4

Mrs Wheeler was worried about her son.

Her eyes tracked his progress across the landing; he was pacing up and down in front of the phone, muttering to himself and clutching a slip of paper.

Was he sick?

`Ted?' Karen called, half glancing down the stairs. No response. `Ted!'

There was a loud snuffle, like a pig waking up from a long sleep.

`Yeah?' He yelled back.

`Come up here.'

`Why?'

`Now.' The baseball game stopped, and Ted Wheeler heaved himself out of his LaZboy and up the stairs. When he arrived, Karen glared at him, then motioned to Mike, who had picked up the phone and looked like he was about to dial. Ted's eyes flicked back and forth in his paunchy face as he tried to see what the problem was. Helplessly, he shrugged in the face of his wife's ire.

Mike's index finger was tapping repeatedly over the `3' key. Karen threw up her hands and walked down the stairs.

Ted's mind was still reeling as he tried to understand what he was meant to do, and eventually came to the conclusion that wives weren't worth the trouble, and that he was missing the baseball game.

Mike didn't even notice they were gone. His stomach was churning unpleasantly.

`Come on, Wheeler. Stop being a moron,' Mike told himself and, before he lost his nerve, tapped in the phone number El had given him. The dialling tone blared into his ear as he waited.

There was a click.

`Hello?' El's uncertain voice came down the line.

`Hi, El. Um, it's Mike.'

`Oh! Hello.'

`I'm just phoning about the radio. Do you want me to come over, I don't know- Saturday, maybe? Are you free then?'

`Yeah. You can come round at eleven, if you want. Thanks.'

Mike twisted the phone cord in his fingers, already feeling nervous. `Cool. So, I'll see you at school.'

There was a small laugh. `Yeah, see you at school.'

Neither of them knew when to hang up, so there was quiet on the line for a minute or so.

`I should hang up.'

`Yeah, good idea. I have some homework, anyway.'

`Okay. Bye.'
Mike hung up and immediately whacked his head against the wall. Oh, God. He was pathetic.

0

It was hideously early.

Mike's alarm drilled into head, like a determined woodpecker. Why had he agreed to get breakfast at a diner with the rest of the Party?

It was June and still dark outside.

The alarm was refusing to shut up, no matter how many times Mike whacked it. Eventually he just picked it up and shoved it underneath a pile of blankets.

At least it had woken him up.

Stretching and yawning, Mike climbed out of bed. He brushed his teeth, washed his face, and threw on his jeans and a shirt which he'd spilt juice on the day before.

As quietly as possible so as not to wake up the rest of the house, Mike unlocked the front door and walked out into the early-morning Chicago foot traffic.

There was a Sixties-style diner around twenty minutes away from Mike's house. Dustin had been solioquising over the waffles they served there for weeks, and eventually everyone else had agreed to go.

Yellow sunlight crept first in between the tall skyscrapers, and then over, creating warm, golden fingers across the cold pavement. Mike did have to give it to Dustin- Chicago at dawn really was beautiful.

Dustin had given him barely any directions, so Mike had been expecting to wander around for a while before he eventually located the diner.

He couldn't have been more wrong.

The diner was painted a lurid yellow, with a large menu advertising it's food options, and from inside, Mike could hear the faint sounds of Elvis Presley.

On either side of the diner was a laundrette, and a florists.

Mike looked in the large, rectangular window and saw Dustin, Lucas and Will already at a table. He opened the glass door and went in.

Immediate decade whiplash was the only way to describe what Mike went through when he stepped over that threshold.

Black and white tiles, red walls, stools, milkshakes, jukeboxes, and the American flag jumped out at Mike like an over-enthusiastic employee at a haunted house.

`These waffles had better be amazing,' he told Dustin firmly as he pulled out a chair and sat down at the table.

`I know it can be a bit garish when you first see it, but trust me, it'll be worth it.'

A waitress came over to them, her skimpy dress and apron matching the floor tiles. She held four menus. Mike saw her name tag read `Denise', in swirly calligraphy script.

`Hey, Dustin,' Denise smiled, handing out the menus. `How's Mews?'

`He's fine. Have you got your apartment yet?'

