When We Met

ten

|Martin|

"So, what were you like back in high school?" I ask, sitting on the table Cheryl had just cleaned. She glares at me and I jump off, hands in the air.

This woman scares me to no ends sometimes. Only sometimes.

"What do you mean?" She sprays over another table and wipes it spotless clean.

"I mean, were you the cheerleader who dated the president of the student body and then dumped him for a bad boy? Or were you the nerd who geeked over physics and biology? Or worst... The teacher's pet?"

She looks at me amusedly and starts chuckling. I like the sound of her chuckles. Very very much.

"None." She says. "I was the one who lurked in the background and was best friends with the cheerleader, and completed all the assignments on time.."

"Seriously? You were best friends with the mean girl? And did you bitch behind her back?"

"Um, I think so. Well, she once treated me like scum. So, I fired back and she obviously didn't like it. And then I won as the prom queen and she totally lost it." She grins at the memory and then shakes her head.

"So, you were the Cady Heron to her Regina George."

She stops cleaning for a second and gapes at me, her mouth partly open.

"You've watched Mean Girls?" I don't know if that was a question or a statement. Or an insult, for that matter...

"Yeah. My sister made me watch it once as a part of a stupid dare. I must say, the mean girls are hot hot hot."

"Jesus, that's so sick."

"What? Don't tell me you were not captivated by the guy."

"Actually, I didn't like him at all. I mean, he had great hair. But... No. Not my type."

"Ohh. So what is your type, Miss Donovan?"

"Um. I don't know. I haven't really placed out my likes and dislikes in a guy. Except for some line bearings. Well, I hate liars and ditchers, for starters. I hate every little fucking raccoon who doesn't know how to respect a girl's feelings and finds it amazing and cool to sleep around with any fucking whore behind his girlfriend's back." She spits in anger and slams the sprayer on the table. "God, I need a drink."

I watch her as she sits down on a chair and unties her hair from the bun, combing her fingers through the loose strands. Her eyes have turned glassy and she's staring at a distance. Her fists clench and unclench and I get a feeling that something is bothering her; something along the lines of getting ditched by her ex boyfriend.

I sit down beside her and put my hands over her fists, unclenching them. She looks at me with a tear-stricken face. I wipe her tears with my thumb and put my arm around her shoulders.

She breaks down completely and rests her head on my shoulder. Her body shakes as she cries and I do absolutely nothing to stop her.

I look around to find that we are the only people in the diner.

We had made a routine. Before my shift, I'd drop by at the diner and wait for Cheryl to clear the tables. And then, we'd together go to the club, where her blonde friend would find us.

Cheryl stops crying but doesn't sit up straight. Her hand rests over my knee and I put mine over hers to squeeze it assuringly.

"You alright?" I ask, rubbing her shoulders.

"Yeah. I'm.. I'm sorry you had to witness that. I'm so embarrassed." She slowly pulls away, raking a hand over her hair.

"I'm glad I got to witness the fact that you aren't as hard core as you claim to be. That you too have feelings."