"I fucking hate white people." Keith huffed as he stormed in, sitting down on a stool at the counter in the only diner in the small New Mexico town, a hand covering his left eye to hide a nasty bruise. Funny how things could go. A group of jocks had ganged up on him, and yet, he was the only one who had to go to detention. He was fuming, he was angry, he was sore. "You wouldn't happen to have a bag of ice somewhere in that freezer, would you Shiro?"

The older man on the other side of the counter sighed. "Keith, your dad is a white guy. I'm not giving you the ice unless you tell me exactly what happened." He said, rummaging around in the freezing compartment beneath the countertop.

That earned him a groan from Keith. "That's mean."

"No, this is me being mean." He told him before dangling the bag of ice in front of his face, almost out of the boy's reach, and chuckled. "It's for your own good, Keith."

Keith rolled his eyes and snatched the bag from his hand, sighing in relief as he held it against his still swelling, still darkening eye. "It's Jimmy Parker. You know, the guy from my class who is everything that's wrong with society in a neat little package?"

"What did he do this time?"

"Take a wild guess." Keith snapped, removing the bag from his eye, showing Shiro his swollen face. Yeah, that was a mean bruise. "I tried to fight back; to defend myself, you know? What else was I supposed to do? But then his friends ganged up on me too. I couldn't take them on all at once…"

"Why'd he do it?"

"Because apparently his brother got killed in the war… He heard somewhere that my mom is from North Korea, so he decided to take his grief out on me, probably? Or, at least, that's what I'm guessing."

As if they spoke of the devil, the door opened and the diner filled up with the familiar laughter of Jimmy and his friends. Shiro glanced over and noticed Keith shrinking in his seat, like he was sure Jimmy and his friends would want to go for another round and he was desperately trying to hide.

"Well, well, went crying to your big brother, didn't you, Keith?"

"Jimmy, we're not related. Our parents aren't even from the same country."

"Eh, all you chinks look the same anyway, so who cares. We'll be taking that booth over there and we want four milkshakes. Two chocolate, one strawberry, one vanilla. Oh, and hurry up a little, we have a movie to catch."

Oh, Keith's face was turning red. Redder than his scarlet jacket. His knuckles, on the other hand, turned white, nails digging into his palm and drawing blood as the bag of ice against his face burst under the pressure of his grip. His voice shook in anger as he growled, "We can't just take this, Shiro. We have to say something. We have to do something."

With a deep sigh, Shiro put down the ice cream scoop. "Keith, no. They're just common bullies. They'll lose interest if you don't react." He told him in a futile attempt to keep him from getting into another fight. "Be the better person. Remember, patience yields—"

"Hey, cripple!" The shout came from the booth occupied by Jimmy and his friends. "If you can't make those milkshakes yourself, get the Mexican kid in the kitchen to do it! The movie starts in twenty minutes."

"He's Cuban." Keith spoke up.

"And I'm sure you smoke him like a Cuban too, Cogain." Jimmy taunted, his friends cheering him on.

That was unfair. Sure, he and Lance didn't talk much, they didn't speak each other's language very well, but he was a good kid, and he sure as Hell didn't deserve this kind of treatment. "Why, you little—"

Suddenly, a shrill scream was torn from Jimmy's mouth, followed by childish giggling from the next booth over. None other than Katie Holt had just sacrificed her own sundae by dumping it in his neck.

"Serves you right for giving us white folk a bad name." She said, a devilish smirk gracing her lips.

The jock whipped around, bumping foreheads with the girl half his size. "You little bitch! I'll—I'll—!"

"You'll what?" came a voice from behind Katie. Jimmy looked up to find Hunk. Former high school wrestling champion who, in turn, was twice Jimmy's size. "Please. We're dying to hear."

What little color Jimmy had on his face seemed to immediately drain away upon seeing the large man stand up to him, but he tried to keep his cool nonetheless. He scoffed. "W-we'll see. Let's go guys, time to get out of this dump." He called to his friends who left with him.

The David and Goliath-like figures high fived with grins on their faces. Keith smiled as he walked over to their booth to sit with them. "Thanks, guys. That might have been the single best thing I've seen in my entire life."

"That might have been the single best thing I've done in my entire life. Just the way he screamed was worth it all on its own." The small girl told him. "Speaking of good things, you look like you could use some good news." She said as she used her spoon to steal a scoop from Hunk's sundae. A dangerous endeavor for anyone else, but from Katie, he'd allow it.

"Do you have any?" Keith enquired vaguely.

"I got you a car. Fast. Italian."

Keith choked on the breath he didn't know he was holding. "You found a Ferrari?!" He was confused, but excited. There was no way she could have bought one from his winnings of last month.

"No, Keith…" Katie took off her glasses to pinch the bridge of her nose. "You need to win at least thirty more races to get one. No, I got a body. Fiat 500—"

Keith groaned. "Why not get me a Beetle while you're at it!"

Shiro's gaze snapped up from behind the counter. "What's wrong with a Beetle?"

"Just… Everything." Keith grumbled.

Katie hushed him. "I know it's small and small isn't your thing, but it's lightweight. Lightweight means it can be fast. Really fast."

"Of course we'll have to weigh down the floor, with the way you tend to take corners. Wouldn't want you to crash on the first turn." Hunk added. "But it will be faster and more agile than Jimmy's Chevy. And after that whole ordeal, I can imagine you want him eating your dust."

Keith removed the ice bag to look at Katie. "How long?"

"Six weeks. Two months tops."

Keith smirked. "Get it done. I'll get you what you need."

"Psst! Shiro!" Lance hissed from the kitchen window, gesturing for him to come closer, quickly getting the older man's attention. "Can I, uh, ask you something?" He asked in his thick accent.

Curious, Shiro stepped closer to the window. "Of course, what do you want to know?" He asked in return.

"That, uh, pretty?" He was a little uncertain of his wording, but ultimately settled on 'pretty'. "That pretty girl who was at the counter just now... what is her name?" Lance asked. He had been admiring her from afar ever since he started working here, three months ago. He spent a larger amount of time fantasizing about talking, and possibly going on dates with her, than he was willing to admit. There wasn't really anything else he could do behind the grill other than letting his imagination do its thing, after all. However, he had never dared to approach her. The thought that his broken English might repel her, or worse, make her laugh at him, terrified him. She seemed to be a good friend of Shiro's, though. Maybe he could put in a good word for him?

"Pretty girl?" Shiro mumbled to himself as he quickly looked over the restaurant's patrons.

"The girl with the, uh, black hair." The boy clarified. "The one that looked like she has been in a fight."

Then it hit Shiro. "Oh, that's Keith. Don't worry about it. A lot of people mistake him for a girl at first glance. I wouldn't go around calling him a 'pretty girl', though, if I were you. The last person who did, didn't enjoy what came after." He joked before going back to his job behind the counter.

"Keith..." Lance mumbled, his mind wandering to the other constantly as he flipped the burgers on the grill.