Ethan and I woke up around six, and after getting ready for work, we got in his car and traveled to Miner's Diner for breakfast. It was so early the clouds were touching the ground and not many people were out and about, making the already desolate town seem abandoned.

We found his usual booth and sat, waiting for our menus. I rested my arms on the table and admired the homey, yet antique decor. That train chugged along the tracks, and steam rushed into the dining area from the kitchen whenever someone stepped in or out.

"So, how're you feeling about your first day at Pine Hills," Ethan asked me. He sat across from me in a snow-blue and white button-up tucked into khaki chinos. He was wearing his best suit because they assigned him to cover a story in the mountains.

"I'm so excited I could explode," I said with a straight face and a flat tone. I knew I was just cleaning toilets and dumping trash, unlike him and the others. Of course, I wouldn't have complained because, at the time, it was better than nothing. "I'm so excited to see how well bleach and fabuloso peel off gunk."

"That's the spirit!" He gently nudged my wrist with the back of his hand and I playfully rolled my eyes. They landed on the waiter I'd met days prior: Milton. He serviced a table of old men by the exit, lifting stacked plates of barely-eaten food.

Though there were around five men, none bothered to stack or tidy their dishes. They instead sat back in their booth and watched him struggle to organize everything.

"Word of advice," Ethan said, and I pulled my attention off the scene as one of them gave him a smug grin. Ethan was leaning forward like what he wanted to tell me was for our ears only, so I sat forward as well. "If Hank Fischer walks into the bathroom, just know he's heading for the handicap stall. It always clogs afterward," he said, and I shriveled my mouth up to my nose, "so I'd just take the out-of-order sign in there with the cleaning cart."

I groaned in disgust, then shook my head at the image. I told him, "I hardly remember our boss' name. How would I know who Hank Fischer is?"

"Well," he said, dragging the vowel with his head tilted and eyebrows raised to his widow's peak. "He has a brown comb-over, blotted skin, hairy arms, and a stomach the size of a woman in labor." I narrowed my eyes at him. "Honestly, if you see him, you'll know. He's the only person who sweats in eighty-degree weather."

A waitress approached our table with two menus and a smile. Her dark brown hair was pulled into a sock bun that sat at the nape of her neck, but curtain bangs framed her large forehead.

"Hi, welcome to Miner's Diner." She handed over the menus. As she continued speaking, I looked around the restaurant of only a few patrons with my eyebrows drawn in, drowning out her voice. I was so sure that I'd run into Milton again, and when I saw him clearing the empty booth where the old men sat, I felt disappointed.

"Cady, this is my friend Helen." Ethan gestured to me with one hand. He sat comfortably with the other arm across the top of his seat, and the hand he used fell onto his lap. "Helen, this is my friend Cady. She went to school with me, Amy, Angela, Megan, and Tyler."

"Nice to meet you," I said, extending a hand to shake hers. She took my palm in hers and gave me an even bigger smile.

"You don't sound like you're from here." I opened my mouth to tell her where I was from, but Ethan beat me to it.

"She's from South Carolina!" I stared out of the corner of my eye at his enthusiastic tone. He spoke like a parent bragging about their child graduating from an Ivy League college.

"Ah, that makes sense," she said, nodding. "We get a few transplanties every now and then, and I can easily tell them from one of us." I narrowed my eyes at that word but nodded to show that I was listening. "I suppose with you it's not hard to tell you're not from here. Your hair and accent sort of give it away."

"You should've seen her hair before she went to get it dyed again." I took a deep breath that flared my nostrils, and sat with my shoulders pulled back. It was like I didn't have a mouth of my own, the way he kept speaking about me. "It was all blue, brown, and blonde."

"Really?" Cady could only spare a glance my way before Ethan cut in again.

"Yeah, I've never seen anything like it before, but I thought it was cute." She pursed her lips and flicked up an eyebrow in response.

"It sounded cute," she spoke in a lower volume, studying my hair like I'd invented curls and ombre. "Where'd you get the idea from?"

I quickly said, "Aaliyah," before Ethan could answer her, and like her, he squinted at me. "She didn't do the blonde, brown, and blue, but," I trailed off, shrugging. "I don't know."

"Who's Aaliyah," Cady asked, and Milton stopped at the booth behind Ethan. He brought his eyebrows together and listened to us.

"She was a singer and actress." Milton stared at me and tilted his head as his face relaxed.

"I don't think I've ever heard of her." Cady turned her head to Ethan on her left. "Have you?" He lifted his shoulders to his ears, puckered his lips, and shook his head. "What movie was she in?"

"She was in Queen of the Damned, and Romeo Must Die." I narrowed my eyes in thought and mumbled, "I think Jet Li was in that too." I looked at Milton when he nodded, a smile spreading as if he couldn't believe I knew about her. "Um, but she passed before she could make more movies."

"Well, I'll have to check her out when I get home tonight." We sat for a few beats, then she cleared her throat. "Sorry, I'm over here holding you two up. Go ahead and look through your menus. I'll be back in a few minutes." Ethan opened his as she turned around to walk away. She flinched, seeing Milton standing behind her, watching us. "Davis, we're gonna end up putting a bell on you if you keep sneaking up on people."

