Chapter 11
Levi
The diner—Big Al’s—isexactly like you would imagine it.Neon red sign, too many windows, and fifties-style booths next to a large bar showcasing the open kitchen through a cut-out in the wall.There’s a very distinct smell coming from the kitchen, one that suggests something has been left to simmer for four hours too long.The clientele here is old men, drunk kids, and us.How we even became an us, I’m still not 100 percent sure.
Tate’s comment relentlessly swirls in the back of my mind.I mean, where does she get off?“For someone who spends their time not caring, you sure care a lot.”What does that even mean?If caring means stopping someone from flying through the front window and telling them to wear a seat belt, then I guess most people care a lot.I press my palms into my eyes before letting them slide up over my forehead and back down the back of my hair as we all shuffle into a corner booth.Our waitress brings over our waters.Her name is Tiffany, and since Clay is entirely too friendly, we also know that she’s an aspiring actress.I pick up the plastic menu, scanning the options.My favorite thing about diners is the lack of conformity to a single cuisine.You could order a stack of pancakes while another person orders a steak.
“I know what I’m getting.”Clay slaps his menu against the table after only a two-second glance.
“Wait, are we actually eating?Gabriella says, sounding a little more than disgusted.
“I don’t know about you guys, but I didn’t eat dinner.We had to be at the studio at three thirty p.m.and that’s a little too early-bird for me.”
“Don’t remind me,” I grumble.
“I guess I’m going to get the cup of soup and a peppermint tea,” she relents with a sigh, placing her menu on top of Clay’s.“What about you, Tate?”
She’s been quiet since we sat down, preferring to play with her stack of bracelets than engage in the conversation.Which...I don’t blame her.What are we even talking about?But it’s unusual for her...When she doesn’t answer, I lower my menu.The oversized ball of hair on her head sags forward as she stares at the phone in her lap.Her energy is off.Something’s wrong.Maybe it was the near-death incident?The others notice and stop what they’re doing to stare.
“Tate?”Clay repeats, placing a soft hand on her shoulder, which may as well have been an anvil because she airlifts out of the booth, smacking both knees under the table.“Whoa, whoa, I didn’t mean to startle you.Everything okay?”His hands are held up between them like he’s trying to tame a wild horse.Tate holds her own hand flush against her heart, her breath coming out in rapid huffs.
“My fault.”She smiles at him.“I shouldn’t have been on my phone at the table.”It occurs to me then that Tate is the type of girl who probably did something wrong as a child and then told on herself.
“All good,” he coos in that warm, soothing voice of his.
Yesterday at practice was the first time I heard him sing.His tone is a mixture of smooth and deep, like the perfect cup of coffee.Everyone at this table can actually sing.I’m not sure why I thought differently, but I’ll bet you money we all make it to the top five.She smiles at him and looks down at her phone, face twisting before looking back up.She’s conflicted about something.It’s been a week of living with Tate, and I can tell that face means there’s something she wants to tell us.
“Out with it,” I order, lowering my menu to the table and folding my hands in front of me.She looks at both Gabriella and Clay for backup, but they’re equally intrigued.Sorry, lady.
“Out with...”She drags the last word through the pout of her lips.
“What’s on the phone, Tate?”We stare at each other through narrowed eyes for a beat until her rough features collapse and she sighs, putting the phone onto the table.
“I was reading through the chat from the show.There isn’t anything too negative about us, but...well, you can read it.”She offers her phone to the table, and, to no one’s surprise, Gabriella is the first one reaching out for it.In one swoop, I grab it off the table.Everyone’s mouth drops, and honestly, I am equally as surprised with myself too.Why do I care?But here I am, holding her phone in my hand, so there is no going back.I look down at the first couple of comments.
“What is Tate McGregor wearing?Doesn’t the show provide stylists?Hard to hear her voice over her loud clothing choices.”
