The photographer stepped closer.
“Savannah! Who are you here with?”
“No comment.”
Claire picked up her milkshake.
Another flash caught her drinking through the straw beside me.
“Are you two together?”
The answer left before I had time to think.
“She’s a friend.”
Claire stopped drinking.
Only for a second.
The photographer kept shooting.
A black SUV pulled up outside.
Marcus opened the rear door.
“Time to go.”
Claire carried the trophy.
I carried the pie.
Neither of us discussed the order of priorities.
The waitress blocked the photographer with a coffeepot while we crossed the diner.
“Come back anytime,” she called.
“We love you,” Claire shouted.
We climbed into the car.
Marcus pulled away before the door had fully closed.
I looked through the rear window.
The photographer stood on the sidewalk reviewing the pictures.
Claire placed the trophy on the floor.
The pie rested between us.
“Well,” she said. “That was exciting.”
“I’m sorry.”
“For the photographer?”
“For what I said.”
