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Summer was warm in New Jersey, and with no parties to go to or friends to hang out with, Misty found herself spending it alone at a TCBY.
She didn’t mind the job really; she enjoyed the repetitive action of operating the machines and watching the paper cups fill with yoghurt. She was cheerful, if a little overwhelmingly so, but customers never interacted with her for more than three minutes, so she always got a sizable tip anyway.
Her parents were away for break, like they always were, and she saw the opening advertised in the newspaper and thought, Why the hell not? Having a job made her feel mature, and filled her with romantic ideas of appearing mysterious and alluring as she worked. Now though, as she observed her pickings of hairsprayed blonde heads and nerds huddled together over arcade games, Misty wasn’t so sure.
But then the glass door swung open, and in walked the girl of Misty’s dreams.
She had bleach blonde hair dark at the roots and a worn leather jacket slung loose over her shoulders. With each step her jewellery made noise, music to announce her arrival. Eyes lined in dark kohl, she raised her hand to her face to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. Misty wanted to replace that hand with hers.
The image of her brought on a hazy cloud of recognition in Misty’s mind. She’d seen this girl before, but taking in the fact that they looked to be about the same age, it was probably in the hallways of Wiskayol High. A girl like her stood out, though she may just hang around circles completely off Misty’s radar. She wouldn’t be surprised.
“Hello!” she greeted enthusiastically. “Welcome to TCBY, what can I get you?”
“Hey,” she said when she reached the counter. She had a frenetic energy about her, almost like Misty's own. “Can I get one vanilla and one strawberry?”
And that’s when Misty realized she wasn't alone.
There, by her side, was a tall boy with dark hair. He was dressed in a similar fashion as her, and his wrists were adorned in leather bracelets. His nails were even painted. She scowled at him.
“Would you like any toppings?” she asked.
“I’ll have gummy bears and chocolate sauce with my vanilla. What about you?” she turned her attention to the boy beside her. Her boyfriend, probably, or soon to be from the way her arm looped through his. She stared hard, as if she could scald them with her glare. Why did he have to order strawberry? That was Misty’s favourite flavour; now she was embarrassed of it.
“Just sprinkles is fine.”
She tried not to roll her eyes. Basic. “Okay, that comes out to $18.10.”
The boy handed her a crumpled up twenty dollar bill. She wrinkled her nose at it. It probably had boy germs.
“Can I get a name, please?” Her Sharpie was already poised over one of their white paper cups.
The boy scanned the empty shop, but thankfully didn’t comment. “Just put them both under Nat,” the girl said. It filled Misty with warmth.
“Nat,” she whispered, a little dumbstruck and gripping her pen too hard. The vague images began to take shape. “Is it short for something?”
Nat’s brows knitted, a little confused, but she answered anyway. “Yeah, Natalie.”
“That’s a beautiful name,” Misty gushed, unable to stop herself. Nat. Natalie. She must be Natalie Scatorccio – she was more phantom than person at Wiskayok High. She didn’t attend class half the time, and when she did she reeked of alcohol and smoke. She’d been called to the principal’s office for offences such as smoking on campus, cutting class, and disrespecting teachers. There were also the rumours, of course, that she’d slept with nearly half the guys in senior year. But Misty didn't take much stock in those..
“Thank you…?”
“Ah, right, sorry.” Misty hurriedly scribbled the name on both cups and counted out their change. “Here’s your change. I’ll call your name when the yoghurt is ready.”
They took their seat near the counter, and Misty not so subtly began eavesdropping on their conversation as she prepared their orders.
“So, fourth day of practice? How’re we feeling?” the boy asked.
“Eh, it isn’t too bad. I’ve been with better bands,” Natalie replied noncommittally. So she was part of a band? Of course she was, of course someone as cool as her would be part of a band. She was probably their front man too, their lead singer. Misty imagined her singing onstage, sweat dripping off her in the harsh lights. Her cheeks flamed and she accidentally dropped the cup of vanilla she was holding. It created a loud splatter when it fell to the floor, and she let out an involuntary gasp.
“Woah, you alright over there?” Natalie called. She had gotten up and was now peering over the counter. Misty’s face was on fire as she scrambled with paper napkins to clean up her mess. “Do you need any help with that?”
“I – I’m fine,” Misty began, but then caught herself. Was she really going to pass up this opportunity? “Actually, could you get some more tissues? They’re right beside the counter over there.”
“Sure.” The counter swung open easily, and the next thing she knew Natalie was by her side and handing her the metal container of tissues. Misty really didn’t need any more, as the mess was already mostly cleaned up, but she accepted gratefully. Natalie even took a few in her own hands and scrubbed the tile as well.
“This is so embarrassing,” Misty giggled when they were done. She ducked her head and played with her hair, like she’d seen the girls on TV do.
“It’s no problem, really.” Natalie shrugged and Misty just became even more infatuated, if it was possible. “Happens to the best of us. Being a klutz is kinda cute.”
Was she calling Misty cute? Or was she making fun of her in some vague manner she couldn’t understand? Either way, it still filled Misty with a giddy feeling inside. This time, when she ducked her head, it wasn’t to appear demure and attractive, but to hide the raging red flush that had risen to her cheeks.
Misty prepared their orders without incident after that, though she wasn’t any less distracted. When she finally finished with the sprinkles (she’d been tempted to spit in his cup), she finally rang the little silver bell and called out, “Order for Natalie!”
The boy she was with – Kevyn (she’d learned his name from listening in on their conversation) – rolled his eyes and gave a deep and put-upon sigh, but Natalie didn’t seem at all perturbed.
“Thanks,” she grinned, and slipped a ten dollar bill into the tip jar. Misty’s eyes went wide.
“Oh, I can’t – ”
But Kevyn had already slung his arm around Natalie’s shoulders, and whatever resentment that might have risen in her was tamped down when Natalie turned around, yoghurt cup in hand, and waved.
