If you asked 14-year-old Maggie Sawyer the worst thing about living in Blue Springs, Nebraska, it'd probably be working in this fucking diner. On top of the pay being a complete joke and her boss being a lazy asshole, she has to spend seemingly never-ending shifts serving burgers to the bratty white kids from school whose parents were rich enough not to need them to work.
Her mom always reminds her not to talk back – how they need all the money they can get right now – but after four months of kids refusing to eat food from a plate that she's touched, or deliberately leaving the table in an atrocious state just so they can laugh as they watch her clean it from the parking lot, she privately cries on the bus home most nights and arrives at work with her stomach twisted around all the jeers she sees coming.
All for $7.25 an hour plus tips. Except that she never gets any tips - apart from scrawled messages of "Go home" on the docket, if they were feeling particularly generous.
With half an hour of her shift to go, she's lost any patience she'd brought in, scrubbing dishes in the back like she's trying to murder them and not caring how the water burns her skin.
"Hey Consuela," she hears one of the guys from school call from along the counter.
"Not my name," she calls back. "Try again."
"Magdalenaaaa." Laughter. High fives.
She lets her head fall against the wall a moment, setting down the plate before collecting herself to head out with the fakest, snarkiest smile she can muster. "What can I do for you?"
"Just the cheque".
She tilts her head, smirking. "Sure thing." Anything to get them out of there.
The chuckles from his friends keep bubbling behind her as she writes it up. "You know, Magdalena, I hear Delta's doing really good deals on one-way flights to Mexico - maybe you should grab one."
"You do know not every Hispanic person's from Mexico right? That there's actually a whole other continent down there? Or did you flunk geography?"
"Well whichever global shithole you're from, then."
She rips the docket from the pad, all but slamming it down on the table. "Unfortunately for me, I'm from right here. Good news is, the more you tip me, the sooner I can leave. So do us both a favour and dig deep, tough guy."
In the back room, Eliza is already looking concerned, biting her lip. "One day that sass is gonna get you fired."
"Probably," Maggie breathes, stealing a slurp of a customer's untouched milkshake they'd sent back because I only want Americans touching my food. Maggie stopped hearing those comments months ago. She almost welcomes them, as long as it means more free milkshakes for her and Eliza. "Want some?" she asks, holding it out to the young girl.
As she smiles and reaches out, Maggie withdraws it. "Oh wait, you better not, you'll get spic germs."
"Shut up," Eliza half-chuckles, half-chides. Their fingers brush when she accepts it. "Thanks."
Maggie can't help but sneak in a glance as the girl's lips curl around the straw, some of her loose blonde hair falling around her face. Feeling the heat rise in her cheeks, Maggie tries not to stare, but finds it impossible not to scan the girl's legs on the way down. But that's always been the problem with Eliza Wilke – Maggie never knows which part of her to look at.
She tries to focus on cleaning dishes again, letting the water burn her hands. This back room always holds equal amounts of promise and dread – and both because of Eliza. Maggie can always count on her terrible jokes, her complaints about customers, her kind gestures, to get her through every shift. The girl's a grade above her at school – the only person she likes there, even though they have no classes together. But the feeling of Eliza sliding past her in the tiny space to get to the freezer, or the sound of her giggling when she gets a brain freeze, is more than Maggie can deal with.
And as much as she despises Blue Springs, as soon as she's with Eliza, she almost never thinks of going anywhere.
And yet it's all too much, how this girl manages to crowd her in every room, even if it's empty but for the two of them. Maggie can already feel herself wanting to jack-knife at the waist, wanting to disappear, doing all she can to fishhook those feelings back into the pit of her gut. Because she can't be a girl and be brown and be poor and be... No. Not in Blue Springs, Nebraska.
It's over-hearing the jeers outside as the kids leave that brings her back down to earth, and she lets out a shaky breath. "God, I hate my fucking name. They say it like it's the ugliest thing in the world."
She can already hear her mother scolding her in her head. That was your abuela's name. Show some respect.
But Eliza just shakes her head. "Fuck them. I think it's pretty."
Maggie digs her hands deeper, the stinging water rising to her elbows. She wants to say she thinks her name is pretty too. How she loves the way it feels in her mouth, how her tongue weaves around the sound.
Eliza.
Eliza.
How sometimes at night, she'd lie awake whispering it over and over to herself, as if saying it out loud made her feelings more real. How she'd imagined the girl saying her name just as breathlessly, feeling the skin of her stomach jitter just underneath her shirt as she gasped "Maggie" against her neck and made her heart stop.
But she can't tell her that. So she settles on, "Jeez, Liz, don't say that too loud. You'll offend their delicate North-American sensibilities."
