyed customer's mug. I moved back towards the truckers in my section, filling their mugs as well.
"Are you always working this late?" the giant asked as I passed around the counter.
Startled, I almost dropped the half-empty pot on my foot. Looking over my shoulder, both he and his friend had focused on me once again. His friend was actively shoveling pie between his lips as if it were going out of style while still wholly focused on me. I sighed, reminding myself that these were just boys like anyone else. No matter that they seemed far too observant; they were just like any other customers. I placed the pot back on the coffee maker’s warming plate and leaned a hip against the counter.
"I'm usually only here this late when no one else can work," I admitted.
"Don't you have school?" The question came from gray-eyes. "You're like what? Fifteen?"
I bristled. "Actually, I'm eighteen. What are you – twelve?" I immediately wanted to slap a hand over my mouth, surprised that I had spoken my thoughts aloud. I glanced over at them and hoped that they didn't take offense.
Please have a sense of humor, I begged silently. The giant's low, baritone laugh sounded like rumbling thunder and it grew louder as his friend's dumbstruck face just stared back at me. Relief slid through me.
"That was beautiful." The giant swiped large fingers under his eyes and looked between us before refocusing on me. "I like you, Harlow. My name's Knix and this is my friend, Marvin, and no, he's not twelve. Although he acts like it sometimes."
I expected Marvin to take offense at his friends nettling, but he simply picked up his coffee cup and took another sip before returning to his pie. Knix held out a hand the size of a bear paw for me to shake and I took it in greeting, watching as my own hand disappeared in his grip.
"Nice to meet you."
"So tell me, Harlow," Knix said. "About how many times a week would you say no one else can work this late?" He released my hand, but followed me with his eyes as I shifted against the counter, wrapping my arms around my middle and pressing my palms to my sides.
"Is there a reason you want to know?" If he wanted to know if we were hiring for late shifts, I'd tell him, but if he was trying to find out my work schedule, well, it didn't matter how pretty he was, that was creepy.
"Curiosity."
I watched him with one brow raised. I hoped he was just looking for a job; feeling me out to see if I would offer up the information.
"There's usually no one else working night shifts but Joanna." I nodded to the other server as she giggled with Mark-Jim-Bob in the corner. "And I work Mondays through Thursdays. Most people have other jobs, or kids, or school." I moved away to wipe down a section of the counter closer to the other end.
"Don't you have school?"
I paused and turned to look at Marvin who had asked the question and caught him staring back at me. "Yeah."
Marvin nodded once, as though he had expected my answer, and then continued to eat the last two bites of his pie.
"Do you want more?" I asked.
He paused as if considering before shaking his head. "Not today, Sunshine." He shifted on his stool, pulling out a buzzing cell phone. He swiped a long finger across the screen before nudging Knix to stand. Knix drained the last of his tea as Marvin straightened the collar of his white, pressed shirt and threw a bill on the counter before motioning for Knix to follow. "Keep the change."
Knix turned back and left me with another of his stunning smiles as they both disappeared into the gas station’s entrance to leave out of the left side of the building. I waited for them to disappear completely before I began cleaning up their plates. My eyes widened as I spotted Ben Franklin's face on the hundred-dollar bill that Marvin had left.
Keep the change? I calculated in my head how much of a tip he'd left me, wondering if he'd accidentally left the wrong bill. A twenty-dollar bill would have left me with almost a seventy percent tip.
I don't know if Marvin knew exactly what he was giving me when he left it, but it was the break I needed. My relief followed me even as I left the diner at 6 am. I now had nearly enough to cover my mom's next medical bill. I smiled as I stuffed the cash in my purse.
The walk home wasn't all that long, especially so early in the morning – thirty minutes give or take. Despite that, exhaustion weighed on my eyelids. I knew the bus for school would be hitting my neighborhood in less than two hours and I needed to shower off the smell of diner grease before I could get ready.
I strode alongside the highway that ran under I-77, taking the fastest route home. I shivered in the early morning chill, but watched as the sky began to brighten, sharpening into a light blue. Cars whizzed past, some honking, but most ignored me.
As I drew closer to my street – where the duplex I lived in was sequestered in the very back – I noticed a scrap of gray and black fur wiggling out of one of the ditches that lined the pavement. I watched as it lifted its head. Emerald-green eyes met mine and flashed with fear just before the little kitten meowed and ran straight for the road.
A blue pick-up truck, blaring rap, sped up from the opposite direction just as the cat reached that side of the road. I gasped and lurched forward as the kitten raised its head and stared at the headlights speeding toward it. I thought only deer did that, but I didn't stop to criticize the idiocy of the animal. Instead, I threw myself across the road, snatching the cat into my arms as the truck's horn blared.