Just as the door jingled closed, Misty fell to her knees, heart in her throat and hot face buried in her palms.
It was official. If Misty had any doubts earlier, they’d been cleared now.
She was in love.
Natalie didn’t come in the next day, or the day after. Misty began clocking into work early and doing overtime she wasn’t paid for, just in the hope Nat would come in again.
And then, one day, it finally happened. Natalie had been occupying Misty’s thoughts for so long that she was half sure the girl walking in – a boy at her side, again, though this time a different one – was the same person she’d seen a week ago.
Misty shot up from behind the counter so fast she rammed her head into one of the corners. She yelped and cradled the side of her head with her palm. What a great second meeting. Were they all destined to go like this?
“Are you okay?” Natalie rushed over, amusement in her voice. “It seems like every time I see you you’re getting into accidents.”
So she remembered her?
“I’m not always like this, I swear,” Misty stammered. She was mortified beyond belief and much too scared to lower her hand. What if there was a giant bump?
Natalie laughed, a sound like snow falling to the ground. She reached down and circled Misty’s wrist with her hand. Misty froze. Was this really happening? Gently, she lowered Misty’s hand from her head.
“See? You’re fine.”
“Really?” Misty breathed, so low it was a mystery Nat could hear her at all. “No bumps?”
There it was, that laugh again, soft and pure. “Not one.”
Someone knocked on the counter, the sound making Misty jump (not hitting her head this time). Worse, however, was the fact that it made Natalie let go of her hand and straighten up, taking a step back and clearing her throat.
“Can we order or what?” It was Nat’s date. She already disliked him more than her last.
“Uh, yeah.” Misty stood, straightening her apron. “What can I get you?”
Natalie opened her mouth, but her date replied before she could. “Chocolate with mixed berries for me. She’ll have… cotton candy, right, babe?” Misty frowned. She had ordered vanilla last time. Maybe she wanted to try something new?
Mouth set in a tight line, Natalie nodded. No, that only confirmed Misty’s suspicions. But now she wondered why she didn’t correct him? Someone as bold as Nat didn’t seem like the type to cower from confronting someone.
Nat pulled a few bills out of the pocket of her leather jacket and began counting them out. “How much?”
And he was making her pay?
Misty would not stand for this.
So, ignoring the blinking 19.50 on her screen, she said, “Actually, we have a special promo today. Every twenty-sixth customer gets their froyo free!”
“And we’re the twenty-sixth customers?” Natalie asked, peering from underneath her curtain of hair. Misty remembered the way she had tucked it behind her ear last time, and wondered if her wish to recreate the action would ever come to fruition.
“Yep, it’s your lucky day, can you believe it?” she squealed, hands held high over her head. Was she too much? Natalie was looking at her weird, and so was her date, but Misty couldn’t care less about what he thought of her. But what if Nat did, and he said something bad about her after this?
She couldn’t dwell on it for long, though, because Nat tucked her money back into her pocket and said, “Well, if you say so.”
The guy scoffed, his eyes rolling. He placed his arm over Nat’s shoulders and led her to a corner far from the counter. Misty waggled her tongue at this retreating back.
She prepared their froyo, swapping out Nat’s cotton candy for vanilla. Just as she was handing them off, she accidentally on purpose tipped rude guy’s cup onto the floor, sending chocolate froyo all over his black leather boots. She’d have to clean that up later, but it was worth it to have seen the look on his face.
“What the hell!” he yelled, jumping back.
“Oh, oh my god, I’m so sorry!” she burst out, feigning regret. She stepped out from behind the counter quickly, and with an armful of tissues began mopping up the mess. “Do you want me to make you another one?”
Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Nat lift her hand to her mouth to try and conceal a smile.
“Just forget it,” he said. “C'mon, Nat, let’s go.”
“Oh!” Nat grabbed her froyo cup before he could drag her out the door. Her eyes lit up when she realized it was vanilla.
“Fucking freak,” she heard the guy mutter as he stomped away. Misty was used to being called that; what infuriated her more was the tight grip he had on Natalie, like he owned her.
“Bye, Misty!” Nat yelled over her shoulder, grin bright.
Misty looked down at herself, remembering her name tag.
She hoped it wasn’t the last time Nat said her name.
Later, as she was closing up, Misty unlocked the tip jar, spilling its contents all over one of the tables. Among the green dollar bills, a slip of white caught Misty’s eye.
Curious, she lifted it and found it was a piece of cigarette paper, and on it, written in black ink, were the words, meet me at auntie anne's tomorrow after your shift ;).
Heart in her throat, Misty immediately thought of Nat. Could it really be her? But if it wasn't, then who else? Misty couldn’t imagine any other customers that day who’d taken any particular interest in her, but maybe she’d been so focused on Nat it had all gone over her head. Maybe that’s what she was doing now.
No, she couldn’t start thinking like this. She’d interacted with Nat the most, they’d exchanged the most words. It made the most sense for it to be her. It wasn’t just Misty’s stupid crush speaking, it was logical.
But it still reached the mushy part inside her, and she barely concealed her loud squeal of glee with her hand. She held the note to her chest, black ink next to her heart, and danced in circles around the dark shop to the musical memory of Natalie’s boots on the tile floor and of the tinny sound her rings made when they touched.
Natalie, Natalie, Natalie, a chorus in Misty’s head.
Misty surveyed herself in the mirror the next morning.
She hadn’t gotten much sleep last night, tossing and turning in bed as she played every possible way her date with Nat would play out. (Should she call it a date – could she? That’s what it was, wasn’t it? But what if Nat just wanted to hang out? Misty drew the conclusion that she could call it a date in her head, but not out loud until Nat called it that first.) Her eyes were ringed with dark circles as a result. She eyed her meagre supply of makeup – accumulated over numerous birthdays – especially the foundation bottle. She’d tried makeup before, but to put it on she’d had to take her glasses off, and subsequently her face had ended up a blotchy, uneven mess. After that, she’d exiled her makeup bag into the farthest corner of her vanity’s drawer. But now she was going on her first date. Was it worth the risk?
