My nightmares are back.

I haven’t been able to stop thinking about how it is, or how it was…

 

          The first time I started having them was four-ish years ago, after my dad, Jimmy left. They were so vivid, they’d tear me, screaming awake at night. After several months of that, my mom decided to move us from New Orleans to the beautiful, coastal town of Coupeville, Washington State; where the average age is sixty-four years old…

           I think between my mental health and Jimmy’s sudden departure, she’d needed a new chapter as badly as I had. The change of air, sound and scenery seemed to have mostly worked, except for that, when I tried to go to school here, my lingering anxiety, coupled with several bullies, changed Mom’s plan to home schooling.

​

          Once I was out of school, the nightmares and anxiety slowly subsided. It was like the ocean sprawling out beyond the shores near our home had taken them… Life has been decent since then. I’ve come to know that there are worse things in the world than living as a pincushion, but I thought I was done with those dreams…

 

         The nightmares… They started creeping back in about a month ago, right after my sixteenth birthday. They don’t happen every night – they never did – but when I have them, they’re vivid enough to rob me of sleep and cast a sense of doom over my waking world for days. The only thing that seems to help, is reading. I never leave home without a book. Books make me feel like there could be some meaning behind the madness. Some purpose to the nightmares yet to be revealed. Besides, I do my best to look at the brighter side of things…

         Not only am I almost done with my biyearly Endo visit, but everything went great. My specialist – Doctor Cooper – who I’ve just seen for the first time, had marveled at my A1Cs, but she’d still asked if I’d ever considered the Dexcom. I told her I had, but with my levels as good as they are, I prefer managing my own sugars. I was surprised when she answered that it was perfectly okay for me to keep managing things the old fashioned way as long as I kept up the good work. Most doctors press the matter more than that. Even so, Doctor Cooper wanted me to get a checkup on my blood work, and here we are...

 

         I take a seat in the padded phlebotomy chair and push up the sleeves of the dark-green, lacey shirt I’m wearing.

         The room we’re in is nice, and clean, and small. There’s a row of messy desks ahead of me, with a chair and a computer placed below an open window, which looks out to the long waiting room, where the light from a wall of glass with a view into the parking lot is also located. To my left is a door and another, shorter desk. To my right, Mom sits in a waiting chair next to the sliding, wood doors that had let us in, and will take us back out to the waiting room, through the front doors, and to glorious freedom.

         It doesn’t matter how many big, shiny windows you give a prison. It’s still a prison.

         Now that the pleasantries are out of the way, I eagerly watch the phlebotomist – I just learned her name’s Aubree – as she gathers the rest of her supplies onto the silver, wheeled medical table. She’s a plump brunette, older than most of the other mosquitoes I’ve met here. She has everything ready in a flash. Considering she’s brandishing a needle in her rubber-gloved hand, Aubree’s grinning a little too wide at me, and sounding a little too cheerful.

 

         “All right, Miss Banksee, do you have more luck with your right arm, or left?” She asked, obviously having noted the poor quality of my veins beneath the milky-white skin on the underside of my forearm.

         “Yeah,” I nod to my left arm. “That one.” Mom puts her hand comfortingly on my shoulder. I welcome the gesture, but it’s not necessary. In fact, I think I’m getting a little old to have my mommy take me to the doctor’s office. I’ve done this on my own a hundred times by now, but my 2000 Honda Civic’s in the shop getting winter tires put on in preparation for the snowy season. Anyway, it’s not like Mom and I have many opportunities to hang out together.

         She got her RN two years ago, but now she’s doing her best to work her way into medical school. She goes to the local college at night, so she doesn’t have a lot of time for outings. I know she had to move stuff around to go with me today, even.

 

         “Make a fist for me,” Aubree requested.

         I obey, and feel her warm, latex-layered fingers testing the inside of my elbow. With a sigh, I give Mom a tight-lipped smile and a partial roll of my eyes. She gives me a sympathetic look and a gentle squeeze. I glance back to the sadist readying the needle.

