Something of a Kind - By Miranda Wheeler Page 0,11

again. He resisted the urge to see what she had written.

“I better get going.” Smiling, she glanced over his shoulder. He turned, suddenly aware of the demanding calls of a regular.

Rita Kelley waved an arm wildly, her expression twisted somewhere in irritation and glee. Her craggy features were always like that, predictable. At her side, Charlie Mitchel hung his head in his hands. His crusty eyes were closed and he had a messy handlebar-goatee explosion covering his mouth.

Rolland Hunt, Owen’s dad, sat across from them. With arms crossed over his chest, his legs stretched out too tall for the seat. With his greasy hair disheveled most of the way down his back, there were sure-fire signs he was hung over. His signature hatchetfaced scowl looked as miserable as ever.

This morning, Noah had luckily knocked on Luke’s window before trying the Young household. Owen had spent the night. Noah distinctly remembered his friend describing a swollen wrist as ‘trouble in paradise’ with a grim snicker.

“Cool. I’ll see you soon then,” he said with a grin.

She smiled and rested a hand on his arm as she moved past, leaving an impression of heat though his shirt and brushing his skin. Watching her as she left, he ignored the costumers watching him. Collecting plates, he shoved the doctor’s cash into his pocket with a handwritten receipt.

“Alyson Glass,” he murmured, catching a glimpse as she passed the last window.

It didn’t sound so wrong. Not wrong at all.

~

“What?” Noah demanded.

He felt his sister’s stare the moment she walked into her shift. He expected to find her blurry eyed and half-asleep, but instead she seemed bored and alert. It wasn’t difficult to assume her tardiness was intentional. Mary-Agnes was down five cups of black coffee and had the kitchen radio blasting on an oldies-country-western station fogged with snow from the waves, slightly out of range. He couldn’t imagine his mother had noticed.

“Nothing.” Sarah shrugged, raising the tray over the counter as she darted around Melvin Toledo.

He was hunched over cold home fries and a Belgian waffle with silver plastic pressed to his ear, probably muttering on the phone to his infamous on-again-off-again, Nolee Crawford.

Noah turned back to his notepad. Reggie and Kendra Hudson continued to argue about the menu they’d seen a thousand times. Feeling her eyes on his back again, he turned around, catching Sarah wiggling her eyebrows, her tongue pointed out of her mouth in his direction. As their eyes met, she turned to a booth, sharing giggles with Frankie Miller. Upon getting caught, the five-yearold’s face clouded with a deep blush, his fingers slapping over his ketchupcovered mouth.

“Hel -lo. Earth to Sarah,” Noah repeated, waving a hand. She straightened her back and turned around, cocking her head innocently. “What are you doing?”

“What are youdoing?” she echoed, winking at Frankie. She dropped a quarter onto a drawing he was completing on the mat beneath a half-eaten chicken burger. It appeared that the child was working a circle of airplanes around the greasy meat and spills of what was probably drying orange soda. As he ran towards the ancient neon vending machines, Sarah called after him, “The gumballs are broken, Frank’, I’d go with the plastic bubbles. This month is mood rings.”

Noah quirked his brow expectantly, waiting for explanation. She closed the yards between them with skips, tugging on her hair tie. Her sleeve fell down, revealing the stains of purple markers where she’d been tracing her veins. Noah rolled his eyes, resisting the urge to drop comments about ink poisoning and urban legends. It usually ended in an argument about hypocrisy and the tattoo of a tribal-style serpent curling around his wrist.

Leaning on the nearest empty table, she crossed her arms, casually inquiring, “So who’s the new girl?”

“Are you serious?” Noah groaned, running a hand through his hair.

Sarah shrugged, her fingers curling into her palm, motioning ‘bring it on’ like it beckoned a reply. “The researcher’s kid, right?” She continued. “Is she from out of town, or something?”

Sighing in surrender, he answered, “Yeah. New York. ”

“Dad wouldn’t like you hanging around with her, then,” she cautioned, the beam of her small victory faltering in genuine concern.

He dismissed the thought.

“It’s no business of his,” Noah laughed, finally abandoning the ever-arguing Hudsons to clear fresh tables.

“Touché.” She allowed her perplexed stare a grueling search. "You like her, don't you?"

"I like everyone, Sar. I'm wonderful like that."

"But you really like her." Sarah prodded.

Noah paused. "Yeah, I guess," he admitted quietly, resuming the collection of dishes.

"I hadn't seen