She decided against the foundation, coming to the conclusion that her glasses covered up the worst of her eye bags. Instead, she applied lipstick of a subtle coral shade and blush to the apples of her cheeks. As she inspected her reflection, turning side to side, she thought she looked quite mature.
Her hair came next, and never in her life was she more ungrateful for her curly hair. It was frizzy, and resisted any of Misty’s valiant efforts to tame it with a hairbrush. In the end, she pulled half of it up with a scrunchie. It would have to do.
Standing from her vanity, she walked over to her wardrobe. She had planned out an outfit yesterday, but looking at it now made her nose wrinkle in disgust. The pink henley now looked childish, especially paired with her embroidered jeans.
She rummaged through her drawers and rifled through her hangers. Should she try to imitate Nat’s style? Or should she try and complement it by doing the opposite? She didn’t want to seem like she was trying too hard. After all, this was a casual food court date. But she also didn’t want to give off the impression that she didn’t care. All the factors to take into consideration were making her head spin.
In the end, Misty went for the latter. She wore a floral patterned top and denim skirt, along with her white sneakers and pink socks that matched her scrunchie.
Giving herself one last once-over, Misty straightened her denim skirt and tucked a few stray strands of hair behind her ear. She exhaled slowly, trying to calm down. But it was useless; excitement still thrummed in her veins, and she couldn’t help the giddy smile that it brought to her face.
She was going on a date! With possibly the coolest girl she’d ever met! Even just thinking about it made Misty feel a little dizzy.
She looped her messenger bag over her shoulder and descended the stairs in a rush. Pausing by the kitchen, she ate a quick bowl of cereal standing, too keyed up to sit down.
Even later, in between serving customers and wiping down tables, Misty couldn’t seem to stay still. She fidgeted with her fingers or kept them busy by rearranging the counter. Every five minutes she found her eyes drifting to the clock on the wall, languishing in her solitude. Despite all of her rushing back and forth, she still found time to think of Nat.
Yesterday, once she’d gotten home, she’d powered up the computer in her dad’s office (she wasn’t allowed to use it, technically, but it wasn't her fault his password was extremely obvious) and began her research into the unfamiliar world of rock n’ roll. After a little searching, she discovered punk, and figured that was more Nat’s style. She downloaded some of the music onto a disc and listened to it now.
It was all very… loud. So loud in fact, that Misty couldn’t even hear herself think over the din of bass and slurred words. During the third song, she finally tugged the headphones off her ears. She couldn’t take it anymore.
She liked Nat – she liked Nat a lot, and if this music was so important to her then she’d learn to like it too. But she could take it slow. Three songs, consecutively and in one day, would have to be enough. She’d kept a list of the songs and artists on the disc, so she unfolded it to read them. This way she would still have something to talk about with Natalie. Not only did she write down artists and songs, but also background information on the bands and, if they had them, the context and meaning behind the song. It was incredibly well done, if Misty did say so herself.
So immersed was she in memorising all the terminology and dates she’d catalogued that she no longer noticed the ticking of the clock. She was instead surprised when she looked up, expecting a customer, and was instead met with a familiar face. She didn’t interact much with the other employee who had their shift after hers, but she could at least recognize her. Her name was Mari, if Misty remembered correctly. She tried to avoid her as much as possible. She didn’t like Misty very much, for the same reasons a lot of people didn’t like Misty very much.
“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize my shift was over.” Misty untied her apron and replaced it with her messenger bag. “I have a date, you know.”
“Oh really?” Mari quipped, brow raised. “With your pillow and the back of your hand?”
Misty shrugged instead of answering, brushing past Mari. “Oh yeah, make sure to tell the manager the second dispensing machine is acting up, okay?”
Mari stared. “Are you serious?” she asked.
Misty paused, her hand on the door. “It doesn’t really matter to me whether or not you believe it,” she said, and walked out the door. Wow, this lipstick was doing wonders for her confidence.
(Or maybe it was just Nat.)
The Auntie Anne’s was a little far from TCBY, in terms of a food court of course, and on the way Misty couldn’t help but think herself in circles over the possible events of the afternoon.
She’d pay for their meal, of course. She had to show that she was much better than whatever loser she was going out with before.
She could see the blinking blue and yellow storefront of Auntie Anne’s, and she hurriedly scanned her notes one last time, reciting names under her breath. Finally, after she assured herself she’d memorized the list from top to bottom, she began walking up to the stall.
Amongst the various seated customers, Misty didn’t recognize any bleached blonde head or black leather jacket. Was she early? No, she was already running late closing up. Was Nat late? Did she bail? Was she standing Misty up?
Suddenly, she considered simply turning the other way and marching off. If this was just one big joke, if Nat was watching from a distance, along with her prick of a boyfriend. She’d gotten faux Valentine’s day confessions before, not realizing they were jokes and her undesirability was the punchline.
Why did she think this time was any different? Why did she think anyone, let alone someone as cool as Nat, would want to go out with her? She probably picked up on Misty's stupid crush, and now she was looking for some entertainment for the weekend. She’d probably boast about it with her bandmates or something. What if she wrote a song about how pathetic Misty was? What if –
“Oi!”
Misty paused, one foot poised to turn in the other direction. She was almost too afraid to turn around.
“There you are.” Misty’s uncertainty cleared, and when she finally turned around, she was met with Nat, grinning behind the counter. “I was beginning to think you’d stood me up.”
Stood me up. So it was a date.
“I thought you stood me up,” Misty admitted, unsure why. All her teen magazines made dating seem like some type of elaborate game of cat and mouse. Seeming aloof and unaffected was the key.
