Maeby gazed out at her kingdom, glinting orange in the early evening light. Over to the right was the booth no one liked because the table was wobbly and the seat was ripped – yellow foam spilled out its side like the maggots swarming the roadkill she’d passed on her way to work that morning. Next to the barely-functional jukebox stood the bussing station, a noble turret piled high with condiments and haphazardly-stacked trays. Beneath her elbows sat the countertop, ever sturdy and resolute, supporting whatever tired travelers threw their sagging bodies its way. It wasn’t the shiniest counter, nor the cleanest, but it did its job of providing a place for the weak and weary to regain their strength, consume their sustenance. It also provided a handy leaning surface for waitresses antsy to get off their eight-hour shift.

The diner wasn’t particularly busy; a steady trickle of customers, in and out. Some teenagers laughing and sharing fries, heavy backpacks resting by their feet – no doubt unwinding after a long day of school. A youngish woman ignoring the cheeseburger in front of her in favor of tossing thumb-punches and nasty faces at her phone – probably in an online argument. Un viejo with a beard as billowy and grey as smoke, sloshing down his third glass of iced tea, seemingly biding his time – waiting for someone? Could be.

No, the rush wouldn’t start for another couple of hours. Thankfully Maeby would be out of here by then, dios lo permite. She pushed a hand through her short bleached hair. The smells of grease and fat emanating from the kitchen behind her were beginning to overwhelm, so she decided to do a sweep of the room. The kids – it still felt funny to call them kids; Maeby herself was still only nineteen, but as a college student she hardly considered herself a teenager – looked to be finishing up so she stopped by their table and asked if they needed anything else.

“Just the check, I guess,” one of them, a gentle-looking bespectacled brunette, said after silently conferring with her friends. Maeby flipped through the order slips in her apron pocket, plucked out theirs – two sodas, one strawberry milkshake, and an order of fries – and pressed it onto the tabletop. The group shuffled for their wallets, pushed the receipt around to determine who owed what.

“The milkshake was mine, so – ” The girl gasped, then groaned and sunk into her seat. The open wallet in her hands was devoid of cash. “Shit, I’m sorry guys, I – ” Immediately her friends cut in.

“Don’t worry, I can just – ”

“Here, I have – ”

Maeby’s eyes flitted between the teenagers, scrabbling to cover the cost of the milkshake. She looked at the girl, que pobrecita, arm tossed over her face in frustration or shame, or maybe both. She remembered herself in high school, quiet and awkward and just a little bit lonely. The fact that this girl who reminded her so much of those years had friends like this penetrated the service-industry-induced frost around her heart.

Be the adult you needed when you were a kid, Maeby remembered reading somewhere. She wasn’t exactly an adult, but… well, it really wouldn’t be too much trouble if she…

“Don’t worry about it,” she said, grabbing the receipt and the money that had already been placed. The kids looked confused, and the girl gaped at Maeby. She looked like she wanted to say something, but couldn’t find the words. Maeby gave her a smile and a wink, and walked away. On her way to the register, she counted out the money and compared it to the check. She could live with a few bucks out of her pocket.

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On her way out for the night, Maeby spotted a figure leaning against the front of the diner. She stopped.

“Oh hey, milkshake girl.”

The girl winced and gave an awkward laugh, but peered up at Maeby over the rim of her round glasses.

“I just wanted to, um… It was really nice of you to… I mean, thank you,” the girl managed. Maeby gave her a gentle pat on the back.

“Don’t worry about it, kid.”

“Shirley,” she said quietly, chancing a brief moment of eye contact before looking away again.

“Surely what? …Oh! Shirley,” Maeby laughed. Shirley gave a tentative chuckle.

“I’m Maeby,” she said, holding out a hand. Shirley shook it. “Nice to meet you. Are you taking the bus?” A nod. “Let’s walk together.”

The two of them made their way to the bus stop, eyes downcast so as not to be blinded by the setting sun.

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profile & story by Frenchi