         “You got this, Jin!” Mom encouraged.

         “Okay,” Aubree says reassuringly. “You’re going to feel a little poke,” and then the needle’s in. The vampire’s taking my blood, but it’s practically painless.            Always is at this clinic, although Mom’s hand is holding my shoulder tighter, now. It’s not the jab I mind so much as feeling the blood draining into the needle. It’s such a subtle feeling, but these last five years, I’ve become extremely familiar with it.

 

         Gross…

 

         I don’t like looking at the syringe in my arm.

         I move my gaze around the room, waiting for it to be over. Meanwhile, Mom strikes up idle conversation with the bloodsucker.

         “You sure got that vein’ fast—” I’ve heard her give the same compliment to all the other phlebotomists at this clinic. “—How long have you been in the medical field?”

         Aubree answers, but after the words, “Oh, about twenty years, now…” I stop paying attention, and my vision continues to rove over the various details of the space we’re in. As Aubree leans over to put the lid on a second vial of my blood, she speaks in a higher-pitched voice that makes me think she must be talking to me.

         “Oh! I tried reading those books years ago! I could never get into them. Not sure what the appeal is, myself.”

         I stare at her a few seconds before realizing that she’s talking about the Interview With A Vampire book by Anne Rice poking out of the old, crossbody bag I have on the floor at my side.

         “Escapism at its best,” I answer with a smirk. “Did you not like them because you’re a real vampire?” That has the intended affect.

         Aubree laughs. She sees us off with a hand on my back. Mom runs out to bring her car around while I stop at the clinic bathroom. She doesn’t know it, but I always go into the bathroom and assess myself after every checkup. I always look at my face in the mirror afterwards to see if I still look as healthy as they say I am.

         This time, as I stare back at myself, I’m aware of how much I look like my mom, maybe because she’s with me this time. I think I see some of Jimmy in my nose and forehead, but who’s to say? I’ve only seen him in pictures for the last few years. I keep on evaluating my reflection, and always slightly marvel at how fair I look under florescent lights. In the winter, my skin verges on a pale so true, I like to joke that I glow in the dark. Mom calls it ‘pearlesque,’ but that definitely isn’t true right now. Running is what gives me roses in my cheeks and a few freckles across my nose, but I don’t see any of that at the moment, either. I’m just pale.

 

         Despite those weekday runs, or my kickboxing-thons, I’ve softened since getting onto insulin. Before I was diagnosed, I was tiny. Unable to keep any weight on, so the softness of my limbs, at least, gives me some comfort as I examine myself.

         The girl looking back still has wide, hazel eyes – from the hazel in her mother’s eyes, and honey-toned hair that almost matches them, and that had gotten me the nickname ‘Bumblebee’ for as long as I can remember.

         Overall, I am satisfied with the assessment. I am still myself.

 

         While I make my way through the waiting room and outside to Mom’s blue CRV, I can’t help but contemplate what Aubree had said about not knowing what the appeal is for books like the one in my bag. I wouldn’t have said it, because I wouldn’t have wanted to hurt her feelings, but I think the reason why people like me, sick people, often turn to stories about immortality or healing fountains is that the idea of living a life wherein no disease can touch you, not even death, is a fantastical one. I mean, that’s a fantastic idea for anyone, but those of us who spend more days in bed or more time at hospitals can fully appreciate what it means to be healthy, let alone invincible. Death is the end result of the disease called life. Not everyone understands that, and – as seriously Emo as the phrase itself might sound – it’s a lesson that had been forced on me earlier than some.

 

         I sound like a mess, and I’ve been all over the place lately. That’s why I’m glad Mom’s taking me to Sherry’s Diner to meet my best friend, Izzy Finch.

