"What'll it be, Sir?"
Lucy paused, her pencil ready. The young man in the letterman jacket glanced once more at the menu, and then up at his blushing girlfriend opposite. "Uh, just a chocolate milkshake, please. Thanks"
She smiled, and jotted it down. "Alright. Two straws?". They nodded in consent, and Lucy clicked across the tiled floor to the kitchen.
"George! One chocolate milkshake! Make it snappy", Lucy yelled, pushing open the door. There was a loud crash, a grunt, and a messy blond head appeared over the counter. "Gimme some warning next time, Luce..."
George Cubbins, her best friend since... Well, grade school. They veered between extremes. One day, they'd be threatening to kill each other, and the next they'd be at the arcade playing pinball and buying each other soda like nothing had ever happened.
He was insufferable, but she'd never have him any other way.
The waitress smiled to herself, tucking her notebook into her apron pocket. She pushed through the door, behind the bar. It was barely four pm, and already the light outside was fading. It was overcast, raindrops starting to patter down the windows at the front of the diner.
Barnes' Diner was a small, red - and - white cafe on the outskirts of Westerburg, Ohio; a town, quite literally, in the middle of nowhere. Set a little distance back from the main road, the parking lot outside is empty except for a red dodge Chevy truck - George's - and a dark Mercury, presumably belonging to Letterman jacket boy.
Checking that no one was watching her - the couple is too occupied gossiping about the mysterious new gang in town - Lucy took her physics textbook out from under the counter, and opened it to the bookmarked page. She took a glass from the shelf behind her, and started to wipe it with a cloth.
"Hey! Luce!", there's a rattle as George pushed the sliding partition up, passing the glass through. Lucy took it, tossing the towel over her shoulder, wiping her damp fingers on her peach - coloured uniform.
She grabbed the glass, put it on the table, and returned to her physics textbook. Using her pencil, she jotted some notes in the margin of the book, and tucked it into the bun at the back of her head.
In physics, the term 'light' sometimes refers to electromagnetic radiation of any wavelength, whether visible or not. In this sense, gamma rays, X-rays, microwaves and radio waves are also light. The study of light, known as optics, is an important research area in modern physics-
The roar of an engine made her look up. A sleek, black motorcycle had just pulled into the lot, rolling to a stop beneath the trees parallel with the road. A moment later, three more more rounded the corner, and pulled up next to the first. Lucy tensed. "George?"
"I heard", somehow, he's suddenly beside her, gazing out the window. They'd dismounted the bikes, removed their helmets, and one is striding confidently across the tarmac towards the door.
George stiffened, and Lucy glanced at the couple. They'd noticed the bikes too, and gone noticeably silent. The figure is halfway to the door, and Lucy wondered absently if she's got enough time to reach for the penknife she has in her satchel in the kitchen for self defence.
But they've probably got guns. Who brings a knife to a gun fight?, she thought bitterly, watching as they came ever closer to the door. "George. What do we do?", she asked the cook calmly. "We...", he cleared his throat, "we do nothing. We give them the cash, and... don't call the cops. You two", he addressed the couple, "don't say a word. Keep quiet"
The boy rose, afraid, and hurried to his companions side, tucking her under his arm. They've reached the bottom of the path to the diner now, and are sidling up it like they own the Earth.
Greasers are bad news. Everyone knows that. With their leathers, swept back hair, political extremism. Even as a young girl, she'd been called inside off the lawn the second the roar of a motorbike tore through the serenity of the neighbourhood.
"Don't forget to breath, Luce"
The door opened, the little bell jingling. There was a gust of cold, wet air, and the room seems to shrink exponentially.
A man; tall, too tall, slender, black hair swept back from a tanned, freckled face. Black leather jacket, dark jeans, worn combat boots, and a smirk.
"Afternoon all"
His accent is unfamiliar. A drawl. Everyone's eyes were fixed on him, and he basked in it. He covered the distance between the door and the bar in three strides, sliding onto one of the stools, and picking up a menu.
