She Loves You, She Loves You Not... by Julie Anne Peters

are runny.” I set the plate down hard on the counter.
    He goes, “They’re over easy.”
    “Yeah, well, she doesn’t want to drink them with a straw.”
    Arlo smiles, and then he laughs. He actually laughs. “You’re Carly’s girl, all right,” he says.
    Is Carly a smart-ass too? I want to ask him what he knows about her. Barbara said, “I knew her when.” When what?
    I wait for the eggs, watching Arlo alternate betweensausage, pancakes, bacon, potatoes, and an omelet on the grill, in addition to the over-easy eggs. He reminds me of those Japanese chefs at Akebono, back home.
    Arlo’s not that old—maybe forty? I’m curious why he’s in a wheelchair, but he’d probably bite my head off if I asked. I’ll ask Finn. I’ll ask her about Arlo and Carly too.
    When I get back from delivering the eggs (Barbara said they were perfect!), Finn is tamping down espresso in a new filter and sliding two shot glasses under the slots. A fine sheen of sweat glistens on her skin, which is so smooth and brown and moist. I reach over her head for more cups and saucers, and our eyes attach across a roiling ocean. I have to pull back or get swept into the vortex.
    The toaster sets off the smoke alarm, and Finn hisses, “Shit.” She runs to the back for a step stool to yank the battery in the ceiling alarm. Meanwhile, I fork out the crispy critters and slam down two more slices.
    The screeching alarm clears out customers fast.
    It’s almost one, anyway. Closing time.
    I go around collecting dirty dishes and tips. I find Finn in the back dumping leftovers into the trash. “God, I’m starving,” I say. To prove it, my stomach rumbles. I rinse a fork and dig into a nest of hash browns.
    Finn says, “Don’t let Arlo see you eating off people’s plates. He’ll cook for you if you want.”
    “Really?” He’s a fantastic cook. Chef. Whatever. It’s clear why this place is always packed.
    Her eyes scan down my front. “You take a bullet?” she asks.
    The grape juice. I curl a lip at her like,
ha-ha
.
    She smiles. We hook eyes again, and it gets intense.
    Her gaze lowers to the wad of money on the serving tray. “Those the tips?”
    “Yeah.” I scoop up the bills to give to her.
    “Split it in half,” she says.
    “No way. You waited all the tables.”
    She divides the tips anyway and says, “Go buy some shoes,” tucking my portion in the front pocket of my shorts. The feel of her fingers gives me goose bumps.
    I’m so weak.
Stop it.
    She goes over to scrub the grill. “Could you get the dishes?” she asks.
    Cups and plates overflow the sink and grill area. I open the dishwasher, but it’s crammed full.
    “Are these clean or dirty?” I ask.
    She glances over. “Not sure.”
    I remove a cup, and it’s still warm. Clean, I deduce, and begin to empty the dishwasher. A radio is playing classical music. It’s always so noisy in here that I hadn’t noticed the radio before. I’m not a fan of classical, since that’s all Dad and Tanith listen to.
    I walk over to change the channel, and Finn’s hand clamps over mine. “You have a death wish?” She releases me. “Don’t touch that radio. Arlo will kill you.”
    Now my hand buzzes. I wish she’d stop touching me. Obviously, I’m attracted to her, but I won’t allow it. When they say being gay is a choice, they’re wrong. The only choice is whether you act on your feelings or not.
    Finn resumes scrubbing while I load up the dishwasher with dirty dishes. I see Arlo out back in the parking lot, smoking.
    “Why is Arlo in a chair?” I ask Finn.
    She deadpans, “He can’t walk?”
    I mock sneer at her. “Really? What happened to him?”
    “I don’t know. Ask him.”
    Sure, and have my death wish fulfilled. “Why don’t you just tell me?”
    “Because I don’t know. I make it a point not to get personal with people.”
    I wonder,
Does that include me?
“Do you know how he knows Carly?”
    She says, “How does anyone know Carly?”
    My eyes narrow and