I woke up to the hot sun shining through my bedroom window and onto my bed. My eyes struggled to open, last night’s mascara caking them together like glue. I drove my face into the pillow, trying hard not to remember the night before.

Groaning, I reached my hand down the side of the bed and searched around for my phone to check the time. When I held my phone close to my still-adjusting eyes, the first thing I noticed was the fifteen missed calls from Wyatt.

Sliding my thumb over the screen to unlock it and clear the calls list, I cringed when I saw the time. My shift had started half an hour ago.
I jumped out of bed and ran into the living room to wake up Jo, who had spent the night on the couch, but she was gone.
“Jo?” I called as I walked into the kitchen, seeing a note on the table.

Thanks for looking after me. Sorry about The Douche. Stay home today, I’ll deal with him.

‘The Douche,’ I presumed, was Jo’s new name for Wyatt. I rolled my eyes at her suggestion to stay home to avoid him – no way would I stop living my life over a guy, no matter who he was.
I felt sick wondering what Jo meant by ‘dealing’ with him. Knowing her, it would involve a lot of drama.

In a rush, I tied my hair into a ponytail, pulled on my trusty jeans and boots, threw on my favourite tee (grey with a large wolf printed on it), wrapped a maroon scarf around my neck and grabbed my satchel, throwing my makeup bag in there so I could put eyeliner on at work.

Thank god I live so close to the diner, I thought as I slammed the door shut behind me and started running down the stairs, the glare of the sun making me squint.

Walking out onto the street, I noticed how quiet it was. A part from a few sirens in the distance, everything was silent. No cars, no people, no trams. It was deserted.

I looked at my watch, seeing it was just passed ten o’clock. It was Saturday morning, meaning most people in this neighbourhood were either sleeping in or too hungover to move. But it had never been this quiet before.

I wondered if I should have taken Jo’s advice and stayed home, but I quickly shook off that thought, knowing I’d be better off at work with something to distract me from my pathetic broken heart.

Except Wyatt.

I looked at my watch again. Wyatt was working today, too, and his shift started in thirty minutes. I felt the butterflies return, only now they were sickly, like they had been spinning out of control for far too long. 

I wanted to shrug it off like it didn’t matter, like it didn’t tear me up inside, but I would only be lying to myself. Deep down I knew it was his loss, but right now I just felt… crushed. 

My thoughts were interrupted by the sound of someone shuffling slowly behind me, groaning loudly.

Probably still drunk.

Saturday morning always brought party-goers and up-all-nighters stumbling into the diner for a hangover cure.
I put my headphones in as I picked up speed.

Walking towards the diner, I noticed Wyatt’s car wasn’t parked in it’s usual spot down the street – as a bright yellow Chevy Impala, it’s very easy to spot. Relief washed over me; he hadn’t arrived yet.

I pushed the door to Pop Rocks open, causing the bell above it to jingle. Ben and Jo were standing behind the counter, chatting while they wrapped napkins around cutlery in preparation for what would surely be a busy day.

Their heads snapped the door at the sound of the bell, and when they saw me and immediately fell silent, I knew that they had been talking about last night.

“Hi,” I muttered, avoiding eye contact as I walked behind the counter and into the tiny office, throwing my bag on the desk against the wall.

Meticulously created to be a perfect replica of a 1950’s diner, Pop Rocks had everything from vintage art prints and Coca-Cola posters to the blue and white tiles on the floor flown all the way from the USA.

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