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A warm evening breeze drifted through the back door of the diner, lifting sweaty tendrils of hair from the nape of Ana’s neck. She submerged her hands in the lukewarm water and retrieved a plate, rinsed it, and placed it on the drying rack.
The kitchen was quiet this time of night, except for the tick, tick, tick of the clock. Occasionally, a sound from the alley would crack the silence. A car engine. Some broken laughter. But mostly it was quiet.
A squeaky grocery cart rolled by in the distance, and Ana turned to see a young homeless man coming down the lane. She watched as he passed by and then returned to her work. Humming a tune, she fell into an easy rhythm—plate, rinse, rack, plate, rinse, rack. The flies hung in the air around her as though they, too, were captivated by the diner’s late-night rhythm.
The homeless man circled back, and Ana realized that the smell of burgers and fries must be drawing him in. She wiped her wet hands on her apron and scooped some fries into a to-go box. He was waiting at the door now. She offered the box to him.
Though his hair was unkempt, his amber eyes had a sharp intelligence. He accepted the box, although he seemed far more interested in her. He opened his mouth to speak but only got out her name.
They were interrupted by her boss, Frank, who pushed through the metal doors. Frank was wearing his usual outfit—a pair of black trousers, a white button-down shirt, a long white apron, and a paper hat that read “Shirley’s Diner.” He looked like the proprietor of a 1950s soda shop or an old-fashioned milkman.
“Ana, I need you up front. Table eight is almost done with their meal.”
She nodded but hesitated at the door. How could this stranger know her name?
Frank, a retired police officer, gave the young man a crisp twenty-dollar bill and sent him back into the summer air. Ana watched as he retreated. In the dark alley, he looked back once. His eyes gleamed like a cat’s. Something she had never seen a human eye do.
Ana shook her head. It must be a trick of the light, she thought. She passed through the kitchen door, resigned to forget the whole thing. She had enough problems without inventing new ones.
The front of Shirley’s Diner was a monument to 1950s Americana and diner culture. There were large metal signs, an old-fashioned till, and a bold black, white, and teal color scheme. There were only two customers left in the diner. A man in a flannel work shirt and boots was demolishing an enormous burger, while his tall, lean wife looked on in distaste. She had ordered a chef’s salad.
Ana refilled their drinks and returned to her post at the counter.
Frank popped his head out of the kitchen. “I’m gonna settle the accounts,” he said. Although Frank had lived in the South for more than twenty years, his accent had never left New York. Luckily, neither had his cooking.
“No problem,” she said, stifling a yawn.
“And Ana?”
“Yeah?”
“No more late nights this week. You’ve got school to worry about.”
School was the last thing Ana wanted to think about. She buffed her anxieties into the chrome countertop until she could see her reflection. Her once long hair hung in short locks around her face. She had shaved her head during her mom’s chemo. Her hair only passed her chin now. Her eyes were large, brown, and beautiful but sad.
Her phone chirped in her apron pocket. Frank hated devices in the diner. She checked the glowing screen under the countertop. She had a new text message from her trash bag of a foster mom, Deirdre.
“Where were u?!” the text read.
Oh crap, Ana thought. How could she have been so stupid? Tonight was Parent Teacher Conference Night. She was supposed to have been at school! Deirdre had been left alone.
Worse yet, Ana had neglected to tell her foster mom a few tiny details, like she wouldn’t be moving up to the next grade. Ana had missed too many days of school. There was also the matter of the graffitied prom banner. Honestly, that had been pretty funny. She had turned Melia Ragsdale, the would-be prom queen, into a she-demon with a pitchfork. Nothing she didn’t deserve.
The phone chirped again. “This wasn’t part of our deal.”
Ana tucked the phone back into her apron and held down the volume button to silence it. Deirdre was going to be furious. There was no getting around that. After all, having one of your foster kids miss so much school that they failed the year didn’t really reflect well on your parenting skills. Still, there was nothing to do about it now.
The woman in the corner booth sighed. Her salad was gone, and it was obvious she was ready to go. Her husband licked the ketchup off his fingers. His gaudy ring gleamed in the harsh diner light, a ruby red stone encased in silver.
Ana stifled a smile. It was one of the ugliest pieces of jewelry she had ever seen. It was obviously fake. Who wore ten-carat rubies?
He fiddled with the ring, trying to remove a spot of ketchup.
She looked down at the countertop to stop herself from laughing.
Then the strangest thing happened. Her hair began to stand on end. Her tired feet felt almost weightless. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the forks and spoons on the table float in midair.
Ana looked up just in time to see them hit the tabletop with a loud clang. Her eyes widened. It couldn’t be.
“Whoopsie,” declared the man. “Near ’bout dropped my fork.”
Ana rubbed her eyes. She really did need to get more sleep.
The man took one last swig of Coke, and the couple walked up to the cash register.
“Hi,” Ana said in the chipper tone she reserved for paying customers. “How was your meal?”