His hair is wet, jacket soaked, his soggy white t-shirt doing... well, nothing to hide the corded muscles underneath and oh god was it always this warm in here?
"What's your name, sweetheart?"
His voice comes out like honey on a knife. It's too easy, too smooth. And of course, he's taken the stool right in front of her, and of course, Lucy's gaping like a catfish.
"I... Lucy"
"Lucy", he tries it on his tongue, and grins, blindingly white, "there a surname to go with that?"
"Yes"
His gaze is on her face, dark eyes unwavering and intense. "Alright then. Suit yourself", like all Greasers, his demeanour is one of studied nonchalance, slouched over the bar, gazing at her with cool interest, before he languorously extended a hand, "my name's Anthony Lockwood. People call me Lockwood"
Lucy stared at the proffered appendage. If he was going to rob the joint, couldn't he just do it and get it over with?
But he doesn't drop it.
His hand is huge, she realises; the fingers are bony, but the palm is massive, rough in places, downright calloused in others. It is too tanned to be local, like the rest of him. There was a single gold band on his right middle finger.
"Are you here to rob us?"
The question had left her mouth before Lucy had time to even think it. George appeared from the kitchen, choked, and hastily retreated. The man at the bar raised a single, elegantly arched eyebrow, dropped his hand to fold them on the counter.
"Nah. I'm not a criminal. Just here for a drink"
"Then order one", Lucy muttered quietly, and his smile was back.
Just what was so damn funny she didn't know...
He glanced down at the menu, and then back at her, quirking his head to the side. "Strawberry milkshake, please"
Lucy tossed the tea towel onto the shelf at the back, and walked back into the kitchen, but George is already there.
He snatched her arm, and yanked her into the furthest corner from the front. "Luce, listen to me", the boy grabbed her shoulders, and shook her a little, "Don't wind these guys up. They're not nice. He could still have a gun"
She grabbed his wrists and eases them away. "George, calm down. He's not scary. The guy's barely older than you. He couldn't hurt me if he tried".
The cook opened his mouth to protest, but she cut him off with a sigh. "But yes, I'll be careful". "Good. Now, go", he thrust a glass into her hand and shoved her towards the door.
She stumbled against the door, and it fell open, and Lucy only just managed to catch herself before she thudded to the floor.
The waitress straightened, and looked at the man sat behind the bar. He'd picked up her physics textbook and was studying it intently. She placed the cup down with a deliberately - over - loud 'clink'. The man lowered the book, and smiled.
"Your equations are correct", the Greaser tapped the margin of the page, indicating the sums she had scribbled down, "but here, the symbol for wavelength isn't w, it's...", he paused and glanced around for something to write with.
"Oh", she reached back and plucked the pencil out of her bun, and placed it down. The man grinned, and drew a little symbol beside her equation. "Lambda represents the wavelength, so when you're writing it out in this form, you should put the symbol for an extra mark"
He holds the pencil out to her, but all she can do is stare. This man... in all his black - leathered glory... his smirk... his swept - back hair... was teaching her physics. There's even a little pin badge on his lapel - a white hand clasping a black one, the words 'WE ARE ONE' beneath it - glinting in the weak neon light.
He quirked an eyebrow, and wiggled the pencil at her.
Lucy snatched it off him, shoving it back into her bun.
"Cute dress, by the way. Pink is a good colour on you", he remarked softly, eyes sliding over her uniform, pulling his drink closer with one hand. Lucy rolled her eyes.
The uniform was... decidedly not her style.
She was used to guys hitting on her - they seemed to think it'd get them a free drink or something. This guy was clearly just the same. Except for the fact he hadn't tried to stick his hand up her skirt or something yet.
"You haven't seen me in any other colours"
He winked, and Lucy suppressed a sigh. "Hm. True", he replied, "I wouldn't mind seeing you in other colours. Or-"
Okay, time out.