"Whatever," she laughs, trying to encourage Maggie by drying her plates. "You should come over to mine for movie night later. Nothing helps get your mind off this place like watching someone get sawed in half."
"Well, you know if we were in a horror movie I'd die first, right?" Maggie chuckles. "You'd be fine. The blonde girl always survives."
"Unless she sneaks off into the woods to have sex before marriage – mustn't do that."
Maggie laughs, louder now. "I know, right?"
"Besides," Eliza says, nudging her playfully. "I'd make sure nobody murdered you. I'd want you to be with me at the end of the bloodbath."
Suddenly, Maggie's breath catches, because she's so close now and their arms are grazing and this is probably the sweetest, most them thing Eliza's probably ever said to her. But she forces the heat from her face, instead feigning gratitude, dramatically pressing a hand to her heart. "Gosh, really? You'd stab a racist, mutant, serial killer dude for me?"
"Always," Eliza promises, nudging her again before going to stack the dry plates.
"Maggie, you in there?" she hears someone call from the counter.
Maggie recognises that the voice belongs to the only person she'd ever tear herself away from Eliza for. When she walks outside, Eddy's grinning ear to ear, infectiously, barely able to stand still. "Guess what?"
"You passed?" she laughs, letting him come around to scoop her up in a bear hug.
"Try not to sound so shocked," he teases, setting her down and showing her his new license. "I look pretty cool, huh?"
"Don't flatter yourself."
"Come on, Mama said I could borrow the car. I'm taking you for a ride before your track practice, thought I'd save you the bus trip."
"God, you're the best."
"I am, aren't I?" he smirks, hooking an arm around her shoulders for another quick hug before pressing a kiss into her hair. "Besides, I wanted my first ride to be with you, mija."
She can't help but hug him back, feeling suddenly small against the scope of his ever-broadening shoulders. She almost wants to tell her brother that his tenderness is wasted. That she's not who he thinks she is – not really. That she's been suspecting more and more, every day, that this feeling she has is bigger than Eliza, and her chest is tight with the fear of telling him.
But she lets him hold her, forcing herself to smile and pinch his ribs right where it hurts. "I've got 20 minutes left, can you wait? I'll get you a coffee."
"Go," she hears Eliza say as she leans against the doorway. "I can cover you. Go be with your brother."
"You sure?"
"Of course! It's so quiet anyway." She smiles at Eddy. "Congratulations."
"Thanks," he chuckles, grinning at his license photo and showing it to her with his signature cheeky smile. "I look pretty cute, huh? See Maggie, your friend thinks so."
"Stop embarrassing yourself," Maggie mutters, grimacing. Except that she worries his silly, boyish charm is working on Eliza. But when she looks up, Eliza doesn't look flattered. The young girl looks a little embarrassed, almost shy, her eyes briefly flitting to Maggie's as she laughs at his goofy antics. Please don't like him, Maggie begs in her head. Please like me. Please.
"Be careful," Eliza says, opening her arms out to her. It's all Maggie can do not to curl into her body forever when Eliza murmurs into her hair, "Don't let him drive too fast."
"I won't," she replies, forcing herself to pull away.
"Texas Chainsaw Massacre at mine tonight?"
Maggie smiles before she can pull it back, feeling her stomach flip at the thought of them together on a basement couch, sitting even a tiny bit closer than they ever had before. Imagining popcorn fights, sharing a blanket, watching smoke roll out of the girl's mouth like the waves in Japanese ink paintings. Holding her close for the parts when she covered her eyes and saying It's not real, I've got you.
"Wouldn't miss it."
The girl grins back, ear to ear. "Awesome. Now go have fun. Drive safe, Eddy."
He claps a hand over his heart, dramatically swooning. "She knows my name! Mi corazon…"
"Eugh, we're so not related," Maggie groans, smacking his arm and mouthing a "sorry" with a bonus eye roll to Eliza, who's still laughing against the doorway, cheeks pink.
Outside, Eddy's practically jumping with excitement, running around to his side of the car. Maggie can't help but let the shame of the shift slide off her, almost racing him. "Thank god you got me out of there. I was about to start tearing out my fingernails for relief."
"Anyone give you shit today?"
"It doesn't matter," she says, turning on the radio. 'Sober' by Tool is playing, the heavy guitar sinking into her skin and relaxing her whole body. "I'm with you now."
"Eddy Sawyer, fully licenced," he says dramatically. "Let's drive out of this shithole."
"You're such a dork," she laughs, smacking his arm again.
