"I was wondering what kind of girl could have botched up a rescue attempt so badly. Now that I know it was you all along, everything makes sense."
"Go away."
Rome runs his nose down the side of my face, smiling at the way I shiver. "After all thes...
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ROME ABERNATHY IS ON TV AGAIN.
He stands in front the Abernathy Mansion, radiant in the sunlight, and speaks in a voice that demands no tolerance for interruptions. In his sunglasses, I see the reflection of reporters and cameraman. They hang on every word he says.
Why is Rome wearing sunglasses? He never wears sunglasses.
"Arrogant twat."
"Overrated asshole."
Behind me, the customers mumble insults under their breath. Rome's appearance on any type of news channel tends to have that effect on them. Automatically, I reach for the remote to change the channel, but a hand grabs my wrist before I can get it out of my apron.
Juliet, with her typical lime-scented lotion and wide eyes, gives me an apologetic look. "Could you hold on for one minute? I'd like to see what he's saying."
"Come on, Juliet," Her friend scoffs. "Haven't you gotten sick of seeing this clown's face on TV?"
"The clown saved my life once upon a time, remember?" She taps the scar that mars her right eye. "And this isn't some gossip channel - this is the CC Times. If they're reporting something about Rome, I want to hear it."
"Just more crap about his birthday party, I bet."
"We'll leave it on for another ten minutes," I decide, already putting the remote back.
"Thanks Winnie."
"Of course. Would either of you like anything else?"
"Maybe another one of those cucumber sandwiches, if there's any left."
"Got it."
On my way back to the kitchen, I pick up stray empty cups and barren plates. As the Rome's press conference continues, more of my customers throw the disgruntled looks. Some people scoff, some grumble insults, some outright yellm but none of my customers do anything drastically stupid. Like Nick, who threw a chair at TV two months ago.
And at this diner, that's the best I can expect.
In others diners, Rome Abernathy's press conferences get admiring looks or longing sighs. But not here. Not in the one I work at.
Not in Wasteland.
Located between a two-hundred year old library and a six-floor gym, Wasteland is a special diner, with even more special customers. Wasteland caters primarily to supers. And unlike civilians, most of us Supers have gone to school with Rome, been on a mission with him, or met him somewhere else.
And anybody who's met Rome most likely hates him.
I return to the bartop, dump the silverware, and give them a quick rinse. As I start up the coffee machine once again, a round of applause comes from behind me.
