Page 56 of Furious

El

Mama Maple’s Bacon and Eggs is an improvement over the pawnshop, and not just because Gold Star set the bar in the sewer. When I push through the double doors, I find a brightly lit ‘50s-style diner with shiny checkerboard floors and cheerful turquoise booths. It’s one of those postcard places: You know, the slightly unique local attractions they put on postcards and keep stocked at welcome centers and tourism offices. The kind Max has been sending me these past four months. This is a sign, I decide.

Though the diner feels cozy, there’s a corridor of booths long enough that I spot an empty one despite the lunch rush. The chalkboard by the door instructs me to TAKE A MENU AND SEAT YOURSELF, HONEY so I hustle toward it, dropping onto the squeaky bench cushion that smells of bacon and onions and coffee in a good way. Maybe we got kicked out of the pawnshop, but nobody will kick a customer out of a diner. I’ll just order iced tea after iced tea until Max turns up for her shift. Though honestly, Jo and I only stopped long enough to grab a plastic-wrapped muffin apiece from the It’ll Do Motel’s “continental breakfast” and scarf them down quickly in the parking lot. I should get a to-go order for Jo … unless the Raceway’s concession stand is open? We always brought coolers to the track during my and Max’s events, but maybe this is a whole different scene.

I picture JoJo carving an expert path through the crowds in her search, smelling the old smells—burnt rubber and burning nitro and barbecue that drifts all the way from the RV campgrounds outside the track. I imagine her lingering, watching the cars roar by and missing the pit like a childhood home. But I do not text her just to make sure her head is in the game, or to remind her that I’m here, waiting, wishing we hadn’t split up in the first place. I will not hold on to JoJo so tightly that she spins out the moment my fingers slip.

I won’t …

“Well hi there, sweetie!” a waitress chirps as she appears with her order pad. Around Jolene’s age, she reminds me a little of JoJo’s grandma, with her carefully applied fruit-punch lipstick and coiffed hair, although she’s wearing much more practical white sneakers. “I’m Hazel, and I’ll be looking out for you today. What can I getcha?”

“Oh. Can I have the, uh …” I speed-read the specials menu I’ve been clutching but have yet to glance at. “The Mama’s Waffles Plate, please, with the Easy Cheesy Loaded Grits? And an iced tea.”

“Coming right up.” Hazel is that experienced waitress combo of friendly and efficient; so much so, I almost miss my chance.

But just as she turns away, I remember the mission. “Um, hey!” I call after her. “I wanted to ask … Do you know when Max will be in today?”

She stops, pursing her painted lips as she glances back and looks me over, more shrewdly this time. “What do you want Maxine for?”

I’m startled by the decidedly unfriendly question, and by my sister’s full name. Is she going by Maxine here? I only ever called her that to annoy her, and likewise she with Eliana. But Hazel might just be old-fashioned, or formal. “She’s my sister. Maxine Blum? I thought she had a shift today.”

Hazel softens again, her thin shoulders lowering. “I’m not sure. Tell you what, sweetie, I’ll ask in the back.”

“Thank you!” I call, though she’s already striding away toward the kitchen.

With that done and my waffles in progress, I can’t avoid checking my phone any longer. I peel it out from the inside pocket of the leather jacket I’ve draped across the seat beside me, dreading my missed calls. There’s little chance my parents don’t know I’m gone yet. They’ll be fuming even if, fingers crossed, they haven’t discovered the missing R1. And if they have, then what? Would they call JoJo’s dad, or skip straight to the police? I try to stop that panic-spiral in its tracks. They might not know about the bike; though they’re disappointed in me, maybe more than they’ve ever been, I’m not the daughter who takes out a bike in the middle of the night and drives it across state lines.

At least, I wasn’t until I was.

I peek at my phone, and Missed Call notifications pop up as I tilt the screen. Shit. Shit.

There are two from the house, two from Mom’s phone, and one from Dad’s. So yeah, I’d say they know I’m gone. Only one voicemail from Mom, though, which doesn’t seem like “our daughter stole a sport bike” behavior. My thumb hovers over the Play button, but then I see a fresh voicemail from Zaynah as well, left just an hour ago. And scrolling over to recent calls, I see that she’s tried to call me six times today.

I’m not prepared to talk to my parents—and honestly, I’m not confident that I won’t crumble under their questioning and make this worse—but Zaynah will be easier. Maybe she can even help me buy time until I find Max.

Leaving the jacket in the booth to reassure Hazel that I haven’t ditched, I find the bathroom, cotton candy pink and blessedly empty. Tucking myself into the farthest stall (like they’re soundproofed or something) I take a breath and call back my best friend. “Hey Z—” I’m barely able to whisper before she explodes.

“Where are you? Are you okay? Your parents called mine, they said you weren’t there when your mom came home for lunch, and it didn’t look like you’d slept in your bed?”

Oh, hell. That’s on me; Max would’ve rumpled up the sheets or thrown a pillow on the floor if she’d snuck out during the night, so she could claim she only got up early. “I—”

“And they said you were out with JoJo yesterday, and she was driving her car without a license?!” Zaynah plows right through me. “You never told me that! I didn’t even want to do the heist, but if I knew she wasn’t supposed to be driving—”

Now it’s my turn to interrupt. “What do you mean, you didn’t want to do the heist?” I tuck my feet up against the stall door, as if that’ll stop my words from traveling. “You asked to come. You offered to be our getaway driver.”

“Yeah, to keep you guys out of trouble if you were gonna do it anyway. And now I’m in trouble, because I couldn’t lie to my parents and say I didn’t know anything.”

“Oh. I’m sorry, Z—”

“And you’re definitely in trouble. Where are you?”

“Um. Richmond?”

Silence, then, “Are you with JoJo?”

“I … yeah.”

“Of course you are.” It almost sounds like she’s sneering on the other end.