A scream caught in my throat as I hunched my shoulders and dropped into a roll that landed me in the ditch, out of the truck’s way. I heard fleeting curses from the truck’s rolled down windows as the driver zoomed past, not even bothering to slow down. I threw my head back, letting it thud against the wet dirt and shuddered in a deep breath as the cat lifted its ears and belly-crawled up my chest. I lifted it to look at the creature and noticed she was missing a part of her ear. Knowing that she was unharmed, I closed my eyes and willed my heart to stop galloping inside my ribs. It felt as if it was attempting to run a marathon straight through my chest. One hand drifted up to pat the cat on the head as she squirmed and purred against me.
"Yeah, yeah, you're welcome."
I struggled up and my purse strap dug painfully into my shoulder, but a dark BMW that screeched to a halt on the side of the road closest to me distracted
me as I finally pushed myself to sitting. The passenger door opened and one of the guys from earlier, Marvin, stepped out. Eyes wild, he slid down into the ditch until he stood over me.
"Are you okay?" His naturally deep voice had risen as he glared down at me, now wearing a blue button-down and black slacks. I didn’t have a moment to question the change in clothes. He reached down, wrapping his hands around my upper arms, and hauled me up the steep incline.
"Yeah, I'm fine. How did you–"
"Then what the fuck were you thinking?!" I blinked as he yelled. "You could have fucking died." The kitten in my arms hissed at him.
Marvin glared at the cat until she curled closer to me, her hissing fading to discontented growls. "Is that thing yours?"
I looked down at the kitten as she clawed at my dirty uniform. "No?" Technically, I had never seen the cat before, but now she kind of felt like mine with the way she clutched at me in front of him – and I had saved her.
"No?" He looked even more outraged. "Then why the fuck would you jump across the road to save the mangy thing?!" His nostrils flared as he raged, and stood straighter.
"Just because she isn't mine doesn't mean she deserved to die!" I snapped.
He shoved his long fingers through his perfect hair, mussing it up as he spun and strode back towards his car before pausing and pacing in my direction again. Reaching me, he grabbed my elbow, yanking me as I stumbled along behind him.
"Come on, we're taking you home."
"What?" I stopped. "No!" He rounded on me once again.
"What the fuck do you fucking mean 'no'? You just almost killed yourself to save a stupid cat that isn't even yours!"
"I don't even know you!" I screamed back. I would have been perfectly fine, and it wasn't any of his business.
"What's my name?" he demanded, knowing that I knew the answer.
"Just because I know your name doesn't mean I trust you." It had only been mentioned once and I had only met him a few hours ago. Why would he even still be in the area?
Someone knocked on the blackened glass from the driver's side of the BMW, causing both of us to turn our heads. Marvin's gaze narrowed on the glass, but he didn't walk over, and instead turned back to me with a frustrated huff.
"It's just a ride. You can't be walking too far; you've got school soon, right? Why the fuck would you stay up all night working?"
I pulled out of his grip, cradling the cat against my chest. I really couldn't afford to keep the poor thing, but looking down at those gem-colored eyes, she wasn't exactly convincing me to put her down and leave her.
"Listen, Marvin, I–"
"Marv," he offered absentmindedly as he scrubbed another hand down his face.
"Marv," I corrected. "I'll be fine. I promise, but you're right, I do have to get home. The sooner you leave, the sooner I can get going."
He glared at me, angry. "No more heroic antics." I nodded. He looked at the cat in my arms, reaching forward and passed one hand – many times the size of her head – over her fur. "Take care of that damn thing."
My head bobbed once more as he looked at me, staring hard before he cursed again and headed back to the BMW. He got in, slammed the door, and the beautiful car pulled away.
I released a pent-up sigh of relief. I almost thought he might have forced me into his car and even though he seemed genuine, he was a bit scary. I stared down at the cat, and rubbed her mangled ear as she purred.
"Well, guess you're coming home with me." She meowed back. "But what should I name you?" She blinked up at me. "Cleo? You kind of look like an Egyptian Mau." Nails sank into my arm as Cleo climbed to my shoulder. "Okay, Cleo it is. Remember, though, you are definitely an outside cat, Babe. I can't afford a litterbox."
She seemed to find no problem with that and proceeded to paw and claw at me as I continued my walk home. Every now and then, I felt like Marv would pop out from behind a corner and follow me to make sure I didn't do anything else. It was confusing, what did he care? He didn't even know me. Some people could be unpredictable.
My duplex came into view a good twenty minutes later and I was already behind schedule. I reached for the keys inside of my soaked and dirty purse and unlocked the front door, pushing it open to a stale smelling hallway. Cleo scratched at me to be let down. When I released her, her nails clicked across the worn, wood flooring into the linoleum tiled kitchen.
Pictures of my mom and I had been packed away when she had been diagnosed with cancer almost a full year ago. She said that she hated the way they made her feel – like our younger selves were watching and judging us. If I didn't know any better, I might have agreed with her.
