We went to a small diner house just two streets away from school. The exterior might be in urgent need of a paint job, some plant trimming, and a new sign, but everything inside was lively. Country music flowed from the radio, and the smell of cooking food scented the air.

Michael and I sat in a booth in the back near the window, the two of us facing one another. After placing his guitar case on the seat next to him, he nodded at the busty server who was wiping the next table. She smiled at him in response and stopped working to proceed to the counter.

He turned to me and asked, "What would you like? It's on me."

"What? Why?" I asked, surprised.

"Well..." He crossed his arms on the table as if he was about to spill a momentous speech. "It's a token of my gratitude for hanging out with me."

"That's very polite," I remarked.

"Told you I'm a gentleman."

I rolled my eyes. "But no, thank you. You don't have to."

"I insist. Let me have the privilege to treat you for the first time."

His crooked smile was infectious, and I gave in with a light chuckle. "Fine, I'll let you. Has anyone ever told you you have a way with words, Michael?"

"A lot of people, actually. Now, what would you like?"

I studied the menu above the counter as if I was solving a puzzle. I was concerned about how much the meal would cost him, so it took me a little while to decide. It further fed my growing awkwardness, but I was saved when the server placed a white cup on the table in front of Michael. Black coffee. He looked up at her gratefully.

"Thanks, Eve. You sure know exactly what I like most."

"Of course, Michael." The way she said his name in a honeyed voice seemed intentional, and I considered it as her way of flirting.

"So, how's life going?" she inquired.

"Still a freak show," he said.

"Ditto. Got the nastiest classes this semester. I notice you don't come here as often as before. Are you still busy at your part-time job?" She glanced at me as if I had just popped out of thin air. "Oh! Who's this, by the way?"

"She's my friend," Michael told her. "Autumn, meet Evonne. Nate's older sister."

"Sister?" That was news to me.

Evonne rolled her eyes. "I know. We have nothing in common. Nate is a King Kong-sized idiot."

"Good thing he's not here," Michael murmured, to which I agreed.

"So, Autumn, huh? I like the name. And I like your hair, too." She moved closer and touched the wavy tips of my hair. "Is this your natural hair color?"

"Y-Yeah." I tried not to wince. She smelled of strong perfume, and it shortly drowned the scent of pancakes in the air.

"It's so unique." Evonne straightened her back and put a hand on her hip. "Anyway, let's cut the chitchat before the boss sees me. Anything else you two wanna have?"

Michael glanced in my direction, his mouth parting to speak, but I decided to take the lead.

"What's your specialty?" I asked.

"Oh, our chocolate and strawberry waffles!" she exclaimed, suddenly having the high energy of a salesperson. "It's the best in town. You'll see heaven in just one bite, I guarantee you that."

"She's right," he confirmed.

"Then chocolate and strawberry waffles it is," I said.

Evonne flung back her purple-dyed hair and smiled lazily at him. "How about you?"

"Nah. I'm good."

And off she went, her perfume disappearing with her.

Michael looked at me. "Isn't she nice?"

"Uh-huh. Very nice," I muttered.

"Yeah. Sometimes, she gets extremely nice that people think she's flirting."

"I think she likes you."

He was amused. "Evonne likes everyone."

We didn't talk afterward. Michael twirled the teaspoon in his coffee, set it aside, and sipped. I explored my brain for an opening to an interesting conversation.

"So, um... I heard you work at a pub," I said.

"York Tavern. In downtown. Used to have gigs there."

"I've seen that place but never visited. Did you perform alone?"

"No. I did it together with some of the old folks there. We did it the traditional way. You know—with piano, saxophone, accordion, stuff like that."

"Sounds fun," I said.

"For sure. It was cool to hang out with them." He paused, reading my expression. "Is it weird to say that?"

"No, I think it's nice. Not a lot of teens these days like to spend time with old people."

He reclined in his seat and turned to the window. "It's fun to listen to them talk, and it's even funnier when they're drunk. They go on and on about everything. Their jobs, wives, divorces, youth nowadays, politics..."

