All the Rage

It’s the kind of night that’s slow and impatient. No one’s got anywhere they need to be but they all want to be somewhere else, so they’re not happy. If my dad taught me anything, it’s that you can’t make people like that happy. You just have to survive them as best you can. I deal with a woman determined not to tip me no matter how fast I bring out her food and how wide I smile. A man who asks for another waitress when he sees the healing scabs on my legs. An elderly woman who requests Holly, but who refuses to move to her station to be served by her. A boy who sends his burger back four times just because he feels like it.

By then, my break with Leon is staring me down. I glance back at the kitchen. The door swings open and I glimpse him at the grill. His hands. I go to the women’s bathroom and touch up my lipstick and then I think I could be ready for whatever is going to happen with him next. I wash my hands and step back into the diner.

What I thought was the diner.

This is the place where truckers stop to fill their bellies before they hit the road again, where Ibis College kids come to soak up the alcohol after drinking at Aker’s farm; this is the place where the booths are green and the floor is a grimy gray linoleum and the walls are covered in nostalgia pieces and the radio only plays country music. This place, where I work five nights a week and no one knows my name—is not that place anymore.

Across from the wall with the vintage Coke sign, sitting small in a booth, is a girl. Her long blond hair reflects the golden light above, making it look lusher, and the rest of the diner duller. She’s so different from everyone here, so immaculate, she’s impossible to miss.

Penny.

She turns her head my way. I stay perfectly still, like she couldn’t see me if I was still. What if she’s not alone? I look to the window, my gaze sweeping the parking lot for Alek’s Escalade or Brock’s busted-up Camaro but I only find her white Vespa. A gift from her parents to make the divorce easier, like that made any sense.

Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Holly making her way over and if I know anything, it’s that I don’t want Holly at Penny’s booth. It’s her station, but she can’t have it. I rip my order pad out of my pocket and pull the pencil from behind my ear. I know I’ll get hell for it later, but it’s the better hell. I cut Holly out. I go to Penny, plant my feet in front of her. She stares at me calmly. I smooth my apron with my trembling hand, trying to figure out how I’m going to do this. How do I do this? It’s your job.

So I do it like it’s my job.

“Can I take your order?”

My voice wavers. I hate myself for it. And there are all these questions in my head, demanding answers. How did she find me out? Her mom? She spends her weekends in Ibis with her mom, but this isn’t the kind of place a Young would eat.

Penny picks up the single page, laminated menu and pretends to look it over.

She says, “I’ll start with a drink.”

I’m supposed to ask her what kind she wants because that’s my job and I need to do this like it’s my job, but seeing her here, in my space—all I know is I want to hurt her until she’s out of it. She asks for a Coke. That’s all. I write it down like an idiot.

When I head back to get it, Holly corners me and she’s pissed.

“What the hell are you doing, Romy?”

“I’m sorry,” I say quickly. “You can take the next two of mine. I just—I thought it was someone I knew. I’m really sorry, Holly.”

“Even if it was, you could’ve asked—”

“I know. I’ll never do that to you again. I wasn’t thinking.”

“You better not.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

Holly steps into the kitchen, shaking her head and muttering to herself. I disrespected her and it’s not okay but it is so small compared to what I’m up against right now. I grab the Coke and head back. The country song playing in the background is blurring into one long, sad note and when I reach Penny’s booth, I’m shaking with anger I can do nothing about. I set the glass down, spilling some of the drink onto the table. I watch a little of it waterfall onto the floor. I take a rag from my pocket and sop it up quickly.

“What do you want to eat?”

“Nothing. I want to talk to you.”

“What?”

“I want to talk to you and then I’ll leave.”

“Yeah, well, that’s not going to happen, Penny, so I guess I’ll get the check—” She grabs my arm. I try to jerk away but she holds fast. Touching me without permission. There should be a death penalty for that. I watch her pink nails dig into my skin but I don’t feel it. “Let go.”

She says, “Please.”

I can’t remember Penny ever saying please to me, not even when we were friends. Why waste time on a word like please when you’re going to get what you want anyway? It’s not right coming out of her mouth. It’s so wrong, some part of me thinks she shouldn’t have to say it, ever.

“How did you know I work here?”

“Grey, we’ve always known.”

She says this and I feel some small part of me leaving.

She lets go of my arm.

“Sit down,” she says and I do, but not because she asked me to—because I need to.

I ease into the booth and the back of my thighs instantly stick to the vinyl. The diner sounds swell, people eating, talking, dishes clattering in the kitchen, the sizzle of the grill. I don’t look at her. Don’t say anything.

“So is it true?” she asks. “About the DUI?”

It forces eye contact. Maybe this close she’s not as perfect as I’ve said. Maybe she’s got flaws or maybe I need to see them so badly right now, I’m pretending. Maybe that’s a sunburn across her nose. Maybe her lips are dry and maybe her skin is flaking a little, just under her chin. She chews her bottom lip.

“I know it’s not true,” she admits. “And I didn’t know about the underwear.” I give her a look that doesn’t believe it. She concedes: “I knew Brock got Tina to take it for Alek, but I didn’t know what they were planning.”

“What do you want, Penny?”

She smiles but it’s not really a smile, just a twitch that briefly takes both corners of her mouth up. She brings her hand to her forehead like a thought wants out but she’s not sure of it enough to say. A memory skips across my mind, lays itself over this moment. Her, excited, about to change lives.

The Turners’ house. It’s going to be you, me, Alek, and …

Not here.

“Shouldn’t you be at the lake?”