“The salad had too much dressing,” the woman said haughtily.
The man rolled his eyes at his wife. “Mine was just fine, darlin’,” he said, handing Ana the ticket. There was something off about his accent. It sounded more like the TV caricature of a Texas oil man than the authentic Southern accents she was used to hearing.
Ana punched the numbers into the cash register. “How about a slice of pie to go? On the house,” she added, her voice as sweet as the dessert itself.
The man smiled. The lady scowled.
Ana retrieved an enormous slice of coconut cream pie from the glass case. As the unhappy couple walked away, Ana counted the tip under the counter. Forty dollars! That was more than the meal itself. Maybe the ruby had been real.
The forty dollars would bring her total up to $225.32. Still not enough. She would need more for an airline ticket. She sighed. That meant a lot more diner shifts.
Crossing the black-and-white-checkered floor, she reached the empty corner booth and began to pile discarded napkins and dirty silverware onto the plates. Ana had once been a good student. All As and Bs. Even some honors classes. But after her mom got sick, her grades began to drop. After she died, they plummeted. Her friends were now looking at colleges and shopping for prom dresses. Meanwhile, Ana was worried about failing the year and picking up enough shifts to make ends meet. It was crazy to think how much things could change in one year.
The bell on the front door clanged as someone entered the diner.
“We’re closed—” Ana started to say. She stopped short when she looked up and saw a familiar face. It was her brother Ryker.
Ana had three older brothers: Fletcher, Ryker, and Hugh. Fletcher was the youngest. He had just turned eighteen, aged out of the foster system, and taken a job as a mechanic. Ryker was the middle brother and a twenty-year-old college student. Something he felt immensely guilty about. Although Ana and Fletcher insisted he was being stupid, he felt guilty staying in college while they struggled in the foster system and working world. He had been extended a scholarship after their mom’s death that would allow him to complete his degree. Finally, her oldest brother was Hugh, a twenty-six-year-old doctor and the black sheep of the family.
She didn’t expect to see her brothers tonight. But there was Ryker, standing in the doorway. He wasn’t very tall, but his square jaw and broad shoulders made him look strong. His eyes were a warm chocolate brown, just like hers.
She pushed through the waist high door, raced across the floor, and threw herself into his arms.
“Hey sis,” he said with a chuckle. “Miss me?”
“So much,” she murmured, breathing in his familiar smell.
“Me too.” He picked her up and twirled her around like he had since they were little kids. He set her back down with a breath of effort. “Happy birthday!”
She beamed. “You didn’t need to come all the way out here. It’s not even a weekend.”
“Yeah, I did. Campus is only an hour away. No big deal.”
“It is in your clunker,” she said, elbowing him in the ribs.
“It’s a damn sight better than Fletcher’s!” he said, projecting his voice.
“Hey!” came an indignant shout from the kitchen. Out came her brother Fletcher. “Happy sixteen,” he greeted. He shared Ana and Ryker’s dark hair, but his frame was wiry compared to Ryker’s boxier build.
“Two brothers in one day. Where’s number three?” Ana asked.
Fletcher and Ryker exchanged a glance.
She knew it well. “Not coming, huh?”
“Hugh said he had a rotation in gastroenterology that he couldn’t get out of,” Ryker explained.
“Bullshit,” muttered Fletcher.
Ana was disappointed but not surprised. They didn’t see Hugh much these days. Ryker said it was because he felt too guilty to face them. Fletcher said it was because he was a loser. Ana thought they were both right, in part. If it weren’t for Hugh, Ana and Fletcher never would have gone into the foster system. Luckily for Fletcher, he had aged out after a few months. Ana still had two years left.
Ana hugged her youngest brother. “How did you get off work?”
“Told a coworker I’d do a double if he took second tonight.”
“You didn’t have to do that.”
He shrugged.
Frank appeared from the kitchen with a cake in his hands. The frosting was light pink, and roses and pearls had been piped alongside her name.
“Happy birthday, kiddo,” he said. “Did we surprise you?”
She grinned from ear to ear. “Big-time.”
Fletcher rubbed his hands together. “Let’s light this bad boy. I’m starving.”
Ana rolled her eyes. You could always count on teenage boys to be hungry.
Moments later, all sixteen candles were lit. Ryker dimmed the lights, and the candles glowed in the darkness. Ana could hardly believe she was sixteen. She felt much older. This was her first birthday without her mom. Every holiday was bittersweet now.
Frank and her brothers broke into an awkward chorus of “Happy Birthday.” Ryker and Fletcher shouted as though it were a hearty drinking song. Frank, who had once been in a barbershop quartet, tried his best to harmonize the cacophony.
For a moment, as she looked at their smiling faces washed in candlelight, she felt warm, cozy, and loved.
“Make a wish,” Frank said.
Ana leaned to blow out her candles, but the door swung open. A breeze ripped through the diner and snuffed out the tiny flames. In stepped Ana’s worst nightmare, Deirdre.