As he went on, my entire attention shifted to his expression. I liked the way his face lit up when he talked about something of his interest. And I liked the way his lips curled up as he spoke his words with enthusiasm. They were rare. Fascinating. Raw.

"...all their stories were wild and great, so rich with moments that you kind of wish you'd seen yourself."

"Wow," I mumbled. It was an understatement. As Clint had said, Michael had no idea about his charms, and that was something that made him more than just a "wow."

The skin between his eyebrows creased. "What?"

I blinked a few times, bringing myself back to the moment. "I mean, that's awesome. What you just said."

"I talked your ear off, didn't I?"

"You didn't!" I flushed in embarrassment. I couldn't tell him I was busy staring at his face. "Um, anyway, how long did you work there?"

"About a month. But before that, I juggled different odd jobs in and out of town. Gotta make a few bucks to save." Michael paused, breathing in. When he resumed, his tone dropped, showing his discomfort in the following subject. "I don't like to count on... my parents that much."

"Well, if you ask your parents for cash donations for college, you're probably going to have a hard time convincing them," I said flippantly, trying to keep the atmosphere light.

"Right. But I'm not saving for college. I'm preparing for something else bigger."

"Like what?"

"Life."

Evonne strutted to our table and placed a plate of waffles before me. For a second, I was afraid she would invade our conversation again, but she left immediately to entertain other customers.

Feeling more at ease, I closed my eyes and inhaled the whiff. My mouth began to water as I sliced the waffle and ate it. It melted on my tongue. "Good," I said, savoring the taste of chocolate. "Really good."

"Do you see heaven?"

"Yeah. I can hear the angels singing above me," I replied, and he chortled. I couldn't believe I was having an enjoyable meal with him.

"Ah, I almost forgot." He opened his backpack and pulled out my notebook. "I didn't get to tell you what I thought about your works."

"Don't." I shook my head fervently. "Just keep your comments to yourself."

"Why? They're all great. I like this one." Michael flicked through the pages and began reading the first line of the free-verse poem I had written after Finn's birthday party.

Before he could speak any further, I waved my hands at him. "Shtop!" I swallowed my waffle and said more clearly, "Don't read it out loud. I was rusty when I wrote that. It's embarrassing."

He let out a low whistle. "Okay. But I'm telling you, Marmalade, you have a talent." His eyes scanned the rest of the lines, and he asked after a moment, "You're in love, aren't you?"

I frowned. "What makes you say that?"

"It shows a lot in your work."

"They're just words. I wrote them without giving much thought."

"So it means you wrote them with your whole heart."

As he said that, I felt he had somehow uncovered a little piece of me. "Okay. Point taken," I said. "But it doesn't prove I'm in love because I'm not."

"Really?"

"Really. I'm not in love with anyone. I've never been."

"You will be, someday."

"Oh, you sound awfully sure of yourself."

"I wouldn't have said it if I wasn't sure. There's nothing greater and stronger than the gravity of falling in love. That's my theory."

I laughed nervously under my breath. "Whatever you say, Newton."

I looked in Michael's direction but not into his eyes, worried that he might be able to uncover the other pieces of me—my thoughts and feelings unknown to anyone else.

"Not done yet?" I asked as he flipped to the other pages.

"No." He picked up his coffee. Before he sipped the last of it, he said, "Not done reading you."

──────

It rained later that afternoon. A sunshower.

Michael and I stood under a shed, listening to the rhythmic tap, tap, tap of the raindrops on the old tin roof. He put his hand in the rain and when the water accumulated in his palm, he sprinkled it on my face and laughed. As revenge, I did the same thing to him.

Each drop seemed to lengthen the time, and I wished for more rain. But it stopped sooner than I thought it would, and I felt let down.

We stepped out of the shed and skipped over the puddles lining the sidewalk. The piles of wet leaves squeezed beneath our shoes. Michael hung his head and shook the droplets of rain off his hair. Then, he looked up and inhaled the air, smiling.