The quiet of the house told me that she wasn't awake yet. I strode into the living room to find that Cleo had wandered back from the kitchen and was already napping on the threadbare couch. Lucky cat. Tip-toeing down the hall, I emptied my purse of the cash I had earned and carted it back to the kitchen. An old miniature box of cereal sat in the very back of the nearly empty pantry. Unfolding the top, I dropped the wad of bills into the cardboard piggy bank and stuffed the box back into the furthest reaches of the cabinet, hoping my mom wouldn't care to look in it.
When I was younger, and my mom still had a car, and before she’d been laid off from one of her many jobs, she would go on shopping raids. I'd come home from school to find myself with new clothes, and shoes, and no food in the refrigerator. About five months ago, my mom had found my stash of cash that I kept in my room and convinced old Mrs. Grace to drive her to the store. She had spent almost two hundred dollars on clothes and knickknacks, and as a result, I had to shut off our house phone because I couldn't pay the bill. It hadn't been turned back on until I managed to get the funds saved up again. We were still suffering from that setback and the medical bills and the cost of her prescriptions were piling up – but I needed Michael to call every once in a while. I needed to know I wasn't completely alone with her.
Running later than usual, I skipped a deep soak and instead rushed through a five-minute shower, throwing on a pair of old jeans and a faded, green v-neck, before pulling my thick hair into a hairband at the nape of my neck. I poked my head into my mom's room, listening as she snored lightly, and left a glass of tap water next to her pills and a plastic wrapped sandwich from the diner.
"Don't pee on or tear up anything." I pointed at a sleepy, grumbling Cleo as I shrugged my backpack on and left, locking the front door behind me.
Chapter 2
I could hear the muted sounds of people talking like I was underwater. I kept rising to the surface only to shy away and sink farther into the depths that promised a comfortable reprieve. Only when a high-pitched bell sounded and my head jerked up from my desk in alarm, did I realize that I'd fallen asleep mid-class. The students around me began piling their books into their bags and filing quickly out of the room.
My AP English teacher, Mrs. Williamson, paused by my desk, a frown on her face. I stiffened, afraid she had caught me sleeping. I smiled pleadingly up at her hoping she wouldn't see fit to give me an after-school suspension that I not only couldn't get a ride home from, but didn't have time for because I had an impending shift at the diner. Instead, she handed me a yellow scrap of paper.
"The front office called for you," she said. I looked at the paper that asked me to report to the front office by 1:20 pm.
My eyes rose to the clock hanging above Mrs. Williamson's whiteboard as it clicked just past 1:17 pm. I snatched up my backpack, my arms loaded down with binders and books, as I ran from the room.
I passed through the stragglers left behind in the hallways as they headed for their next class, and hoped this didn't have anything to do with the ever-growing list of detentions I kept receiving for falling asleep in class. It was almost the end of the year. Surely the administrators wouldn't do anything about it now. It wouldn't look good on my transcripts if I did decide to apply to the local community colleges. At the moment, I wasn't really sure what my plans were.
I opened the
front office as the clock there flipped to 1:22 pm. Mrs. Donovan, the principal's secretary, looked up and smiled warmly, giving me some relief as I approached her desk.
"Hi, Mrs. D, I um..." I handed the yellow paper over. "I was told to come here." She took the pass and checked one of the little boxes on the side.
"Alright, Dear. It'll be the third door on your left."
"Am I in trouble?" I asked. Mrs. D looked surprised by my question, her thin, blonde brows rising above eyes stroked with thick lines of eyeshadow, further reassuring me that I had nothing to worry about.
"Of course not, Dear. Go on back now."
I nodded and followed her directions down the hall to the right of her desk. There was a plaque on the third door on the left that read: Conference Room. I hesitated briefly about knocking before I lightly tapped my knuckles on the door and eased it open.
The blinds on the pair of windows at the end of the long room were drawn up, allowing natural light to flood the otherwise bland room. A man in a navy suit stood against the glass directly across from the door, staring out at the outdoor amphitheater next to the student parking lot. During lunch, it would be filled with students as they ate and gossiped.
When the man didn't acknowledge or even seem to notice my entrance, I waited a beat before coughing lightly to alert him. His profile, outlined by the light, didn't move except for the corner of his lips that twitched. Finally, he turned and raised an eyebrow in my direction, rich, coffee-colored eyes meeting mine with a smile.
"Ms. Hampton, welcome."
When his whole body twisted away from the window, leaving it open for the sunlight to stream in and warm the rest of the sparsely decorated room, he seemed bigger – wider. There was, in fact, only one real piece of furniture in the room, a long wooden conference table with various chairs – some mismatching – crowded around its edges.
He came forward, approaching as I fidgeted with the books and papers in my arms. "Here, let me take that for you." I resisted the urge to jerk away in surprise as he took my books from me and placed them gently on the table before reaching to slide my backpack strap down my arm. He set it on the floor. "Have a seat."