“And why would I do that?” Nat chuckled, and that’s when Misty noticed the uniform she wore. So she worked here. That’s why she hadn’t been at any of the tables.
Nat untied the blue apron and hung it up on a peg alongside her blue visor. “I can leave you alone, right?” she called as she ducked under the counter to meet Misty.
“Your date there?” A head popped out from behind one of the metal mixers. “Aw fuck yeah!” They held out a hand for Misty to shake, which she did. “My name is Van, it’s nice to meet you. It’s about time Nat went out with a girl for once; she’s been dating too many guys if you ask me.”
“Misty! I’m Misty!” She hoped she wasn’t shaking Van’s hand too hard, though by the way they grimaced and pulled away she probably did. “It’s nice to meet you too!”
“Well, you have… a lot of energy.”
“Thank you, people say that about me a lot.” Misty grinned. She should tone it down probably, but with Nat at her side she simply couldn’t. Being around her made her feel more energized, if it was possible.
“I can see why,” Van replied drily.
“Okay, okay, break it up.” Natalie slung her arm over Misty’s shoulder, sending phantom sparks through her clothing, and began steering her away. “C’mon, they’re not your date.”
Out of the corner of her eye, Misty saw Van roll their eyes, but they didn’t say anything.
A smile tugging at her lips, Misty took the risk of leaning her head into the crook of Natalie’s neck. Nat didn’t move away, instead pulling her closer. Misty’s smile only grew wider, her lips now brushing Nat’s shoulders.
They ended up at the mall parking lot, which – Misty had not expected.
But Nat had turned to her, that grin playing on her lips and still smelling faintly of flour and cigarette smoke, and said, “You wanna go somewhere more private?”
Misty had heard the word private and her heart immediately started pounding in her ears. She wasn’t socially inept, despite what others might think. She knew what Nat had meant when she’d said private.
Or she thought she did.
But apparently, to Nat it meant the back parking lot of a New Jersey strip mall. Whatever. Misty could work with this. The cement and hot sun were quite romantic… if you ignored it all.
Just as Misty was about to take her precarious seat on a low slab of concrete, Nat pulled something out of her pocket. “What’re you doing?” she asked, looking around to see Misty half-squatting in the air. She straightened up immediately.
“Oh!” Misty readjusted the strap of her bag. “I - I’m sorry, I just thought – ”
“I’m broke, but I’m sure I can afford to bring you out on a good date.” She jingled a pair of keys in her hand, what she’d gotten out of her pocket presumably. Nodding her head at the car behind her, she said, “Get in.”
“Of course.” Misty blushed when Nat opened the car door for her. “I’m paying though.”
“Hey, no way.” Nat got in after her and started the car. It was an old Ford Escort with the windows rolled down. There were several bumper stickers on its rear that Misty hadn’t gotten more than a glimpse at. The interior smelled like weed and cigarette smoke, because what else would Nat’s car smell like?
“I’m not forgetting that ‘free promo’ thing. Don’t you think it’s only fair I pay you back?” The car finally sputtered to life, and Nat pulled down the sun visor as she squinted her eyes at the bright summer sun. The radio blared loud music.
“Okay, fine.” Misty relntwd, though it was clear she didn’t mind the prospect of being paid for. “Hey, seatbelt.”
Nat rolled her eyes in response, but she clicked her seatbelt into place anyway.
“Vehicular safety is very important,” Misty continued. “Over a million people die in car crashes every year.”
“Thanks, Misty. I’ve always wondered.”
The seats were badly in need of new upholstery, but Misty was too distracted by Nat’s dark roots turning lighter in the sun to care about the cracked leather digging into her thighs. “Where are we going?” she asked.
“Dinner, probably. I’m starving. You want anything in particular?” They were out of the parking lot at this point and driving past the mall. Misty was grateful Natalie was focused on driving, because she couldn’t look over and notice that Misty had been staring googly-eyed at her for the past five minutes they’ve been in the car. She had to remind herself to blink.
“I’m fine with whatever you want,” Misty shrugged. “Hey, what is this?” She jutted her chin out to the radio when Nat raised a brow. “They sound good.” It didn’t seem to be any of the three songs she’d listened to earlier, which wasn’t surprising, but it wouldn’t hurt to feign an interest, right? It would give them something to talk about.
“Really?” Nat chuckled. “Personally, I think they’re kinda ass.”
“Oh,” was all Misty could say. Shit. Did she do something wrong? What if Nat kicked her out for having bad music taste?
“I think Travis left his tape in there.” Nat shrugged. “Hey, do me a favour and take it out, okay? I can’t stand hearing his voice.”
“Who’s Travis?” Misty asked as she took the tape out. Written on it, in ink like Nat’s letter, were the words for Nat.
“That guy I was with last time.”
“Oh,” Misty said again. She didn’t know what to do with the tape, so she kept it in her lap, thumb brushing over Nat’s name. “When did you guys break up?”
“Oh, we were never really a thing.” Nat shrugged her shoulders. “I just broke whatever fling we had off on the way here. He didn’t take it very well. He was so angry he forgot his tape.”
“Good. He seemed like a jerk.”
A smile curled Nat’s lips, and for a moment she took her eyes off the road to give Misty a knowing look. “Yeah, he is. He deserved much worse than frozen yoghurt on his boots.”
Misty met her gaze. “Well,” she smiled. “I had to start somewhere.”
“My knight in shining armour,” Nat teased. “Hey, give that to me.”
A little confused, Misty handed her Travis’ tape. Nat held it with her index finger bracing the length of it, elbow propped up. As they turned a corner, she chucked it out the open window.
“There, now he’s really gone,” Nat said. “There are other tapes in the glovebox. Play something else.”
Misty obeyed, still a little awe-struck. That might be the coolest thing she’d ever seen someone do. With trembling hands, she inserted a tape picked at random. Natalie laughed when it started playing. Misty didn’t know if that was a good thing.