         I’ve known Izzy since we moved to Coupeville. I met her when I tried to go back to the old school. She’s recently turned sixteen, too. She won’t be celebrating her birthday until the end of this month – she’s waiting for her dad to go out of town for Halloween so she can have the house to herself – but I want to spend some time with her before that. I also want to put an application in at Sherry’s. Mom and I talked about it. She agreed that I’m old enough to pay for my own gas. The Holidays are coming up as well, and I want to get her something nice. As for Izzy, I’m hoping that maybe, if I can distract myself enough, the nightmares will drift away again, and I won’t have to tell Mom about them. She has enough on her plate. We don’t spend enough time together, and I don’t want her to worry when we do.

 

         “Do you feel good about your visit today, my little honey-headed Bumblebee?” she asked.

         I get into the passenger seat beside her and buckle’ myself in. The CRV still smells faintly of leather, with just a bit of sandalwood thrown in from the lotion Mom wears every day. Sandalwood’s in my top fragrances, but I prefer lilac and rose. I alternate between them every other day.

         “Yeah, it could be a lot worse,” I answered honestly.

         “A lot worse!” She boasts while we sit at the stop sign, waiting to turn back onto the main way. “You wouldn’t believe how many people come into the ER with sugars in the extreme. I don’t tell you about all of them, you know. I always have too many to remember by the time I get home, and then I just want to sleep. I’m proud of you, honey.”

         “Thanks, Mom,” I told her gratefully. I never am sure quite what to say when she tells me she’s proud. That doesn’t mean I don’t love hearing the words, even though sometimes I don’t feel I deserve them for managing my diabetes. I know it isn’t supposed to be simple, but after hearing some of her stories, I feel like I actually have it pretty easy.

 

         Before I know, we’re pulling into the parking lot of Sherry’s.

         Mom parks between two vehicles I’ve never seen, a black motorcycle with white bird-wings painted on the shoulders, and a dark purple, sportsy-looking car. It’s pretty, but cars aren’t really my strong suit.

         I about lose it when I realize Izzy’s the one in the driver’s seat of that car. I’m outside in the blink of an eye. Izzy’s quick to follow.

         Within seconds, she’s jumping up and down.

         “Isn’t it pretty?” She cried excitedly, taking my hands and grinning wildly.

         I’m not the jump up and down type, but I’m taller than she is, so she can pretend. I do a great impression of looking like I’m trying not to let my chin hit the ground, instead.

         “Izzy! This is fire! Where did you—?“

         “Tommy made it for me!” She squealed, and then paused, the glee still shining in her gray-blue eyes. “Well, him and his dad restored it for me! For my birthday!”

         “This is so cool! Tommy is so cool! Oh my gosh we both have cars now!”

         “I know!” Izzy practically cheers the words. “I was so jealous when you got your Honda last year before you even had a permit!”

         It’s true. Mom had told me she’d been putting a chunk of the money Jimmy sends every month away for me so that I’d have a vehicle by the time I was sixteen. Or, at least, we think it’s Jimmy. Who else would it be?

         “What kind of car is this?” I asked excitedly, taking my hands back so I can inspect it more excitedly. I’m genuinely impressed.

         “1967 Ford Mustang, GT,” she informed me proudly. It’s obvious how much time she spends with Tommy. “You wanna go for a ride? Like…now? Right now?” Before I can answer, Izzy whirls around. “Rachael!” she exclaimed, greeting my mom by name and with a side-hug. “Look at my car! It’s new! Well, new to me!”

         “Tommy and his dad restored it for her,” I added humorously, smiling sly.

         Mom is already in full bonding mode. “Shut up! No way!”

         “Way!” Izzy countered.

         I laugh, watching Mom’s smile hide the suspicion in her eyes. I’ve always been good at reading her mind. Presently, she’s wondering if this shiny new toy is actually a death trap. That doesn’t stop her from ewing and awing with Izzy. They’ve always gotten along.

         I can’t help but be delighted by Izzy’s enthusiasm. She even has me excited. The car fits her new look perfectly.

         She’s changed her appearance a lot in the last year since she started dating Tommy and running with the popular crowd, but it’s moments like this that I’m reminded Izzy never changes on the inside. Before we knew where babies actually come from, her dad, Dave – an avid fantasy reader and historian, used to tease her that she wasn’t his daughter. He’s a Dwarf.