She chuckled and continued past him, and he went back to stacking the plates on the table.

***

Ethan was right about a man putting one of the toilets out of service, but what he didn't tell me was that it would be right after lunch.

I don't know what he could've eaten in a town that ran on home-cooked meals and pies, but whatever it was left the room smelling worse than an outdoor, gas station bathroom.

I held my sleeveless blouse over my nose in one gloved hand, and with the other hand, I sprayed in multiple, frantic directions. The linen and pinecone-scented deoderizer sent mist raining down from the air to the tiled floor.

I stood by the exit, afraid to step closer to what I knew was a biohazard, and glanced at my reflection in the mirror.

My red, ombre hair was pulled into a messy bun on top of my head, and though my face was covered from the nose down, I could see my skin turning red from holding my breath.

I nudged the yellow cart's handle, and the wheels squeaked and rumbled as I headed toward the partly open stall. The closer I got, the tighter my stomach would knot, but I kept tensing and relaxing my muscles to ease the discomfort.

I stood at the door and the air hit my face like heat from a furnace. I didn't smell anything yet, but I could feel it and my mind painted a few images it took weeks to forget. I swallowed and bubbles lodged in my ears. I swallowed and made chewing motions to pop them, then stepped around the car. I nudged the door with my hip and stood in the middle of the stall.

I sat the can in the cleaning supply belt like a pistol, then scrunched my face as I shuffled over to the plunger next to the toilet. I gripped the wooden handle and turned my head away from the toilet, shutting my eyes. When I gagged, my cheeks repeatedly puffed then deflated.

I stood in front of the bowl, staring at the tiled wall across from me and wondering if that was worth almost four hundred dollars biweekly.

I slowly lowered the suction into the bowl without looking away from the wall. The water shook and splashed as I pumped up and down. It gurgled along with my stomach. I flexed my fingers around the handle and kept the steady pace.

My upper arms and shoulder blades ached after what felt like two minutes with no results.

I'd plunge, then try flushing. I'd plunge again for longer when the water would only rise a bit higher, then try again. After the third time, I gave up.

Sweat trickled off my eyebrows and ran down my face. There was only one vent and it was above me, but it must've been jammed because no air blew in.

I left the plunger in the toilet, stood against the wall outside the stall, and shut my eyes.

I didn't smoke, but I wanted so badly to step outside and waste my last fifteen minutes with a cigarette.

I opened my eyes, and without thinking, took a deep breath, and my mouth filled with saliva.

The eggs, bacon, and grits I had for breakfast shot out of my mouth as my stomach twisted just below my navel. I hunched over, wanting to grip my stomach, but knowing the gloves were contaminated.

It splattered against the next stall's door and plopped behind the cart. My eyes filled with tears and saliva hung from my mouth.

If I wasn't desperate for money, I'd have packed my bags later that day and hitch-hiked back to Columbia. I'd have put up with my mom's mouth while staying in my old room at their house, which I knew they probably converted into an office space or a room for her to practice yoga.

I'd have given up on Julian if I wasn't determined to make something of myself.

Instead of quitting, I disposed of my gloves to clean myself up in the sink and put on fresh ones. I scrubbed away the mess I made, then went back to my fight with the toilet.

That job wasn't worth four hundred dollars, but with no bills or people depending on me, it was the perfect amount to save up and buy a car. Aside from paying Ethan back and renting a room downstairs, a car was at the top of my list of things I needed to get acclimated.

***

Ethan and I sat in his car, heading home from work. He told me about the trip to the mountains and the story about an overturned utility pole that crashed into one of the neighboring houses near Tyler's place.

He was all smiles because it was his first time covering a story that big in person instead of through the print. No one was home when it happened, so thankfully no one was hurt, but he described the house as "demolished."

"It was like someone started to bulldoze it and stopped halfway," he said, and I shook my head while staring out my window. I hadn't spoken much since we clocked out because I was angry and disgusted by what happened, but he didn't seem to notice. "But, yeah, we shot the coverage of it and sent the tape to Shawn to edit." I nodded, then he glanced at me. "How was work?"

I licked my lips as I shook my head, then said, "Well, you were right." He glanced at me again. "That guy literally fucked up the bathroom so bad I hurled." Ethan burst out laughing, so I cut my eyes at him and shook my head again. "It's not funny. I'm literally thinking about quitting because of that."

"Hey, don't do that," he said, speaking softly though his voice went up and down as he struggled to stop laughing. "Seriously, I don't know any other girl who can do what you do and is as good at it as you are. Trust me, I know it's fucking gross, but think about the money."

"Four hundred dollars." My tone was flat and sarcastic as I flapped my hands at the wrists. "Wow," I said, dragging the vowel.

"Hey, you can do a lot with four hundred dollars." He raised his eyebrows, occasionally glancing at the car behind his through the reflection in the mirror.

"Like what? Go to the mall that doesn't exist in this forgotten town?" I pursed my lips and scrunched my face at the wilted trees whizzing past us.

"Oh, no," he said, alternating his attention between me and the road. He smiled with all his teeth and a faint dimple appeared on his cheek. "You're starting to sound like a local. Don't tell me you're starting to hate Julian already."

"I don't hate it here," I mumbled truthfully, "But I do miss Columbia."