“This was his favourite song.”
Misty winced. How did she fuck up already? The date hadn’t even properly started.
Just as she was about to remove the tape, though (and hand it to Nat so she could presumably chuck it out the window again), Nat shook her head.
“Leave it,” she said. “I like this song too. He shouldn’t get to ruin everything.”
A blinking neon sign came into view, and Nat turned the car towards it.
“What is this?” Misty leaned forward in her seat to read the sign.
“Scott’s Diner. Have you really never heard of it?” Nat pulled into an empty parking spot. “It's, like, the second most popular high school hangout spot. After the mall, of course.”
Despite what Nat said, the place seemed a little deserted. There was a lone motorbike parked some distance from them, where a grizzly middle-aged man smoked a cigarette.
“No,” Misty replied haltingly. “I suppose I don’t have anyone to go with.” She tried not to sound too pathetic.
Natalie still seemed to understand the undercurrent of shame in her voice, because her expression softened as she said, “This place has great burgers, trust me. And since it’s a Sunday, we won’t have to suffer through teenagers making out in the booths.”
Misty laughed, getting out of the car after Natalie. “Does that really happen? I mean, I’d assume they’d at least go into their cars for that.”
“It’s like you've never attended high school.” They fell into step with each other. There was a chill in the air now that the sun was going down, but Misty wasn’t sure whether to attribute the goosebumps rising on her skin to the cold or to Natalie so near beside her. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” Misty said, rubbing her arms perhaps a little exaggeratedly. “I’m just a little cold.”
And then, just as she’d hoped, Nat slipped her beaten leather jacket off of her and draped it over Misty. “There.” The entrance to the diner was less than ten steps away, but Misty still pulled the jacket closer.
Nat pushed the door open with her shoulder and held it open for Misty. Misty was head over heels.
With a hand on the small of her back, Nat led Misty to a secluded booth at the end corner. The seats were red leather and the table was shining. “My favourite spot,” Nat said, as they took their seats on opposite ends.
The interior seemed incredibly 50s, though not in a way that seemed intentional. There was dirt caked into the black and white tile and the jukebox sputtered as if neither had been given proper care for at least a decade. All the booths were red leather and uniforms chequered, filling Misty with fantasies of making incredibly romantic eye contact with Nat over a shared strawberry milkshake.
A waitress approached them. “What can I get you two?” She eyed Nat specifically. Was she a regular here? She had to be, considering she had a favourite spot. How many other people had she brought here – to this diner, to this exact table?
Misty gripped the edge of the table tighter. Whatever. None of that mattered. Nat was here, on a date with her. Who cared if she’d been on dates with other people? Not Misty, that was for sure. It wasn’t a big deal. At all.
And anyway, after tonight, Nat wasn’t going on any more dates with other people.
So engrossed in her own thoughts, Misty didn’t notice Nat nudging her foot under the table.
“I’m sorry,” Misty said, snapping back into her senses. Nat withdrew her boot. “Did you say something?”
Natalie laughed, that rough chuckle from the back of her throat. Misty could hear the remnants of cigarette ash in it. “Yeah, I was asking you what you want.” Above them, the waitress loomed. She was tapping her foot incessantly on the tile floor. She seemed used to the routine, albeit irritated by it.
“You can order for me,” Misty said. She considered chasing after Nat and pushing the cuff of her baggy jeans up with the toe of her sneaker. “After all, you've been here more than I have.”
“Alright then.” Nat turned back to the waitress. “Two double cheeseburgers then.”
“Anything else?” the waitress drawled.
“Do you have milkshakes?” Misty asked.
The waitress’ brow raised. “No. We don’t.”
“Oh.”
“That’ll be all, Tai,” Nat said. Misty noticed the nameplate on the waitress’ uniform. Taissa. Nat was enough of a regular here that she not only knew the waitress, but was close enough to use a nickname for her?
Misty tried not to let her head fall into her hands.
The waitress sauntered off, and Nat finally turned to her. “I’m sorry if she seems like kind of a bitch.”
Misty waved her off. “Oh, it’s fine. Customer service isn’t for everyone.”
“She’s Van’s girlfriend, that’s how I know her.” Nat seemed to read her mind. “And I guess… I don’t have the best track record with the people I bring here.”
“But I’m different, right?” Misty wasn’t sure where it came from. Well, she knew, but she didn’t know how it made it past her lips. It didn’t sound flirtatious or teasing, it sounded disgustingly, pathetically sincere.
“‘Course you are.” Nat was leaning across the table now, and so was Misty. Too far for their breath to mingle, but near enough that Misty could count each piercing on Nat’s left ear. Four.
Misty scoffed and rolled her eyes, though her cheeks still heated. She leaned away, remembering the push and pull mentioned in dating columns. “You probably say that to everyone you bring here.”
“Maybe.” Nat’s hard leather boot grazed her own soft white rubber. The boot grazed higher, flirting over the frill of her socks. It should disgust her, but all it did was make her heat up even more. She was struck dumb, she couldn't speak. Her gaze was trained on the static of the table, unable to lift it to Nat’s. “Does it matter?”
Nat was nearly halfway across the table now, and Misty could see out of the corner of her eye her hand stretching out, almost as if to cup her cheek.
Just as Misty was about to slot her chin into the cleft of Nat’s palm, she sprung away like she’d just stuck her hand into a socket. Two plates dropped in front of them, giant greasy cheeseburgers on each, both heaving with fries.
“Enjoy,” came the voice from above, followed by the clicking of heels on tile.
Natalie winced. “I’m sorry about her. I’ll talk to her later.”
“It’s fine, really.” Misty gingerly lifted a fry to her lips, nibbling on it. She was starving, really, but she didn’t want to start eating in earnest before Nat. “I like it here. The ambiance is very…”
“Trashy?”