George had suddenly appeared behind her, and leant over the bar, inches from the man's face.
To his credit, the Greaser didn't flinch. He just smiled, and shifted slightly to face him better.
"Keep that up and you'll be out of here on that skinny ass of yours in a minute", the cook growled.
He grinned again, and raised his hands. "No harm done"
George glared at him again, and then his eyes widened.
"Wait a minu- Lockwood?"
The Greaser frowned. "How do you- Oh my god! George!"
Suddenly, the two stand, and embrace over the counter. Lucy stepped back, eyebrows knitted in concern. What the hell was going on?
"My god, it's been- what, ten years? Eleven?", George pulled back briefly, grinning. The tanned man clapped him on the back and laughed. He stood to go around the bar, and George visibly palled.
"Sweet Mother Mary, you're huge!"
The Greaser threw back his head and laughed. "They always said I'd get my father's height", then he looked down at George and added dryly, "seems you got your mothers"
The cook punched his arm affectionately, and Lucy was still staring.
"Wait, what- you two know each other?"
By this point, George had pushed open the bar top and was embracing the man again. "Yep", they pulled apart again, and he grins, "practically grew up together. We lived next door to each other. Homestead, Florida, just outside Miami"
"We made quite the pair", the other man replied with a laugh, "the son of tenth generation white Americans with Republican parents, and a Cuban kid who didn't speak English"
Lucy was still, quite honestly, gobsmacked. The chances of these two knowing each other and then meeting again in a place as remote as Westerburg were... astronomical at best. She refused on principal to call anything impossible, but this was damn near close.
She snatched for something, anything, to say. "You're Cuban?", she asked the man, and he nodded. "What did you say your name was again?". "Anthony Lockwood. People call me Lockwood". She frowned. "That doesn't sound very Cuban". He smiled, but unlike the others, it didn't meet his eyes. "No, I don't suppose it does"
At that moment, the doorbell tingled again, and three other people pushed into the bar.
One was female, the other two were male; the girl was Lucy's age, probably a bit older, with short cropped blonde hair, a sharp face, and bored blue eyes.
The first man was big - as tall as the man at the bar, but wider still. He had nondescript brown curls and eyes.
The third was quite interesting. A young man, maybe twenty, with red hair and a fair smattering of freckles over an almost delicate face.
"Lockwood, hurry it up. We're ready when you are", the ginger one ordered. He had a clipped tone, probably Boston. They stepped out again, lingering under the porch.
"Alright, gimme a minute", he replied flippantly, eyes still on Lucy, "she your girlfriend then, George?"
The cook spluttered. "Hell no! Dating Luce? That'd be like dating my sister", he laughed.
"Ah", the Greaser - Lockwood, she reminded herself - smiled, "well, I should go. Kipps gets pretty antsy about getting his hair wet"
"Wait, you can't just- wander off!", George exclaimed angrily, snatching Lockwood's sleeve, "I see you for the first time in ten years and now you want to wander off?!"
The tall man grasped his wrist and tugged him off gently. "Cool down, I'll be in school on Monday. I've got foster parents here, too. They're great-"
"Lockwood! Hurry up!"
"Yeah, alright!", he hollered back, and started towards the door, then he paused, "guess I'll see you on Monday, George"
Then he stopped, and grinned.
"And you, Luce. See you in class"
With that, he pushed open the door, and disappeared out into the rain.
Lucy stared after him, fiddling with the hem of her apron.
George cleared his throat.
She jumped, and turned. "What?!"
"When you're quite done making eyes at my childhood friend, we've got customers"
Lucy huffed, but obeyed.
She wasn't making eyes! She'd never had a boyfriend before in her life, and she didn't intend to start. Especially not with a Greaser. Particularly not one that was George's boyhood best friend.
But it was hard to find a reason to explain why her heart beat just a little faster whenever she heard a motorbike that weekend.