Page 28 of Chasing Stardust

Let’s Dance

“Wake up, sleepyhead. I made pancakes.”

I jerk awake as the ghost of my dream fades into the ether. The sudden loss leaves me cold and empty. Instead of Mom gently nudging me, I’m greeted by the aromas of fresh coffee, bacon, and maple syrup, and the boisterous laughter from at least a dozen voices all speaking at the same time. The quiet, predawn diner I fell asleep in is now packed with the breakfast rush. The clatter of forks on plates and ice clinking in glasses drags me further out of my sleep hangover. I lift my head, breaking the long string of drool tethering my chin to the table, and use my shoulder as a rag.

The empty seat across from me makes me weirdly uneasy, and I search the crowd for a familiar face. Becky gives me a three-finger wave from the counter. I wave back, wondering where Dash disappeared to. Did he leave?

“You’re awake.” He drops into the booth with a bounce.

A startled squeal catches in my throat. The words Where were you? pop into my head, but I shove them back. “What time is it?”

“Almost eight thirty. I would’ve woken you sooner, but, uh . . .” He snickers, giving me a quick once-over. “You looked like you could use the rest.”

My hands go to my face, then slide into my matted hair. An inhuman sound rolls out of me. I can only imagine how horrible I must look.

Dash grins. “You mumble in your sleep.”

A quick intake of breath sends saliva down the wrong pipe. “What did I say?” I choke out the words.

“Something about church ladies and green Jell-O.” He laughs, and his whole face lights up.

“Excuse me.” I scoop up my tote and the tattered remains of my self-esteem and stumble out of the booth. “I’ll be right back.”

My dirty Skechers slap the greasy linoleum as I scurry to the restroom. Safely inside the subway-tiled walls, I lift my chin and approach the mirror. How bad can it be?

My reflection stares back at me in horror. Faded-black streaks of mascara trail from my eyes to my chin like creepy shadows against the sickly glow of death, courtesy of the yellow hoodie. Hardened mud and ash have turned my ponytail into a tangled nest, minus the sticks and leaves. Every exposed inch of me from my Skechers to my dishwater-blond hair is coated in a thin layer of filth. I look like I clawed my way out of the grave.

Worse than I thought.

Balancing my tote between my feet, and armed with nothing more than cheap diner supplies, I yank off my hoodie and tie it around my waist, ready to get down to business. The hot water tank groans as I crank on the taps and dump a handful of powdered soap from the rusty wall dispenser into the chipped sink. The basin quickly fills with bubbles, and the sickening scent of old lady perfume wafts through the air as I unfurl half a roll of paper towels and get to work.

After scrubbing my skin raw and yanking a brush through my tangled locks, I feel almost human again. Not exactly my best, but a giant step up from what had to have been my worst. I brush my teeth and add a bit of cherry gloss to my lips before tossing everything I own into my bag, a little too eager to get back to the booth. And Dash.

When I reach the table, he does a double take and then hands me his no-frills phone and a steaming cup of coffee. “I hope you don’t mind. I dialed the number for Mack’s. It’s ringing.”

“Great. Thanks!” I press his phone to my ear and wait.

“Mack’s Garage,” a deep voice answers. The rest of his garbled greeting is lost between a thick Southern accent and what sounds like a mouth full of pennies.

“Hi! Um . . . I’m calling about the yellow Cutlass that came in last night?” I dump two sugars into my coffee, fidgeting with the empty packets while I wait for his reply.

“We got a yellow ’73 Cutlass in this morning.”

“With the armadillo in the radiator?” I ask.

He chuckles. “Yup, that’d be the one.”

“Can you tell me if she can be saved?” I dart a nervous glance at Dash.

“Nah, that armadillo most likely died on impact.”

I clear my throat to cover a laugh. “No, I mean the car. Can the car be saved?”

“Oh, sure. Nothing we can’t fix with the right parts.”

Relief courses through me, sending a warm tingle from my fingers to my toes. “Great. When can—”

“Gonna need to order those from Atlanta.”