         No…

         The Fae had left Izzy on his doorstep when she was an infant. This joke has made a lasting impact on her aesthetic. I doubt that will ever change, either.            Izzy and I are both naturally pale. We have big eyes and dainty features, but that’s where our physical similarities end. She’s four-foot-nine to my five-four, and she’s dyed her hair like three different colors of purple since the last time I saw her a week ago. These days, it’s always changing color.

         Her curls sprawl messily in every direction. She’s got on tight jeans, high-ankled Converse, and an oversized hoodie with bright pink fairy-wings she’d spray-painted on the back. She stands out in stark contrast to my preppier green shirt, orange sweater, and faded jeans.

          “We totally need to go for a ride!” I proclaimed, answering Izzy’s question a little late. “But can we get some food first?” I asked with a wince. “I feel a low coming on.” I’m not lying. I haven’t had anything to eat since eight this morning. It’s after two now, and I’m starting to feel a little loopy. Still, no matter how many times I have to hold things up because of my blood sugars, it never gets easier.

         Izzy agrees happily. “Of course!”

         We both turn to my mom when she speaks.

         “Okay, you two, I gotta get back to the hospital. Izzy, you can get her to the shop to pick up her car?”

         “Yes!” Izzy contended with a hard nod. She shoots me a fake glare. “Someone would already know that if they joined us in the twenty-first century and ever checked their phone!”

         Oh yeah… My phone.

         Mom got me an Android for my birthday. It’s been in my bag for almost an entire month. I’m not even sure when the last time I charged the thing was.            My only response to Izzy’s underhanded comment is a chuckle. I give Mom a hug, and we exchange a kiss on the cheek.

         “All right, you girls have fun,” Mom told us. As she repeats the hug and cheek kiss with Izzy, she adds, “and be safe.”

         “Don’t worry, Rachael. If Tommy doesn’t know what he’s doing with cars, his dad sure does. So does’ mine, and he’s given it a thumbs up.” Izzy promised. She must have caught the look in Mom’s eyes earlier.

 

         Izzy basically skips into the diner at my side.

         When we reach the front desk, she’s still bubbling over with excitement, but she takes out her phone and starts texting someone, giving me a minute to bask in the familiar surroundings.

         Because of its nearness to the local high school, Sherry’s Diner holds a lot of great memories for Mom, Izzy and me.

         I could never count how many times we’ve grabbed an early breakfast together here, or how many burgers or milkshakes Mom and I have gotten to celebrate achievements, or just for dinner on lazy evenings. It’s a warm, welcoming place that always smells like freshly brewed grog and quality food.

         The counter to check in or out is centered with the large glass doors leading in. The protruding wall behind it hides the kitchen, and offers staff a straight-shot between the two sections. On the right coming in is a large section full of leather booths and wooden tables, and, on the left is an even larger section filled with matching booths and tables. Sherry had thrown in a touch of ambiance to the place by putting a single red-glass candleholder and teacup candle on every tabletop, but those mostly just get put aside when the food comes.

         Big windows open the walls lining the two sides with wooden blinds always drawn up, offering a clear view of the parking lot, as well as the road and trees on the other side. There’s always some kind of music playing overhead from the oldies station, but Sherry keeps it so low, guests often don’t even notice it over their own chatter or the buzz of other patrons.

 

         I’m feeling quite comfortable until I look up, and, not ten feet from us on the other side of the counter, I see him…

         I want to look away the second I do, but he’s watching me. His eyes hold mine as surely as if he’s frozen me in time. That isn’t why I want to look away. If he hadn’t seen me first, I’m not convinced I’d be able to turn from him.

         He is more than good looking. The boy is easily the most gorgeous person I’ve ever seen. The kind of angelic, dumbfounding, shocking beauty you only see painted or photographed by the masters. The kind of beauty that doesn’t really exist, because it’s imagined or photo-shopped. The kind of beauty, I’m suddenly discovering, that makes you feel self-conscious just being in the same room with it.

