Diner

Here's another picture prompt for this week.  I'm going with something whimsical and fun.

Enjoy!

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     "What are you doing?" I asked as Tiffany turned into the parking lot of the diner.  We were supposed to be on our way to the movies, not to the run-down throwback to the fifties that wasn't even cool enough to be retro.
     "They have the best milkshakes!" Tiffany replied,  tugging at the scarf in her hair and peering into the rear view mirror.
     "What's wrong, Claire?"  Kayla piped up from the back seat.  "We all know you've got a thing for Ryan."
     Tittering laughter filled the car, and I sank down in my seat as my cheeks flushed.  Sure, everyone knew I had a "thing" for Ryan.  By now he knew it, too, and yet, he never so much as looked my way.  It was beyond humiliating.  I pulled out my phone and tapped the screen.  Tiffany parked and turned her old civic off.
     Three of the four doors popped open.  Tiffany climbed out, then bent over and stuck her head back in the car.  "Coming?"
     "I think I'll just sit this one out."  I flipped through a couple pictures on Instagram, not really looking at any of them.
     "You do realize I parked right in front of the window, don't you."
     Of course she did.  And I would rather die than think about Ryan wondering why I was in the car.  He'd think I was a freak.  I slipped my phone into my pocket and followed the rest of the girls in.
     It took me ten nanoseconds to make sure Ryan wasn't in front just now.  His mom owned the diner, and he pretty much got to choose where he wanted to work.  Still, there was a window to the back, and I knew from experience it was easier to see out than to see in.  For all I knew he was watching me walk in and sit down next to Tiffany.  I felt the pins of hyper-awareness prickling the palms of my hands and the soles of my feet.  Was I smiling too wide?  Was I walking funny?  Did I laugh too loud?  I probably did all of those things as we ordered and drank our milkshakes - Did he think I was stereotypical for ordering chocolate?  Or did he suspect I ordered it because I happen to know it's his favorite, and I'm stalking him, and it's creepy?  Or does he somehow know it's my favorite, too, like he's been paying as much attention to me as I do to him?
    Ryan still hadn't made an appearance, but Kayla was shaking her head at me.  All I wanted to do was to pay for our milkshakes and get out of there as fast as humanly possible.  Being in the same building as Ryan made me neurotic. 
   Finally, Tiffany finished off her own shake with a long, loud slurp, and stood up.  She dropped a five dollar bill on the table, and each of the rest of us followed suit.  My heart started to slow down.  I was almost home free.  I hadn't heard a word anyone had said for the last fifteen minutes, and I'm sure I'd looked like an idiot, sitting at the table and grinning, but now it was over.  Tiffany was lingering, so I pushed ahead of her and led the way to the door.
     I grabbed the handle, but before I could pull, the door swung in.
     "Sorry I'm late, Mom, I had to ..."
     Every muscle in my body froze, as if every individual cell had been skewered by an acupuncture needle simultaneously.  My lungs ached for air, but my diaphragm refused to cooperate.  Little dark spots swam in front of my eyes as my head started to swim.
     Ryan stopped only inches away from me, his voice trailing off as his eyes met mine.
     It's amazing how much of him I could take in in such a short amount of time.  He wore a pair of stonewashed, belted skinny jeans over a pair of red converse.  His grey and blue plaid, button-up shirt hung loose around the waist, but puckered slightly over his biceps and shoulders.  He wore a pair of thick-rimmed glasses that I knew he actually needed to see, not just for looks.  And ... he smelled like the chemistry lab and Altoids.
     I shivered.
     "Claire."  My name fell from his lips as his eyes widened. 
     Is he surprised to see me?  Do I make him uncomfortable?  Heaven knows that could be it, with everyone talking about how I'm crushing on him ... 
     He ducked his head, breaking eye contact, then lifted his eyes, glancing around the diner, as if to see if anyone was watching.  He pressed his lips together. 
     I forced myself to remember to breathe, shifting my weight to keep my knees from giving out on me.
     Then he looked back at me ... and smiled.
     Tiffany swooped between us, grabbing me by my forearm.  "Hi Ryan!  We're just on our way out!  See you later!"
     Ryan reached up, holding the door open for us, and Tiff ducked under his arm, pulling me with her.  Kayla and the other girls followed.  Tiffany practically ran to her car, giggling under her breath and wiggling her eyebrows at me.
     Had Ryan just smiled ... at me?   I couldn't help myself.  I had to look back.
     Ryan stood in the doorway, still holding the door although we were all back in the car.  We were far enough away now that I couldn't be sure, but I felt the thrill of eye contact again.  Just before he turned away, he lifted his chin in that way guys do.
     And I wondered if we might stop by again after the movie for another shake.

