The Bodies We Wear by Jeyn Roberts

for breakfast. Or stab old ladies on the train for all you know.” I’m annoyed now. Yes, he’s saying nice things about me but I don’t like the fact that he’s so smug about it. He thinks he knows me. He doesn’t. I want to make this perfectly clear.
    “Sure you could.” Chael picks up the drawstring of his hoodie and twirls it around in his fingers. He wraps it tightly around his pinkie until the finger turns bright pink; then he releases it and starts up the process again, with his ring finger this time.
    “I’m not a good person,” I say to him finally. “So stop pretending like you know otherwise.”
    “Okay, miss, whatever you say.”
    From down the street I hear a familiar voice.
    “Excuse me? Have you seen my brother?”
    The little girl is still handing out her flyers. She’s got her red umbrella and she struggles with it while trying to hold the papers with her cold fingers. People hurriedly walk past her as if she’s contagious or something. No one wants what she’s selling. As if sensing my stare, she looks up and spots me. She turns and starts walking toward us.
    Chael pulls his hoodie further down over his face. “Hey, you want to go get a cup of coffee? My treat.”
    My first thought is to say no because part of me thinks he’s really missing a few brain cells, considering his behavior, and the other part is still half-convinced that he’s following me. But, if I look past the constant fidgeting and drawstring twisting, there’s something in his eyes that makes me reconsider. His eyebrows are deeply furrowed and he’s chewing on the inside of his lip. He’s hiding something. And I want to know what.
    The little girl is closing the distance when he turns his back to her. He shoves his hands in the pockets of his jacket and gives me a grin.
    It’s cold out and a cup of coffee really does sound good. It’ll give me a chance to dry out a bit before returning to my street corner. I was planning on following Rufus home tonight. I do that at least once a week to keep my stealth tactics updated. He’s never once seen me and you learn the most about a man when he doesn’t realize he’s being watched.
    And I have to admit, I’m very curious about Chael.
    “Okay,” I say.
    Chael reaches over and takes my elbow and heads me down the street away from the little girl, her depressing flyers, and red umbrella. In a way, I’m glad. I didn’t want to tell her I haven’t seen her brother tonight. She gets enough bad news from everyone else. I don’t want to add to it. I hear her voice but whatever she’s saying is lost in the sound of the rain.
    We go to the little fifties diner a few blocks away. It’s an okay place. I’ve been here a few times before. It has these little working jukeboxes on every table. If you pop in a quarter, it’ll play a song. Mostly stuff from the fifties. Elvis. The Big Bopper. Ricky Nelson. Pat Boone. Personally, I don’t like the music of that generation. It’s too damn cheerful.
    But we squeeze into a booth. My pants stick to the faded vinyl seats and a small farting sound escapes when I unstick myself, forcing me to fake-cough to cover the sound. Chael doesn’t notice or he pretends not to. Instead, he focuses on the jukebox and I hope that he doesn’t play anything because it’ll only make me roll my eyes and probably dislike him.
    Thankfully, he spares me. He picks up the sugar dispenser and twirls it around in his fingers and then starts stacking some of the little creamers, keeping himself busy until the waitress comes by to take our order.
    I get coffee. Black.
    Chael orders coffee and a piece of cherry pie. No ice cream.
    I keep the menu and flip through the pages, looking at the pictures, not really seeing them. Most of the items have stupid names that reflect past celebrities. The Big Bopper Double Whopper Tuna Melt. Marilyn Monroe Milk Shakes. James Dean Chicken Tacos. Chael starts ripping apart a napkin with his fingers. When he’s got a tiny