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I'm scrubbing down the ketchup bottles with a manic level of focus like I'm prepping them for surgery.
"You're gonna polish the label right off that thing."
Keke's voice floats from behind the counter where she's restocking straws and sipping Sprite through a Twizzler. She's got on her usual uniform twist: Melba's shirt tied at the waist, sleeves cuffed up just enough to show the sparkly bangles she swears bring her good luck.
"I'm not nervous," I say before she can say anything else.
She arches one eyebrow. "I ain't even ask."
"You were thinking it."
"I know it," she says, grinning. "You got your collar all neat, your edges laid, and you been checking your phone every three minutes like you expecting the president to text you. Meanwhile, it's just Victoria liking your selfie from two weeks ago."
I try not to smile, but I fail. "She said I looked cute."
"Correction—she said, 'you be tryna act like you ain't fine'. That's flirty with a side of 'I want you to kiss me under the moonlight.'"
I groan, dropping my forehead onto the counter. "I'm gonna mess this up."
"No, you're not. What's the plan again?"
I peek up at her. "I'm picking her up after close. Drive-in movie. They're playing Love & Basketball and Poetic Justice back-to-back."
Keke clutches her imaginary pearls. "Oh, you tryna make her fall."
"I mean... yeah." I straighten up. "Is it too much?"
"No, it's perfect. You're romantic. You're intentional. You're a lover girl. You just need to stop acting like you don't know you're that girl."
I blink. "You think I'm that girl?"
"You are that girl. You walk around here with that smile, charm and bedroom eyes. If I liked girls I'd've been took you out."
I laugh. "You're ridiculous."
"And you're stalling." She leans across the counter. "You already got her attention, baby. Now it's time to show her why."
I let that settle. Let myself believe it.
That's when Cynthia walks past, holding two milkshakes and leaning in real close to whisper something to Ariana, the new girl from the night shift. Ariana giggles like she just got her number written in whipped cream.
Keke snorts. "Lord, not Cynthia again."
I glance over. "Wait, is that—"
"Yup." Keke drops her voice like we're on a secret mission. "Cynthia's working her usual routine. It's week two and she already got Ariana smiling like that girl don't even know her break schedule."