         The way his gaze traps me isn’t making it any easier, either.

         I feel my heart quicken, and my cheeks flush. Somehow, that makes it possible for me to tear my eyes away. I bow my head as the heat rises in my face, but I still can’t stop seeing him…

         He’s young – he can’t be much older than Izzy and me – and boyish, but the boyishness, as far as I can tell in those ten most intense seconds of my life so far, do absolutely nothing to subtract from that face, soft and yet hard. He’s tall, and lean, but the black tee under his black apron does everything to compliment his muscular arms, chest and shoulders. His brassy hair is cut in an old fashioned way I am sure is about to become very popular because of him, if it isn’t already. His curls gather on the top of his head, while the sides are cut against his scalp. His skin is flawless; the same sort of poreless perfection as marble, but it retains a healthy, golden glow like the flame of a prayer candle.

 

         Part of me wants to check and make sure that I haven’t imagined him. I’m too afraid to look up. I would have reached into my bag to see if I could find my phone and turn it on – make it look like I have something to do, but Sherry appears from around the wall behind the counter.

         Sherry’s in her forties, but she still moves around with the energy of a girl in her twenties. She has brown hair that’s starting to get strands of gray, and she has on her usual black tee shirt, mid-length skirt under the black apron embroidered in white with the simple, cursive logo, ‘Sherry’s Diner.’ Beneath those are her black Birkenstock shoes.

         “Hey, angel-faces! Long time no see!”

         She’s barely had time to greet us with her big, warm grin when Izzy, bouncing again, announces her news about the car. Sherry’s enthusiasm is genuine.           “Wow! Really? Well, let’s get you ladies seated, and you can point it out for me through the window.”

         As usual, she grabs the menus and leads us to her section, seating us in a booth on the front facing west side of the diner just as the couple at the table in the corner across from it is getting up to leave. Sherry gives them a grin and a nod as we pass.

         Since Izzy’s gone ahead of me, chattering at Sherry’s side about her car, I take the seat facing away from the entrance, hoping it will hide me from the breathtaking boy. I suddenly wonder if this is what it’s like to be shy. I’ve always considered myself a pretty outgoing person, but this experience is making me question that. I’m feeling embarrassed, and I have no idea why. I haven’t done anything to feel embarrassed about… Except ogle some guy at my favorite restaurant.

         That makes me want to drop my face into my hands and groan. What’s wrong with me?

         I feel the warmth in my cheeks again. I decide to try and focus on Izzy and Sherry, who’s leaning across the table while Izzy points out the window at the purple muscle car.

         Almost as soon as I start paying attention to them, Sherry leans back and hands us both a menu. Then, she pulls out the black leather booklet from her apron.

         “Okay, ladies, what’re you drinkin’?”

         “I’ll have a Coke and water,” Izzy went first.

         “And you, mi’dear?”

         “DP and water for me, Sherry. Thanks.” I said, hoping the blush is gone from my cheeks, or that she won’t notice if it isn’t.

         “Coming right up. I’ll be back to take your orders in a minute, though I doubt I’ll need to since I bet I already know what both you girls are getting.” She winks, and walks away.

         Izzy giggles happily. “She’s right, you know. I’m probably getting the same thing I always do, but I’m gonna look at the menu anyway. You know, just for fun.”

         “Get whatever you want. It’s on me.”

         Izzy pauses to lower the menu. “Seriously, Jin, you don’t have to do that. This has already been the best day ever.”

         “I want to take you to lunch for your birthday, and you’re getting pie, too,” I insisted.

         Izzy looks genuinely touched. She doesn’t argue. “Okay,” she submitted.

         I smile. She’s in an especially good mood today.

 

         Just as I’m deciding to forget about my stupidity earlier, enjoy her company and join her in considering something different, the guy from earlier passes by. He doesn’t look at us, but he goes to the table that the couple had just left, and begins gathering their dishes right in my line of sight.

