Anvaila Emerson, a vibrant party lover, juggles her crush on Kevin Diaz, the basketball team captain, and the return of mysterious Austin Smith to senior year. Caught in a high school drama, Anvaila faces the complexities of emotions, friendships, a...
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The smell of sizzling patties and coffee grounds lingered in the air as I wiped down the counter at Joe's. The diner's familiar hum of clinking silverware and faint chatter felt strangely distant tonight, like a song playing just out of tune. My hands moved on autopilot, folding napkins and lining them neatly beside the coffee pots.
It wasn't just work that exhausted me-it was everything. School, Kevin, the awkward silences between my friends, my own thoughts. They all tangled together like a mess of cords I didn't have the energy to untangle.
Just one more hour, I told myself. Then I'd head home, crawl under the covers, and pretend the world didn't exist.
The door chimed, and I glanced up, expecting another customer on autopilot. Instead, Austin sauntered in, his tan leather jacket slightly damp from the drizzle outside.
"Evening, Butterfly," he said, his accent stretching my name into something almost musical. He flashed a grin that made me both want to roll my eyes and hide behind the counter.
"What are you doing here?" I asked, frowning as I stuffed another napkin into a holder.
He perched on the stool directly in front of me, leaning his elbows on the counter. "Well, I was out for a drive, thought I'd grab a bite. You wouldn't happen to have any edible food here, would you?"
"Debatable," I muttered, turning away to grab a menu.
"You know, you've got this adorable little scowl when you're annoyed."
I slapped the menu in front of him. "Order something or leave."
He chuckled, the sound low and warm. "Alright, alright. What's the least tragic thing on the menu?"
"Nothing," I said flatly, and for the first time that day, I felt the corners of my mouth twitch.
Austin flipped the menu open, his brow furrowed in mock concentration. "I'll take a coffee. Black. And... do you still have those sad little ketchup bottles?"
I frowned. "What does ketchup have to do with coffee?"
"Oh, nothing. Just curious."
I turned to grab the coffee pot, but I could feel his gaze on me, studying me like he was trying to solve some unspoken puzzle. My stomach tightened. The last thing I needed was someone looking at me like they saw through the cracks I worked so hard to patch up.