Driving out onto the road feels like exhaling the last six hours in one breath. If you asked Maggie the only thing she liked about living in Blue Springs, Nebraska – she's say it was the hills. They roll out before them as Eddy drives out of town towards the farms outside, past cows and waves of corn. She rolls down the window, stretching her hand out to graze the wheat along the way, feeling the last of the afternoon sun slide out of her hand. Feeling how her problems hardly seem to matter anymore, now that she's the smallest thing for miles.
"One day," she says to Eddy, "We'll drive out of here for real, right? You and me?"
When he smiles this time, it's kind of quiet. "Por supuesto, princesa. Just not today."
It doesn't take long for them to be found. The sound of sirens seems to the cut through the air, down to the bone. "Shit," she murmurs, twisting in her seat. "Eddy -"
"Tranquila, mija," he mutters under his breath as he pulls over, trying to comfort her, but she can tell that he's scared.
"Eddy -"
"Fuck, Maggie, just shut up for a second." He pinches the bridge of his nose, his other hand gripped around the steering wheel. He hadn't been speeding, hadn't done anything wrong, but it's as if he knows, already then, that he's going to be dragged out of that car.
The twenty seconds between them parking and the officers approaching the window feels like the longest in Maggie's life, the crunch of boots on gravel pounding almost as hard as her heartbeat. She wants to tell her brother, "I'm scared", but knows that if she opens her mouth, she'll start crying and won't be able to stop and he'll never forgive her for it.
Gripping the edges of the seat, her mind screams with all the things her parents have told them about this happening. Don't make any sudden movements. Don't make any smart comments. Keep your hands in view. Forget your pride. Life's not fair. Do exactly what they say and come back to us. Come home.
Her hands begin to shake, and she bites her lip, telling herself, don't cry, don't fucking cry. All she wants is to be anywhere but there. Briefly – shamefully – she thinks of Eliza. But seeing her brother's hands sweat against the wheel, she can't focus on anything but the heat of the air and the sound of herself breathing too damn loudly.
"License and registration," an officer barks by Eddy's window. Maggie hears another officer step up near her side of the car, but is too scared to look up.
"Can I reach into my pocket?" Eddy asks.
"Well how else are you gonna get it?"
"I just thought I'd ask," he replies, moving his hand slowly, deliberately, to the back of his jeans.
"You trying to be smart with me, boy?"
"No, sir."
The cop studies his license with the scrutiny of a scientist. Behind her, Maggie hears the grind of gravel under the second officer's feet. From between the strands of her fallen hair, she sees that his hand is on his belt. Inches from his gun.
Breathe, she tells herself, feeling the tears force their way out of her clenched eyelids. You're OK. You're alive.
"You say this is your licence?" she hears the first officer say. "How'd a boy like you get a name like Sawyer?"
"Our parents – they changed it from Suarez when they came here." She can hear the tremble in Eddy's voice. It's clearer now. He's OK, she tells herself. He's alive. "I just got that license today, you can call the DMV and ask them -"
"Sounds like a load of bullshit to me. Bet this isn't even your car. Step out."
"Eddy -" she chokes, before she can even stop herself.
"Stay out of this, little lady," the officer barks at her. "He's gonna be a good boy and he's gonna step out of the car. Aren't you, Eduardo?"
Next to her, Eddy shoots her a glare before releasing a shaky breath and opening the door.
Maggie forces herself to stare at the floor the whole time, counting the fast food wrappers, the creases in her shoes. Forces her mind to think of anything else so she doesn't have to hear the muffled, You got anything in those pockets that's gonna hurt me, boy? Don't lie to me, I know what your type gets up to.
But then she's screaming into her sleeves, screaming through clenched teeth, because mid-way through Eddy's reply the cop has turned him and slammed him onto the hood, forced his face into the metal, and her brother is crying, and there's blood and snot and spit across his face and its smearing against the paint, and the officer is on top of him, and he's screaming and he's only seventeen and she's about to watch him die and she can't, she can't, she can't.
"Shut the fuck up!" the other officer spits at her. His hand is on his gun now, tight against the holster. Now it's out of his holster. Now it's pointed at her, and her mind goes dark as an empty barrel as he growls, "I said, keep your fucking mouth shut. Don't fucking move."
It's an impossible request. She's howling. She's already biting into her hand, hard enough to draw blood, and the pain is a bright white light. But she has to. For Eddy. Whimpering into her hands, she tries to keep her eyes clenched shut, tries to slow her breathing. Tries not to listen to her brother sob her name as they drag him across the gravel to the back of their car and screams you're hurting me. Tries not to flinch when the door slams, or hear the She's a minor, we've can't leave her out here, before they turn on their heels and come for her.