         I resist the urge to watch him with all my might, but with his back turned, I end up caving and looking up.

         I’ve never seen him here before. I know I haven’t, because I’d have remembered him if I had.

         The seamless way in which he moves makes him as impossible to ignore as his face. It doesn’t seem natural to move that way, like there can be no effort in anything he does.

         I must have been looking at him longer than I thought. Izzy’s noticed, and now she turns in her seat to see what is so fascinating. As she looks, he straightens, and I about die.

         “Turn—back—around,” I grumbled through my teeth. My eyes are fixed on the menu in front of me.

         Izzy doesn’t seem like she heard what I said. She lets out a sigh and rolls her eyes when she shifts back to face me.

         “Ugh. I didn’t know he was working here.”

         She seems a little uncomfortable, which piques my interest. Maybe I’m mistaken and he’s been looking at her all along.

          I’m surprised to find that my throat has gone dry. I ask,

         “You know him?” I don’t understand how anyone could respond to that kind of beauty with apparent repulsion.

         “That’s Dominic Spencer. He goes to my school. You’d know that if you’d enroll,” she stated with a teasing smirk. “He moved here a few months ago and everyone thinks he’s the new James Dean or something, but I think he’s mean and kind of weird.”

         I smirk. The new James Dean. Mom and I really have rubbed off on Izzy these last few years.

         “Why?” I’m kind of perplexed. It isn’t like Izzy to be judgmental. She has to have a good reason…

         “He just is,” she assured me, but explains anyway. “He doesn’t have a clique…like, at all. He acts like no one at that school exists except maybe the teachers and other staff members sometimes because he has to talk to them, but I’ve never seen him with any of the other kids. Believe me, every girl there has tried to snuggle up on him, but he brushes them off, if he doesn’t act like they’re invisible. He’s just one of those weird, loner types.”

         If I didn’t know Izzy better, I’d think by the way she’s talking about Dominic that she was one of those girls. Maybe she’s friends with one of them, I consider, and chuckle. Again doing my best to keep my eyes on Izzy or the menu as he strolls by with his tray.

         I think I catch a flicker of his eyes in my direction. At this point I’m almost certain I’m imagining it.

​

         Sherry steps up to our table bearing our drinks. She places each one gingerly in the appropriate place in front of us, and then gets to it.

         “Blue cheese burger with onion rings.” She predicts, pointing at me with her pen and then turning it on Izzy. “French dip with extra sauce.”

         “Actually, I need another minute if that’s okay, Sherry.”

         Izzy is surprising me around every corner. I don’t think I’ve ever heard her order something other than the dip or a grilled cheese for lunch. I definitely haven’t ever seen her take this long to decide.

         Sherry seems a little surprised as well. She glimmers with amusement, though.

         “No problem. You ladies take your time.”

         As soon as she’s gone, I stick the straw in my drink. I start sipping to nurse my sugars, and get back on topic.

         “I’m one of those loner types and you like me okay,” I commented idly.

         Izzy shrugs off the remark, still looking at the menu. “You’re a cool weirdo type. Not one of those Boo Radley weirdo types.”

         I laugh, appreciating my friend’s attempt at a literary comparison, but glad, this time, to correct her.

         “I do believe Boo Radley turned out to be a gentle, kind soul who was mistaken for a monster.”

         Izzy looks at me like she’s about to argue, but just then her eyes glint up, and her grin returns.

         “Adam! Over here!” She springs out of her seat.

         I turn and see who’ she seems to be flagging down. A tall, lanky boy is walking toward us.

         I throw myself back into my seat and lean my head against the board behind me. Izzy called him Adam. I don’t recognize the guy, but now I know why she’s been procrastinating on making her order. She’s always trying to find me a boyfriend. Then, she and Tommy will have another couple to go out with, but, for one thing, she knows what a homebody I am. For two, she knows that I wanted to take her out for lunch, and three, she also knows that I have a plan.

         I am going to go to Harvard – or Yale’s an acceptable second choice – and I am not going to let some guy ruin that for me. These thoughts are really irritating in those seconds before Adam reaches our table.