“I was thinking warm.”
“The only thing warm here is the food.” Nat took a huge bite of her burger, and with her mouth still full, she nodded her head towards Misty’s plate and said, “Dig in. I swear, it’s the best cheeseburger you’ll ever taste.”
Misty obeyed, and she found herself agreeing with Nat. It was greasy, which was to be expected, and Misty found herself dabbing at her fingers and mouth with her handkerchief in-between every bite, but it was the best cheeseburger she’d ever tasted.
Nat was surprisingly quiet, and Misty didn’t realize she was watching her eat until her third bite.
“Is there something wrong?” she asked worriedly, handkerchief flying to the corner of her mouth.
“Nothing,” Nat shook her head, a smile playing at her lips. “I’ve just never seen someone use a handkerchief while eating a cheeseburger.”
“Oh,” Misty replied, already folding it away. “I’m sorry, I’ve just always had one on me.”
“No, I don’t mind. I actually think it’s kinda… cute.”
Misty nearly burst into flames right there.
“Uh.” Misty was floundering. She remembered the list she’d memorized. “Have you heard Sublime’s latest album?”
“Their self-titled? Haven’t really given it a full listen, but I’m not really into their stuff. Lacks edge.”
“Oh definitely.”
“I don’t know,” Nat continued, “I’m just not a big fan of ska punk I guess. I like it old school.”
Misty nodded along. She knew what ska punk was – that research hadn’t been for nothing – and she didn’t care for it much either, but then again she didn’t care much for any of the music.
“I’m surprised,” Nat said. “I didn’t think you’d be into that type of music.”
“Oh, I only know a little. Probably less than you.” Misty preened.
“Probably.” Nat braced her elbows on the tabletop, grin wide. “C’mon, tell me what you really listen to. I know you don’t kick it to fucking Sublime.”
Misty considered maintaining the charade, but something about Nat made her realize she’d see through it. “Okay, fine. I like musicals.”
“You what?” Nat’s grin only widened, and with anyone else Misty might be preparing for an insult, or a joke at her expense that would go over her head. But Nat’s eyes were light and her smile pure joy. It was hard not to look. “I’m sorry, that is just so you, and yet it didn’t even cross my mind.”
Misty bristled. “What do you mean by that?”
“Nothing, it’s just… so you. It makes sense. I mean it in a nice way.”
Misty’s hackles lowered. “Oh. Okay.” She ducked her head and took another bite of her burger as she tried to think of a response. “I didn’t know you were working at the mall too. I’d never seen you before.”
“Eh, it’s just to get by and stuff.” Nat took a bite of her own burger. “It’s kinda shit, but every job is.”
“Wait, you live on your own?” She thought of Nat’s car, with its stench of weed and grime. She imagined that but larger, a living space. She imagined being driven there in Nat’s shitty car and being pressed into her shitty mattress. She imagined learning the taste of smoke from Nat’s lips.
“Couch surfing,” Nat clarified. “But I still need the money of course. And what little extra I have I’m saving up to buy an electric guitar. I left Kevyn's band, so I can’t borrow his anymore.”
“That’s so cool,” Misty gushed, as if it was the first she’d ever heard of it. “Can I hear some of your stuff?”
Nat shook her head. “I’m useless without a guitar, and we never got to recording anything with me on it. I was just trying it out anyway.” Nat leaned back in her seat, a fry pinched between her fingers. “Seems like I’m band surfing too.”
“You should start your own band,” Misty said earnestly.
“Need other members first. Though if I need a groupie I know who to call.”
“Would you play me a song? I – I mean when you get a guitar, that is. I’d love to hear you.”
It was quiet for a few moments, Nat fiddling with her leather bracelets and Misty playing with the cuffs of Nat’s jacket. It was humid inside the diner, and she was practically roasting in the leather, but she still refused to take it off. She was about to open her mouth again, try to fill the silence before it stuck, but then, “Yeah, sure.” Nat’s attention shifted back to Misty. “I don’t take suggestions, though. Or criticism, no matter how constructive. It just turns out condescending in the end.”
“I wouldn’t dare. I don’t know a thing about guitars anyway,” she lied (her music had extended past the music and to the instruments used to play them).
“So, apart from musicals, what else are you into?” Nat asked. She was probably just trying to be polite, but Misty could see a genuine interest in her eyes as she stuffed the rest of her burger in her mouth.
“Oh, nothing much.” Misty continued pushing her food around her plate. She crossed her ankles and stretched her legs out under the table, bumping with Nat’s on accident. “I’m not as cool as you are,” she laughed self-deprecatingly.
“C’mon.” If they’d been beside each other, Misty thought she might have nudged her shoulder. The possibility of touch – contact between them, no matter how brief – flustered Misty and made her pull her legs back to her side of the table. “Anything. You never told me what school you go to.”
“Wiskayok,” Misty replied.
“No way!” Nat laughed, fist coming down on the table and making the plates jump. Misty flinched. “Sorry,” Nat noticed. “I just… I go there too. Or I used to. I’ve as good as dropped out now. I swear I’ve never seen you before.”
Misty sighed heavily. “It’s fine, I’m used to it. At least you don’t know me as Lemon Tits.”
“Wait… no fucking way. That was you?”
Shit.
Why did she say that?
She took a deep breath and managed, “Yes.” Might as well get over it.
Lemon Tits was a nickname she’d gotten after she was invited to a sleepover by a pair of girls in freshman year – Erna and Jo. Both were infamous bullies; during the school’s theater show, they’d booed her and her partner off stage. She should have known, really, that it was too good to be true, but hope seemed to be something Misty had a hard time letting go of, because she went anyway.
Her main concern was that the address they’d given her was false, that it led to an abandoned house or some other equally forgotten grimy place. But when she’d stopped at the gravel driveway, checked and double checked the address on the mailbox, and finally worked up the courage to knock, all the worry bled out of her.
