One of the regulars sitting at the counter groans, “The race. They were in the final lap.”
He spins in his seat, his gaze sweeping around the diner, ostensibly to see if one of the other four TVs is showing the end of the race. But just like the TV above the counter, the rest of the screens are dark.
From a table in the corner, a man gripes, “Damn cable company. Charges a fortune and the service is crap.”
It’s not the cable company though,I silently counter,it’s a streaming service.And I know the internet is working, because table thirteen’s credit card payment wouldn’t have gone through if it wasn’t.
Maybe it’s the Wi-Fi,I consider.It’s possible the router needs to be rebooted.
Inwardly sighing, I head back to the kitchen to ask Doug about the router. If it were up to me, I’d leave the TVs off, but I don’t think that would go over with this crowd very well. Not when it’s baseballandhorse racing season, and a lot of our regulars are big fans.
“Do you know what happened to the TVs?” Glenda calls to me from a few tables over. “Did the internet go down?”
“Nope,” I reply. “I just ran a card and everything worked fine. I bet it’s the?—”
All at once, the TVs come on again.
The man at the counter lets out an irritated huff. “Great, now that the race isover, it comes back on.”
But the TV isn’t showing the end of the race, with horses loping around the track to cool down while the winner cheers victoriously.
Just like the rest of the TVs aren’t displaying the baseball games and random cornhole tournament we picked for variety.
At first, as I look at the screens, I can’t comprehend what I’m seeing.
My brain won’t allow it.
A tiny voice in the back of my head insists,This can’t be real. It has to be a figment of my imagination.
“Hey, what’s this?” the man in the corner asks. “Is Doug putting on R-rated movies now? Because if he is, I’m definitely in favor of it.”
At the table beside me, a mother claps her hand over her son’s eyes. “Don’t look at that,” she hisses. “It’snotappropriate.”
And then there’s me.
Frozen in the middle of the diner, staring at myself on the television screen.
Or rather,fivematching images of myself, one on each TV in the diner.
My shirt is off, and I’m wearing a pale blue bra, one I actually ended up throwing away because the lace was too itchy.
To my horror, I watch myself reach beneath the band to scratch my skin, leaving a series of pink lines behind. Then I adjust the bra, lifting my breasts and smoothing the fabric over them. Finally, I bend over slightly to grab my shirt off my desk, so there’s a clear view of my face, front and center on the TV screen.
“Noelle?” Glenda asks quietly. “What’s going on?”
But I can’t answer her.
I can’t speak.
I can’t move.
No,the little voice pleads,this has to be a nightmare. It can’t be real.
My heart races so fast I’m lightheaded from it, echoing in great, thundering beats in my head.
A tingling sensation spreads through my body.
My lungs forget to work.