"You like the petrichor," I said.

"Petri—what?"

"Petrichor. It's the fresh scent of rain on dry ground. It's the one you smell right now," I explained. "I picked it up from a story I read."

"Interesting. What books do you like to read?"

"Classics, mostly. But I'm open to anything."

"Classics?" He huffed in disbelief. "That stuff is complicated. Bet you ace all of your book reports, huh?"

"I try."

"Do you like happy endings?"

"Anyone who says they don't like happy endings is lying."

"I like bittersweet endings," Michael said. "I find them more interesting because they reflect real-life events."

I nodded. "Well, I like that ending, too. I like any type of ending as long as it makes sense in the story. You, what books do you like to read?"

"I don't know exactly. I used to read nonstop when I was a kid, but soon I put it aside in favor of learning music. I'd like to get around to it sometime. Problem is there's a major deficiency of books at my place."

"I can lend you one," I offered almost too perkily.

He met my gaze and smiled. "That would be cool."

"Which genre would you prefer? I have a lot of mystery and horror books, but I also have romance and fantasy. My bookshelf has a mix of pretty much everything."

"Smut fanfiction, you have those?"

"No, Michael!" I shoved him away, and he laughed out loud.

"You said everything!" he said between his wheezes. He had to stop walking just to laugh some more.

My face was hot red, and I forced myself to frown at him. But it was hard to do so when my laughter was bubbling in my chest, fighting to leave my system. He wiped the corners of his eyes, looked at me, and convulsed again in a fit of chuckles.

"Thank you," he said. "I haven't laughed that much in ages."

"It was your own stupid joke!" I pouted.

"Yeah. But you looked so horrified, it was gold." Michael heaved a loud, labored breath. "Oh, man. Give me a moment."

He put his hand on my head and breathed again. The gesture sent electric waves throughout my body, and I stiffened... until I realized he was using me as an armrest. Seriously, being fun-sized wasn't always fun.

"Do I look like furniture or something that you're allowed to lean on?" I asked with zero amusement.

"It's easy to mistake you as one," Michael replied nonchalantly.

I shoved him away again and kicked a puddle of water toward him. He widened his eyes in shock.

"What the—"

I crossed my arms smugly. "It's payback time."

He formed an evil smile as he prepared to kick the puddle back at me. I scampered away, a peal of laughter escaping my lungs. My entire body had never felt so active, so light. I thought I could burst into million pieces and fly into the sky from the immense feeling of happiness inside me.

About half an hour later, when the sun was close to setting, we found ourselves within view of my house. Our clothes and shoes were damped, and our faces were glowing with warmth. I couldn't help admiring the vibrant red color that running had given to his always-pale complexion.

"Thank you for the waffles and all," I said. "Except for the teasing."

Michael raked his hair up, and for the first time, I had a clear view of his entire face. Clover's and Clint's words blared in my head like a warning siren. Illegally handsome. Ladykiller. Closing my mouth shut, I looked away before I could check him out further.

"Oh yeah, about the book," he noted. "Just give me a light read. Any light read as a starter."

I nodded without looking at him directly. "Okay. A light-read smut fanfiction."

We snickered until he waved his hand in surrender.

"Jesus. I'm gonna go. Later, Marmalade."

As he left, I skipped to the porch of my house and took off my boots and socks so as not to leave wet footprints inside the house. After this, I proceeded to my bedroom, wanting to do nothing but relax on my bed and daydream about the earlier events. My homework could wait.

The moment I opened the door, I found Clover sitting in the swivel chair, her arms folded over her chest. There was a spark of fire in her eyes as she glowered at me, and I felt my stomach drop.

"Looks like you had so much fun on your date."

"What?" I asked.

"Don't try to deny it, sis." Her voice was cold and steady, but each word she spoke was dipped in bitterness. "I saw you and Michael walking out of school together. No wonder you've been acting distant from me. You wanted him for yourself. I can't believe you have that audacity in you."

"Clover—"

"Save it."

She stomped out of the room, leaving me frozen in shame.