​

         He looks down at me expectantly, and Izzy pipes up, feigning innocence.

         “Funny meeting you here,” she said ironically. When she sees the look on my face, though, she confesses out right. “Fine. I talk so much about you; Adam was dying to meet you. Jin, this is Adam, a friend of Tommy’s. Adam, this is Jin.”

         I look from Izzy, aiming for Adam, but Dominic catches my eye instead. I let my gaze stop on him. He’s gone back to his table to finish bussing it, I guess, but he’s looking curiously over his shoulder at us. I quickly turn to Adam, and accept the hand he has outstretched to me.

         He isn’t a bad-looking guy, I note. He has a good, strong face and sandy-brown hair that curves around his stubborn jawline. His hand is considerably bigger than mine. He’s gentle when he shakes it.

         “More like his mechanic buddy,” Adam threw in with a glance to Izzy. “We like to talk shop,” he elaborated.

         His sights are back on me. He gives a smile, and then Izzy invites him to sit. I scoot over as he happily moves in next to me. Apparently, he’s confident. Good for him. That doesn’t make me feel any less betrayed. If I wanted a boyfriend, I could find my own.

         “Here,” Izzy says, either ignoring my discomfort or not noticing it. “You can have my menu. I know what I’m getting. Take your time, though. We’re in no hurry.”

         I could lunge over the table and strangle her.

         “Thanks,” Adam answered, already flipping through the big, laminated pages.

         Despite myself, my eyes slide back to Dominic. He’s wiping down the table, and now Sherry’s coming back around to our booth.

 

         Adam gets the Texas Burger with fries and a Sprite, and Izzy and I get exactly what Sherry had guessed we were getting. That adds to my annoyance a little, reminding me that Izzy had procrastinated on her order instead of simply telling me that she’d arranged a blind date for me without my permission. Even though I’m angry with her, I try to remind myself that this is still her birthday lunch, and be’ polite.

         Adam proceeds to talk my ear off. He asks me all sorts of questions about myself, and New Orleans when he finds out I’m from there, and then my diabetes when he sees me prick my finger to check my reading. He seems like he might be genuinely interested in me, which is still an odd feeling. Izzy has tried this before, but when you don’t have any interest in boys as boyfriends, you don’t have to notice when they’re interested. The more stunts she pulls, though, the more I’ve started to notice that most of them want to get to know me. My disinterest is like…some challenge for them to overcome, and that awareness doesn’t make anything more comfortable. In fact, it makes me downright miserable.

         I’m starting to feel a little bad. Adam seems like a nice guy.

         I try to show civility by asking him some questions, in turn, but it’s clear I’m not ‘in’ the way he is.

 

         By the time the food comes, I feel like I’m being interrogated. He might have caught on, because he and Izzy talk a bit about her car once we start eating.          Certain things he says about it make me realize he must have already seen it.

         I don’t see Dominic again while we’re at our booth, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t do a quick sweep of the room every now and again to check.

         When the food’s done, I take my insulin, and I keep looking for Sherry, too. I’m eager to flag her down for the bill so Izzy and I can get out of here. I’m going to have to talk to her about how I’m feeling on our ride in the new car. I’m about to give up when…there he is. Dominic’s approaching’ our table.

         My overall agitation makes it easier to breathe around him, but I still try not to watch him while he places a to-go box in front of me with that same catlike grace I’d watched him bus the table with. He puts the other Styrofoam box in front of Izzy, but he doesn’t look away from me as he continues.

         “You two had birthday’s recently, right? Sherry sent this out for you. Chocolate Satin Pie,” he was still addressing me. His voice is like the deep music of bronze bells. Is everything about him beautiful? “Cherry for you, Izzy,” but he barely turns from me to tell her.

         I stare up at him, confused. He looks at me with eyes that might have an almost childlike mischief in them, if not for the sweet, partial smile that accompany them. I am speechless. I’d forgotten all about ordering pie…

         When I don’t answer, Dominic, smiling like a cat who’s just had cream, turns and walks away.