They’d spent the night watching TV and exchanging stories, and, save for a few minor blunders here and there, she was really fitting in. She’d spent hours the previous night pouring through her meager collection of magazines, committing all the celebrity gossip and fashion styles to memory. It was all going so well, until they started getting ready for bed, all crowded into one bathroom passing elastic hair ties and toothpaste.
Erna began to tug off her t-shirt, and the rest followed suit. Misty wasn’t sure what to do. She’d changed with other people in the room, sure, but something about that white tile bathroom with its Disney Princess decals and pink shower curtain that made it feel different from the awful smelling locker rooms at school. Still – she didn’t want to be left behind.
As soon as her chest was exposed, the girls rounded on her, as if waiting for the perfect moment.
“You have, like, really small tits. Is that even an A cup?” Jo said, hands on her hips. Her own breasts had filled out already, and Misty’s eyes had drifted to her chest on more than one occasion. She wasn’t sure if it was purely due to envy. Misty pulled her arms tight around her, trying to cover them. She knew they were small, that she still wore a baby bra, but her mom was a doctor, and she reassured Misty that it was completely healthy. Misty really didn’t care about healthy; she cared about normal.
Erna stalked over and pried them away. “Oh my god, you’re right,” she shrieked. She was a pretty brunette who played soccer for the Wiskayok Yellowjackets. Though the team was great – one of the best in the state – as a freshman, Erna was benched half the time. That didn’t stop her from bragging about it, though. Now, she held Misty up against the wall, sneering face only inches from hers. Jo dissolved into fits of giggles as she stared at her chest.
“Let go,” Misty had struggled, trying not to cry. There had still been some part of her that hoped it was all just a joke, some sort of hazing ritual that if she survived they'd finally let her into her group.
Hands groped her, until they finally made their way to her chest. “They’re so small!” Misty’s tears had spilled long ago, but she still pushed against her. She didn't dare scream. “They’re like… half a lemon each.” Jo’s brows squeezed together, her words exhaled like breath through her laughter.
“Oh my god, really?” Erna let Misty go, and she took the opportunity to duck under their outstretched arms and dart out the bathroom.
She didn't even bother with her things, simply stumbling down the steps and out the front door as fast as she could. They yelled after her but no one bothered chasing after her.
She should have known. Girls like Erna and Jo didn’t hang out with girls like Misty.
The next day, Misty knew she wasn’t imagining the way everyone stared at her, ducking away when they realized she’d noticed with their hands over their mouths to conceal their laughter. The whispers and jeers were an everyday part of Misty’s academic life, but that day they seemed particularly vicious.
Suddenly, just as she was about to hide in the girls’ bathroom, a boy suddenly grabbed her arm, twisting it painfully behind her back. His other hand came up to grope one of Misty’s breasts.
He let go nearly immediately, leaping away and yelling, “Lemon tits! I really touched them!” He bumped chests with one of his friends, fists with another. Misty had watched all of this like she was watching a movie – a scene, a set, anything that wasn’t real, couldn't truly be happening to her. Her knees trembled, and she had to brace herself against the wall.
She’d spent the rest of that school day – the rest of the week, really – skipping class in a bathroom stall, feet pulled up onto the toilet seat and textbooks slid into the crook of her thighs so she didn’t fall behind in lessons.
Misty was already being bullied, like she’d been for most of her school life. She couldn’t wrap her head around basic social cues everyone else seemed to understand, had gotten tripped in hallways innumerable times, and was such a notorious suck-up that even teachers disliked her. But for some reason, out of all of her embarrassing blunders – the bad outfits, the tissues stuffed up her bra, the blotchy makeup – the lemon thing had stuck.
When she finally braved the school hallways once again, her locker had been painted a bright yellow, and when she opened it a crude drawing of huge breasts was Sharpied onto the back. She was called to the office, where she had to explain that no, actually, she wasn’t the one who’d vandalized her own locker.
Even now, if some jock was feeling particularly bored and they’d catch sight of her walking down the hallway, they’d jump out suddenly and start asking her if they could cop a feel, because they really couldn’t be that small. All Misty could do was walk past them as briskly as she could.
“Shit, I’m sorry,” Nat said, tone gentler if a bit strained. “Wiskayok High is full of jerks. Trust me, I should know.”
“Really?” Misty asked. She couldn’t imagine anyone even remotely as cool and unbothered as Nat getting the same treatment Misty did.
“Yeah,” Nat replied. She pushed her fries around, swallowing before she spoke again. “You know, the usual. I mean, I never got anything as unique as Lemon Tits, but I did get the standard whore, slut.” Nat blew a raspberry. “Dated too many guys for their liking, apparently.”
“I… I’m sorry.” Misty reached across the table, her hand taking Nat’s. The metal of her rings were cool against her palm, but her skin was warm. She couldn’t bring herself to say anything else; instead staring down at their hands in silence. Nat hadn’t pulled away.
Nat shrugged, taking a sip from her soda nonchalantly. “Whatever. At least I’m out of there, that’s what matters.”
“I wish I was.” Misty sighed miserably. Her hand was still tingling, what with it blanketing Nat’s. She could feel her fingers twitching, probably due to her habit of tapping them on any surface available. “Do you think I could drop out like you?”
Nat waved her free hand dismissively in front of her face. Despite herself, it made Misty’s heart sink. “Nah. You’ve got a future ahead of you. A path. I didn’t have any of that shit.” Misty could hear the heavy thump thump thump of Nat jiggling her leg under the table, thick sole hitting the tile and knee banging the underside of the table. “Still don’t,” she admitted after a while, voice quiet.
“What about music?”
“It’s just fun to me. I’m not a genius and I’m not trying to be.” Nat stopped fidgeting suddenly, the hand under Misty’s turning so they were palm to palm. “Not like you.”
