This diner is empty, save for the woman at the counter.

She is fair. Her fingernails are bitten and raw, and they drum the torn faux leather seat with an intensity that is jarringly at odds with her casual posture. Her shoulders are slumped, relaxed; yet her eyes dart about the room feverishly. Birds, frantic, trapped.

The door opens with a wash of tepid air and a dusty bell-tinkle.

In bursts a young girl.

“Sue! You back there?”

The girl is a fresh breeze drifting in. She brings with her a flushing, electric energy; she is excited. Past the counter, from behind a dingy and faded canvas curtain, a plump old woman emerges. Her face lights up at the sight of the girl.

“Danielle! Did you-” her eyes catch on an envelope clutched in the girl's fist. It's crumpled and damp with sweat, and brings Sue rushing to Danielle's side with a shrill squeal. It's as if the woman at the counter does not exist.

“Have you looked yet?”

“No, I was too nervous. My dad’s at work and I wanted to be with someone, so I ran right over.”

“Well,” Sue says. “You're here now. Crack that sucker open, girl!”

Danielle pauses. Her fingers twitch. She opens her mouth to speak, shuts it, and then tries again.

“What if… what if it's a no?”

“Oh, honey.” Sue presses a soft hand to Danielle's shoulder. “It won't be, and if it is? You have other options. No matter what, I'm with you, baby. Got that?”

A shaky nod.

“So? What are you waiting for?”

Resolutely the envelope is torn. There is a hushed moment where the two, oblivious of anything save the smudged text, are dead silent. Then, in tandem, they turn to each other.

“I– I got in.”

“You got in.”

“Sue! Sue, I got in!”

A wild flurry of energy sweeps the diner and the only sounds are of tangible and pure joy.

“I'm going to college! Sue, I made it!”

“I told you, girl! Didn't I tell you? Didn't I say it? Lord, your father will be proud!” Sue whisks Danielle into the air, laughing hysterically through tears. They embrace. Sue gives Danielle a final squeeze before darting back to the kitchen.

“I have a pie made for you in the fridge. Stay put, miss collegiate!”

As Sue disappears behind her curtain, the lone woman is drawn back into focus. Almost embarrassed, Danielle says nothing.

Meekly, the woman smiles.

“Congrats,” she tells Danielle.

“Oh! Uh, thank you. Sorry if you had to wait on Sue.” Danielle fiddles with a strand of dirty blonde hair that, strangely enough, matches the woman's exact shade.

“Not a problem. I can see it's a special day.”

“Yes, definitely. I was so worried I wouldn't make it– my school is super selective and they put me on a waiting list.”

“I'll bet your parents are going to be very proud when they hear the news.”

Danielle taps her blunt fingernails at her hips. “My dad will be. Don't know about my mom, though.”

The woman seems to tremble. She doesn't look up as she says, “Surely she would be.”

“She isn't around. She was an addict and she died when I was one.” Danielle's tone has become clipped, sober. Her grin has faded completely. The woman takes a deep inhale and looks up. Her eyes are a quiet blue and look as if they are imbued with sadness that surpasses her years. It weighs heavily on her skin, biting creases across her forehead.

“She would be proud.”

It's not a question, not open ended. It's a statement told with such conviction that it startles Danielle. The woman sees this and stands.

“Sorry to intrude. I need to be heading home.”

“Wait!”

The woman, already halfway to the door, stops. She does not look back, but she does not move further either.

“I– I, um. Thank you,” Danielle sputters out. “That was kind of you to say.”

“Of course. Take care,” the woman tells her. Though her face is out of sight, there is a trace of a smile in her worn voice. With a ding of the bell she is gone, almost immediately replaced by Sue, who is drawn by the sound of the door opening.

“Did someone come in?”

Danielle turns sky-blue eyes to the window, but the woman is nowhere to be seen.

“No,” she says. “No, it's just me here.”

“Coulda’ sworn I heard that bell.”

“Nope. Maybe just the wind.”