         I look to Izzy, still tongue-tied, and then to Adam. I’m a little taken aback when I see how visibly perturbed he is.

         “What was that about? That was kind of weird,” he brooded.

         “…He’s never talked to me before…” For a second, Izzy almost seems as confused as I am, but she just shrugs and opens the box to start poking at her pie with a fork.

         “I’m going to go get the bill,” I announced impatiently, and turn to go.

         Adam stays put next to me. “I’ll pay!” he protested.

         “Oh, you’re good,” I tell him easily. “I want to treat Izzy for her birthday, so you can just pay for yourself.”

         Izzy closes the box and puts down her fork.

         “I got your pie! I’ll go wait in the car,” she declared, obviously eager to show off her new toy and go for a ride, and maybe trying to give Adam and I a minute alone. I don’t really care anymore. I just want to go, and he’s in my way.

         “Hurry, Jin!”

         I’m glad for her urgency. If she hadn’t sounded so eager, I wonder if Adam would’ve moved as willingly.

         He gets up reluctantly, letting me out.

         “I’ll be there in a second!” I assured her, and then turn to Adam. “It was nice meeting you,” I said, hurried.

 

         I’m already halfway to the counter when Sherry rounds out from the back to meet me.

         “Hey, Sherry…my mom said the diner’s hiring. Is that true?” I asked, handing her the cash I’d withdrawn earlier with Mom. “Keep the change.”

         “We are indeed, sweetheart. Angela just went on maternity leave, so I’m a waitress down. You interested?” She looks at me playfully from over the register. “If ya are, I could put in a good word for ya with the owner.”

         I hope she can’t tell that I laugh from pity for the bad joke. “I’m extremely interested.”

         “I’ll grab an application, unless you’d prefer to apply online?”

         “No, I’ll go the old-fashioned route.” I consider filling in the application here, but I rethink that when Izzy pulls up front and honks.

         I’m about to leave, when I remember. “Thanks for the pie, Sherry. Izzy has it in the car. I’m excited to get home and eat it.”

         Sherry hesitates, always distracted, and then looks at me funny.

         “I didn’t send pie out. I’d meant to, but you seemed like you were in a hurry to get going, and I didn’t have time to bring it to you.”

         Yet again, I’m a little taken aback. “O-oh… Well, your busboy must have overheard. He brought it.”

         “Guess so. That kid is the best!”

         I don’t know what to say to that, but I attempt to seem nonchalant as I do one last scan of the diner. He’s nowhere in sight, so I hold up the application as a gesture of enthusiasm, and give Sherry a smile.

         “I’m sure I’ll see ya soon.”

         “I’m sure you will, missy!”

         I turn for the doors, but Adam’s standing behind me. In my rush, I feel bad realizing I’d already forgotten about him. 10

         “Can I give you my number?” He asked, trying to hide the hope shining in his brown eyes. “We should do something together sometime, just the two of us.”

         “Um…sure…” I answer hesitantly. “But my phone’s dead.”

         “No problem. Here.” He retrieves a wallet from his pocket, and goes to the counter, where he steals a pen. Removing an old business card from the wallet, he writes something down on the back of the card.

         He hands it to me and I accept awkwardly. I don’t plan on using his number, but he caught me off-guard.

         “Cool… I’ll see you around.” I told him, slipping the paper into my sweater pocket.

         “For sure,” he answered coolly, obviously pleased.

 

         Walking out to Izzy’s car, I wonder if I should be weirded out by Dominic like Izzy and Adam seem to be. If what Izzy said was true, and he was just a busser, he’d had no reason to bring out the sweets like that. Then again, if what Sherry said was true, he’s the best kid ever… I know it’s stupid, but the gesture flatters me. I’m almost not irritated with Izzy anymore. I hate admitting it, but I kind of hope Dominic brought the pie out because he wanted to. Not because he was trying to look like a good employee.  ​​​​​​​​​