Heart

Nine

There was a dinky little diner tucked in between a few clothing stores in the middle of town that Alan and I frequented. Well, several teens often ate there, since it was sort of a high school hang out--just one of a handful. My town had three clubs for parties, dances, and dates; one fancy, four-course restaurant that happened to be just barely affordable to teenagers; a movie house in the grungier part of the city that was a mixture of a pizzeria and a cinema; and lastly, our little diner that was more for friend-dates. Like what me and Alan have most every weekend.

Dishes and silverware clinking could be heard in the back of the small building, along with hearty shouts from cook to cook in the kitchen. Customers had their own muted conversations going on that featured a few chuckles or giggles every now and then. The atmosphere felt slower in here, like bombs could fall on the world outside the door and we wouldn’t even notice. We’d still be eating and murmuring and relaxing in the diner while everyone else would be bustling around in chaos.

“What would you like, sweetheart?”

I blinked at the sound of the waitress’s voice and opened my mouth to answer, but I realized she wasn’t talking to me; she had her eyes on Alan. And I mean, she had her eyes on him. She jutted out her hip so her waist curved in deeply, and one hand rested on top of that hip, accentuating her thinness. Her heavily colored eyelashes batted at him whenever he’d finished looking at the menu.

I frowned.

“I’ll just have the special,” Alan answered politely, handing the menu to her. She took it with an overly enthusiastic smile. I also noticed that she purposely grabbed an area that was close to Al’s hand, so that their fingers overlapped for a moment.

Alan wasn’t ignorant; he caught on to her fast and gently released his grasp on the menu; but not before he gave her a small, meaningful smile.

“Excellent choice,” the waitress needlessly praised, laughing just a little.

“I know what I like.”

I rolled my eyes. The guy had this poor girl blushing so hard, her cheeks looked like cherries. What was she, sixteen? Al was dancing on the line of illegality.

“Alright, I want the chicken sandwich, the Caesar salad, and the chocolate milkshake,” I announced loudly, slapping my menu on the table before shoving it in her direction. The waitress’s head snapped over to me, her expression startled for a moment, and then she nodded and took up the menu.

“Oh, right. Ok. Uh, it should only take twenty minutes or so,” she stammered, scribbling the orders down in her pad. She turned to deliver it, but Al reached out and touched her arm. She stopped so fast, her ponytail whacked her in the side of the face.

“I didn’t catch your name,” he said suavely.

She giggled nervously. “Jenny.”

How cliché.

He nodded slowly, still smiling crookedly. “Jenny. I’ll make sure that you get a good tip.”

I heard her gulp from where I sat, which made me groan in utter disgust. Who the heck was this guy? The Alan Layne I knew wouldn’t tease girls like this.

“Excuse me,” I growled when Jenny had left, “would you mind getting your revolting butt out of here? I don’t eat with pigs.”

Alan quirked an eyebrow at me from across the table, cocking his head to the side. “Sure, if you don’t mind paying for two meals and walking home.”

“It’s not that far.”

Alan studied me for a moment, his light-brown eyes contemplating. He would see what I was thinking in a minute, if he hadn’t already guessed by my tone of voice.