I hear the doorbell jingle as I add a scoop of chocolate fudge to this kid’s ice cream cone, causing me to poorly place the scoop and causing all three scoops to topple over. I mutter a cuss word under my breath and apologize to the chubby redhead standing in front of me looking slightly irritated. Trust me, he could wait five minutes for another ice cream cone. He’s had three already today. Chucky Stauph is a regular at my little rainbow shack in downtown Charleston.
The Milky Way Diner is a flamboyant diner-disco combo. People come from all over a two block radius to eat burgers and roller skate to annoying disco music at the same time. My job here is to serve the food, sell the skates, and clean up all the mess left over at the end of the day. Picking up food wrappers and wiping sweat off the walls is a disgusting trade, but at least it pays the bills.
I quickly clean up my mess and begin a new cone. I glance up to get a look at my new customer and find a young man, about my age, leaning against a gumball machine stationed near the door. His dark hair is straight and slicked back with gel. Looking at him takes my breath and I can’t quite explain why. He is undeniably attractive but no more so than the other dashing sixteen-year-olds that come my way.
I meet his eyes and we stand staring at each other for what feels to be an eternity. As I hand Chucky his finished ice cream cone, the young man slowly straightens himself and begins walking towards me. For some reason, I feel the need to talk to him, but I don’t know what to say so I address him as I would any customer.
“Hi. How can I help you?” I add a smile that I hope seems more charming than it does creepy.
In response, he flashes a devilish smile of his own, exposing perfect, white teeth. He leans against the countertop and whispers slowly in my ear.
“I’m looking for someone.”
I try to act cool, even though this whole situation is giving me the creeps.
“Who are you looking for?”
He motions for me to come closer so I lean slightly against the counter. My hands are shaking and I notice that I’ve begun sweating. Who is this guy? Do I know him?
He leans in close and I can feel his breath on my ear.
“You,” he whispers, drawing out the word as if it has greater meaning to him. “I’ve finally found you.”
“I don’t even know you,” I say as I put my hands on his chest and push him away with more force than I intended, a disgusted look forming on my face. He stumbles back but regains his composure quickly. “Please leave or I’ll call my boss.”
“Well, well. Brin, I must say, you’re getting a little soft. That’s what happens when you live with humans for too long,” the young man says as he casually strolls across the room.
“Soft? You don’t even know me. For all you know, you could’ve just pissed off an ax murderer. And second of all, my name isn’t Brin, it’s– it’s none of your business, that’s what.” He lets out a small chuckle and picks a teddy bear off of a nearby table.
“Your name is Tera Walsh,” he says casually, as if we are having a generic conversation. “You live in Charleston, West Virginia with your brother and foster mother. I could go into personal details like where you shop and what you eat for lunch, but I wouldn’t want you to hit me again,” he says with a certain cockiness to his tone.
This is too much for me. I’m standing in a diner, wearing neon pink skinny jeans and a rainbow apron, listening to some guy tell me that he’s basically been stalking me.
“I have to go.” I rip off my apron and storm into the back of the diner. It’s twenty minutes before my swft is done, but I want to get away from this creep. “My brother is waiting for me.”
“Tell Finnley boy that Tosh is looking forward to seeing him again,” I hear him say. Moments later, I hear the familiar ring of the doorbell, as he exits.
I decide to stay and finish up my shift. Getting away from that creep took first priority, but he’s gone now and I can’t afford to lose this job. After I’ve done all of my cleaning, I lock up and leave the diner. I find my friends waiting for me outside in a shiny new truck. Marvin Jonson, the owner of the truck, is seated in the driver’s seat, his bright, red hair clearly visible in the dim evening light.
