“Bacon.”
“Cheese?”
“Yes.”
“American, Cheddar, or Swiss?”
“Swiss.”
She scribbled something, then turned, sticking the ticket up in the window as the door jangled again.
“What happened to my chicken?” I heard one of the men in the booth say.
“We’re out,” the girl told him. She put the other plate down with a clank. “Sorry. I didn’t know.”
“Do you by any chance have a charger?” I asked as she returned. But then the wall phone started to ring.
She held up her finger—one sec—then turned, answering it. As she did, a head popped up in the window to the kitchen: Clark, from the day before. He tracked me before turning and saying, “Yo, Cross! Got a cord for your tin can and string?”
The guy behind him looked over one shoulder. I’d seen him yesterday as well: He was the one with the shaggy curls. I’d been too distracted then to take note of how cute he was. Apparently. His shirt was one of those school team ones, words and a logo. “Ha ha.”
A moment later, the waitress plunked a battered white charger at my elbow. The plug had a skull-and-crossbones sticker on it. When I thanked her, she nodded, then moved along to a couple that had come in and taken seats farther down the counter.
Quickly, I stuck the cord in my phone, the other end in the plug at my feet, and it came on. No new messages. Leigh Frisbee must have really been enforcing that no-tech rule.
“Breakfast sandwich,” the waitress announced, placing a plate in front of me. “You need anything else?”
“No, thanks,” I replied, not looking up. Then I got a whiffof the bacon and cheese and my stomach reacted, more loudly this time. I took a bite: It was delicious.
Ding!Nalini was sending me a beach picture.
“Everything okay?” I heard the waitress say.
“Yes,” I told her, eyes on my screen. “Thanks.”
I ate my sandwich while checking various news sites. Budget talks. Gas prices. Another celebrity breakup with a request for privacy at this time.
When I finally finished and looked for the waitress, she’d disappeared. Back in the kitchen, though, the curly-headed cook, who was definitely cute, was studying me. Not unkindly as much as curiously. I wanted to be that person who stared right back, forceful if not indignant. But I just ducked my head again.
The walk back was as torturous as earlier, but with more hills. When the driveway finally flattened out, I heard that now-familiar buzzing sound and looked up. Two little red-throated birds had flown over me and were circling, chattering at each other in the air. I watched until they disappeared into the trees.
At the house, my mom’s door was still shut, although a full pot of coffee had been brewed in the kitchen, a box of donuts left beside it. I suspected Liz even before I spotted the note she’d left, saying she’d be back later.
A closer examination of the plug beside my bed revealed the outlet was dead, which explained how my phone had ended up the same. Ditto for the one in the hallway. Finally, I got lucky in the living room, where I found an outlet behind the couch that worked.
Suddenly, a phone rang. Not mine, though. It was the old-fashioned one on a nearby table, with a coiled cord, andman,it was loud. I literally jumped.
I went over, lifting the receiver. It was super heavy and felt awkward in my hand. “Hello?”
There was a crackling noise. “Elizabeth?”
“No,” I said. “This is Finley.”
“Who?” a woman demanded.
“Finley,” I repeated. More crackling, so I had to wait before I added, “Catherine’s daughter.”
“Catherine? Good Lord! What are you doing there?”