Maggie hasn't believed in God in years, but thanks him anyway for the emptiness of her cell at the station. She'd given up screaming for Eddy after her voice went raw, given up on begging the policemen to let her see him, to just let her know he's OK, please - and now she's only left with the burn of old cuff marks around her wrists and the calls of drunken men through the bars telling her all the ways they'd "comfort" her if she were only in their cells with them.
She crawls into herself, rolling over on the metal bench to face the wall, wishing herself away. Wishing herself at home, with her parents, with Eddy. Wishing herself in a basement, with her.
"Magdalena?"
She twists around, eyes bleary. An officer stands on the other side of the bars – the only woman, the only black person she's ever seen in that uniform. She swallows. "It's Maggie."
"I'm Officer Rawls. I just wanted to let you know I've called your parents. They're on their way."
"Eddy?"
"I had the nurse look at him. His nose is broken but beyond that, there's no serious damage. I made sure there were no charges – for either of you. He's being patched up as we speak."
"You trying to tell me we should be grateful?"
"Not at all. Nobody should be treated like that." The officer sighs, gesturing to the bench where Maggie's balled up. "Can I sit?"
The girl shrugs, hugs herself closer. Rawls opens up the cell and steps inside. They sit in silence for a moment, but over time Maggie can't help but blurt out, "How'd they let you work here?"
She nods to herself knowingly. "Are you asking me that because I'm black?"
"And a girl. Sorry if that's rude, I just -"
"It's OK, I get it. I worked hard to be here, just like everybody else. Harder, to be honest."
"But…why would you want to? Around these assholes?"
"Well I could do without the assholes," Rawls agrees. "But every time I think of transferring to a bigger city, I imagine what it would be like if I wasn't here. On days like this. For people like us."
Maggie swallows. Nods. "Thank you. For looking after him."
"You're welcome. Right now I'm looking after you, though." She looks Maggie over, taking her in. "I heard you gave those officers quite a struggle. Any injuries? Did they hurt you?"
Maggie shakes her head.
"How about your wrists?"
"I'm fine."
Rawls releases a breath, sliding a business card across the bench. "Look… My office number's on here, but I wrote down my private cell too. If you decide to make a complaint, if you want me to set you up with legal assistance – hell, if you just want to talk – call me. I mean it. Day or night. Can't promise I'll fix everything, but I can promise I'll make time for you."
Maggie looks away, trying her best not to cry and let her anger consume her. She should have known this would happen. Should have convinced him to not drive so far. Should have just taken the fucking bus to track practice, and then he would have been OK.
It's as if the officer can read her mind. "Maggie… this wasn't your fault. Or your brother's."
"I know that," Maggie mutters, wiping her face with her sleeve. She takes a deep breath, scratching in circles at the skin on the inside of her bruised wrist, the skin that she wants to strip off like clothing because it, like the rest of the world, feels too dark, too fucking dark. "But sometimes I can't help but wish I wasn't… like me. You know?"
Beside her, she feels the officer lean back against the wall. "Yeah," she sighs. "I do."
Rawls sits there with her for a long while, listening to the drunk men in lock-up chatter through the bars down the hall. Sits for as long as Maggie needs, knowing that the girl is only thinking of her brother now, but soon enough, she'll realise what happened to her, what really happened, and won't know how to do anything but break.
But before Maggie hits that point, she weeps, "I don't know how to thank you for all this."
"You don't have to thank me, honey. Just promise me you'll call if you ever need help. And that one day, when you're old enough, you help another kid. OK?"
Maggie's only response is to stretch her bruised fingers across the cold metal to pick up the card.
It's a few days before Maggie calls her, to let her know how Eddy's healing up. She's surprised when Rawls calls her back a week later to check in. And again a month later, just to ask how she's going at school. And again the next month. And again.
Early the next year, when Maggie finds herself bleeding on her own driveway, knees scraped and palms raw after her dad dragged her across the kitchen floor by her hair and threw her out of the house, she runs for almost a mile to the nearest public phone where Michelle Rawls is the first person she calls. And in minutes, the officer is holding her on the floor of the phone box as she sobs, as she howls, unable to say what happened or even form sentences, but just making noise loud enough to maybe let herself forget her father's hands, her mother's tears, the way Eddy, Eddy, had looked at her like he didn't even know her at all anymore.
For months after she's settled at her Tia's house, she doesn't answer the phone calls, her throat tight with the shame. But eventually, she calls Michelle. And it's not to talk about those officers that afternoon, or her dad, or how Eddy had come by the other day to say sorry, or how much she still misses Eliza. It's to ask her how to become a cop.