Shatter Me

***Updated: Apparently the picture is of a violin pool, NOT a guitar pool.  Really ruins my response at the end, but I have to admit it's true.  :-)***

Before I get down to business this week, I want to mention one of the books I've read lately : SHATTER ME, by Tahereh Mafi.  I've read books written in first person, present tense before, but this was less a first person narrative and more a first person stream of consciousness - and in a good way.  I'm pretty sure she broke all of the grammar rules, using fragments, repetition, and even lines that have been crossed out ... all to AMAZING effect.  What the reader gets is a raw, emotional journey, living right in her mind.  You know those thoughts you ought not to have ... but you think them anyway, because you're human?  They're there.  You know that panicky feeling when your mind shuts down except for one thing?  It's in there.  I'll definitely be picking up the rest of her books.

Ok, and because I need something to get my mind off that (or I'll end up with another copy-cat post, like last week, when I was drunk on Jennifer Nielsen's THE SHADOW THRONE), let's do another picture prompt this week.  Here it is:

That's right.  It's a guitar pool.  Have fun!

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My response:

I hitched up my cargo pants and straightened the tag hanging from the lanyard around my neck.  It was a far cry from the dark outfits I usually wear, but on an estate like this one, black wouldn't protect me.  Pretending I was supposed to be there would.

The front doors were wide open, the caterer and his crew moving in and out as they brought in the food for the party tonight.  The early morning sunlight left me as exposed as if I were naked, considering how I usually operated, but the payout should be worth it, this time.  One of the guys in the catering crew leered at me, looking me up and down.  I shot him my best drop-dead look and tucked my bucket of cleaning supplies under my arm.

Ray-Ban's wife stood in the wide, marble-columned entry.  I recognized her platinum blond hair and surgeon sculpted face from TMZ.  She glanced at my tag and frowned.  "You girls forgot to scrub the soaking tub in the master.  If you screw up again, I'll find a new service!" she snapped with a flourish of her bikini coverup.

I nodded humbly and moved quickly upstairs.  Finding out which cleaning company they employed had been easy - they always park their vans in full view of the road.  A kindergartener could download their logo and copy/paste it to a card.  Child's play.

It should have been harder for me to figure out when I could come and go at will, but with Twitter these days, it was as easy as being a fan.  The only hard part of my job was sifting through hours of audio/video footage, looking for something useful.  Like how Ray-Ban took 24 million out of the bank yesterday so he could present his wife with divorce papers today and keep his money away from her.  Apparently he hadn't been smart enough to get a pre-nup, and California's a community property state.

I peered around the door to the master bedroom.  Ray-Ban stood in front of the dresser, piling chain upon enormous chain around his neck.  How this wannabe ever made a dime with his faux rap and poser style, I never would understand, but it worked in my favor.  He looked up.  I let my badge hang down through the gap in the door.

"Oh, you prob-ly wan in 'ere."  He snapped up a pristine Cardinal's ball cap from the bed post and pulled it on as he walked past me.

It was almost too easy.  I closed the door behind me, locking it quietly.  I crossed the room to the custom made cabinet - the one that looked like a dresser, but only had three working drawers.  The middle three hid a safe.  I pulled the false top off my bucket of cleaning supplies, pulled out my tools, and got to work.

I was almost done when I heard shouting outside.  I couldn't resist peeking out the window.  The first thing I saw was the pool.  Ray-Ban actually had a guitar-shaped pool.  I rolled my eyes.  Just putting a guitar in your back yard didn't mean you could play one.  The screaming continued.  I dropped my gaze down.  Ray-Ban stood next to a man in a lawyer suit, and his wife was turning red.  Apparently he felt the need to clear out his wife before the party tonight, so he'd be free to find a new one.

I closed the safe and secured the dummy top back over my supplies.  Well, Ray Ban's wife wasn't the only one who'd end up with less than they expected.  I even swiped a cupcake from the caterers on my way out.