The Last Song by Nicholas Sparks

walls. Behind the counter, the menu was written on a chalkboard, and as far as Ronnie could tell, the only change to it in the last thirty years had been the prices.
    Blaze ordered a cheeseburger, a chocolate shake, and French fries; Ronnie couldn’t decide and ended up ordering only a Diet Coke. She was hungry, but she wasn’t exactly sure what kind of oil they used in their deep fryer, and neither, it seemed, was anyone else at the diner. Being a vegetarian wasn’t always easy, and there were times when she wanted to give up the whole thing.
    Like when her stomach was growling. Like right now.
    But she wouldn’t eat here. She couldn’t eat here, not because she was a vegetarian-on-principle kind of person, but because she was vegetarian-because-she-didn’t-want-to-feel-sick kind of person. She didn’t care what other people ate; it was just that whenever she thought about where meat actually came from, she’d imagine a cow standing in a meadow or Babe the pig, and she’d feel herself getting nauseated.
    Blaze seemed happy, though. After she placed her order, she leaned back in the booth. “What do you think about the place?” she asked.
    “It’s neat. It’s kind of different.”
    “I’ve been coming here since I was a kid. My dad used to bring me every Sunday after church for a chocolate shake. They’re the best. They get their ice cream from some tiny place in Georgia, but it’s amazing. You should get one.”
    “I’m not hungry.”
    “You’re lying,” Blaze said. “I heard your stomach growling, but whatever. It’s your loss. But thanks for this.”
    “No big deal.”
    Blaze smiled. “So what happened last night? Are you like… famous or something?”
    “Why would you ask that?”
    “Because of the cop and the way he singled you out. There had to be a reason.”
    Ronnie made a face. “I think my dad told him to go find me. He even knew where I lived.”
    “Sucks being you.”
    When Ronnie laughed, Blaze reached for the saltshaker. After tipping it over, she began sprinkling salt onto the table while using a finger to mold it into a pile.
    “What did you think of Marcus?” she asked.
    “I didn’t really talk to him. Why?”
    Blaze seemed to choose her words carefully. “Marcus never liked me,” she said. “Growing up, I mean. I can’t say that I liked him very much, either. He was always kind of… mean, you know? But then, I don’t know, a couple of years ago, things changed. And when I really needed someone, he was there for me.”
    Ronnie watched the salt pile grow. “And?”
    “I just wanted you to know.”
    “Fine,” she said. “Whatever.”
    “You too.”
    “What are you talking about?”
    Blaze scraped some of the black polish from her fingernails. “I used to compete in gymnastics, and for maybe four or five years, it was the biggest thing in my life. I ended up quitting because of my coach. He was a real hard-ass, always telling you what you did wrong, never complimenting you on what you did right. Anyway, I was doing a new dismount off the beam one day, and he marched forward screaming at me about the proper way to plant and how I have to freeze and everything I’d heard him scream about a million times before. I was tired of hearing it, you know? So I said, ‘Whatever,’ and he grabbed my arm so hard that he left bruises. Anyway, he says to me, ‘Do you know what you’re saying when you say, “Whatever”? It’s just a code word for the f-word, followed by “you.” And at your age, you never, ever say that to anyone.’” Blaze leaned back. “So now, when someone says it to me, I just say, ‘You too.’”
    Right then, the waitress arrived with their food, and she placed it in front of them with an efficient flourish. When she was gone, Ronnie reached for her soda.
    “Thanks for the heartwarming story.”
    “Whatever.”
    Ronnie laughed again, liking her sense of humor.
    Blaze leaned across the table. “So what’s worst thing you’ve ever