Misty didn’t know what to make of that; it was odd, that after years of being ostracized, of living with her head down and her voice timid, someone would envy her. She wasn't even quite sure what Nat meant. What did she have that the other girl didn’t? None of it made sense. She finished off her meal clumsily, still one-handed.
“You done?” Nat asked once Misty had practically licked her plate clean. To hell with what the magazine columns said about being ladylike.
“Uh, yeah.” Their hands were still linked. Misty hoped her palms weren't getting sweaty.
“Good. Let’s get out of here.” Nat stood up suddenly, jerking Misty along with her.
“Oh, but what about – ?” They stopped in front of the empty counter, where Nat let go of her hand only to rifle through her pockets for money. She left a few bills pressed underneath the tip jar, which she dropped a few cents into.
“What, did you think I wasn’t going to pay?” Nat laughed, taking her hand once more to lead them out the door and back to her car.
Misty shrugged, sheepish. It was the latest she’d ever stayed out, and somehow the tulips that patterned her shirt and the way her socks bunched up didn’t seem to belong to the darkness around them. Nat, however, seemed most in her element. Invisible if it weren’t for the street lights and her shockingly bright hair, a beacon of its own.
“Are you taking me home?” Her breath plumed out before her, reminding her of the cold. She burrowed herself deeper into Nat’s jacket. She hoped she didn’t ask for it back.
“‘Course I am. You think I make it a habit to take girls out late and not take them home?” Nat pulled her closer, arm resting on her shoulders. “I’m not giving you my jacket, though. I’ve only got one.”
Misty tried to hide her disappointment. Once they were in the car and Nat was starting it up, curses spilling from her mouth as the engine stalled, Misty said, “Thank you. I had a great time tonight.”
The engine finally sputtered to life, and Nat looked at her out of the corner of her eye. “I did too. And you can keep the jacket. It’s cold tonight. You can just give it back to me next time.”
The rest of the drive passed in quiet, and at a red light Nat reached over to open the glovebox and take a pack of cigarettes out. She lit one, taking a deep draw of the smoke before exhaling it out the open window. Misty wanted to know what it felt like, to smoke. It would probably feel like Nat; an open campfire inside of her. The light turned green, but Nat just stayed there for a few moments more. There was no one else out that night, and Misty enjoyed the view before her – Nat truly was in her element. She could imagine her days in highschool, hiding under the bleachers during games and ducking into janitor’s closets, always searching for the sweet relief darkness must bring.
Misty gave Nat directions to her house, though she was nodding off herself, chin dipping every now and then with drowsiness. Nat laughed at her, smoke exhaling with it.
They finally reached Misty’s address. A shiny white colonial with a pool in the backyard, which was last used during Misty’s ninth birthday, when her parents still made efforts at giving her a social life. Now, it just lay neglected and unwanted, still reeking of chemicals because Misty still cleaned the thing religiously. She could see it from her attic bedroom.
Now, sitting in a car with the girl she’d gone on her first date with, her jacket keeping her warm, her knees turning red from the cold, she watched that small circle that looked into her room. Dark and uninviting. She remembered the yellow wallpaper, the dark vanity, and her mother’s antique porcelain dolls lined up on her dresser. All of it made her want to cry.
“Hey,” Nat said. Her voice was rough from the cigarette smoke, though she’d tossed out the butt long ago. “Can I stay over tonight?”
“What?”
“I mean, it’s cool if not. I know it’s sudden. I just don’t think I can handle going all the way to the trailer park on the other side of town.”
“I –. Yeah, of course.” Misty hurriedly unbuckled the seat belt. “I just need to clean up a bit. Just stay right there.”
Nat caught her arm, not hard or strong but enough for Misty to hesitate, hand hovering over the door handle. She heard the rustle of Nat leaning closer, unencumbered by the seat belt she never put on. Her fingers found Misty’s chin, surprisingly small and nimble. She could already imagine them on a guitar, stretched wide to play chords. Misty turned her head, meeting Nat’s gaze. Somehow, it only made her want to run away more.
Just like Misty expected – or maybe hoped – Nat leaned in to press her lips against hers, eyes fluttering shut. Chaste, almost like she was scared. But that didn’t seem right – Nat was never scared. Misty held her breath through it all (ten seconds, at most), and when Nat pulled away she laughed.
“Jesus, you’re red,” she said, falling back into her seat.
“I – I’m sorry.” Misty covered her face in her hands, trying to will the heat away. From in-between the cracks of her fingers, she noticed the flush dusting high on Nat’s cheeks. “Hey, you are too.”
Nat coughed, now suddenly awkward. “So what?”
Misty smiled and straightened up, even though she was sure she was still bright red. “I’ll be right back. I promise.”
(They fell asleep curled up against each other in Misty’s bed; Nat’s breath fanned out sticky and sweet against Misty’s shoulder, Misty’s hair splayed over the pillows as she timed her breathing to the slow in and out of Nat’s in her sleep.
If she craned her neck just a little, she could see them in her vanity’s mirror, still cluttered with the remnants of her getting ready earlier that afternoon. Her Teen Beat magazine cutouts and glittery pom pom gel pens were safely hidden away in a shoe box in her closet, but her room still looked painfully immature. The bright colours, the frilly sheets. And then there was Nat in the middle of it all, curled up behind her in a pair of Misty’s pyjamas, clean white cotton. Probably the most respectable she’s ever looked. Her boots were kicked off in some corner near the bed. Misty had to remind her to take them off, which Nat did, almost sheepish.
It was all so surreal. She remembered brushing her teeth next to Nat in the bathroom, lending her a toothbrush reserved for guests they never had. The two of them in that mirror, splashing water at each other and looking so oddly domestic in the mirror above the sink.
The warm light from her bedside lamp lulled her to sleep. She dreamed of Nat, of her, and of this exact scene playing over and over and over again.)