Denise shook her head regretfully. `Nah. Bank's saying my mortgage can't be approved.'

Dustin sighed sympathetically.

`Don't look too sad about it, I'm not looking forward to having to kill cockroaches with my bare hands… Your usual?'

`Yes, please. What do you guys want?'

Mike quickly scanned the menu, and his eyes fell on the waffles Dustin claimed were so amazing. `Waffles, please. And a strawberry milkshake.'

`Same for me,' Will nodded, handing back his menu.

`And me,' Lucas added.

Denise smiled. `Coming right up.' She left, her skirt swishing. Elvis stopped singing `Jailhouse Rock' and a Beatles song took it's place.

Well shake it up baby now…

Twist and shout…

The song was accompanied by the serene sounds of truckers swearing and waitresses screaming orders at the chefs.

Their drinks came first.

Mike pulled the tall milkshake glass close to him and took a small sip. Wow. It was good.

`So did you three hear about James Turner?' Mike asked, taking a long, long slurp.

`Troy's second-in-command?'

`Yeah. Apparently three of the Texas kids got hold of him and knifed him on Tuesday. Someone in my Electrics class told me yesterday.'

Immediate silence fell across the table. Will blinked down at his milkshake. `Wow,' he said limply. `That's… Troy's going to kill all of them.'

Dustin shook his head so violently his cap flew off. `No. I put an immediate veto on discussing the gangs. It's all anyone talks about at school, and at the moment, I just want to enjoy my waffles without worrying we're all gonna get caught in a drive-by like Jess. Okay?'

On queue, Denise arrived with four plates balanced on her arms. Deftly, she slid them onto the table.

`Enjoy your meals,' she smiled, before sashaying away again.

Mike looked down at his waffles. Golden syrup had been drizzled over it in a smiley face, and a pitcher of maple syrup squatted on the table next to the ketchup bottles.

Here goes.

Mike took a bite out of the topmost waffle.

`Oh my God, that is delicious.' He swallowed some more. `Dustin, I take back everything I said about this being a waste of time.'

Lucas looked like he was having a similar reaction, whilst Will was busily drowning his own plateful in syrup.

`Wanna race to school?' Dustin asked as they sprinted out to their bikes, running way behind schedule. Mike threw his leg over the saddle and started to weave around the foot traffic.

`Winner gets the loser's comic book!' He shouted over his shoulder.

`No way!'
They all arrived at school disheveled, a good ten minutes late, and feeling perfectly happy. Especially Lucas, who had victors pick from all Mike, Will and Dustin's comic books.

0

Saturday dawned, bright and early.

El Hopper wasn't there to see it.

She'd been awake most of last night, so slept right through the racket the birds were making and the sun shining through her thin, useless blinds. Screaming. drunken whooping and gunshots had echoed out through west Chicago, keeping everyone up. It had stopped at around three a.m., so understandably, El had a bit of a lie-in.

When she eventually did wake up at ten thirty, the first thing she saw was a hand-written note from Hopper:

Didn't want to wake you. Food is in the fridge, don't be stupid. Love you.

El smiled at it, folded it carefully, and stowed it in the shoebox under her bed. The shoebox was filled to the brim with notes.

She stretched and looked around her room. The night before, El had finished enough origami flowers to fill a vase; they were on her desk in a toothbrush holder.

El climbed out of bed in her pyjamas and made herself some breakfast.

An odd, niggling feeling was in the back of her mind. She felt like she'd forgotten something-

No, it was Saturday. She couldn't have.

El flicked on the TV. The news played in the background as she sprayed whipped cream into a light, fluffy mountain on her Eggos.

`Severe gang conflicts-'

Maple syrup, maple syrup…

`Short gunfight-'

Ah, it was behind the ketchup.

`Two dead-'

El happily lashed sticky syrup over her warm Eggos. Already the cream had started to melt a little. Once her breakfast was covered in drippy golden goodness, El flopped in front of the TV, switched channels to a documentary about cats, and took a massive bite of her breakfast.

El usually slept in an old band T-Shirt and a pair of black sports shorts that were really too short for her. Her hair was unbrushed and a total mess and to be honest, her breath didn't bear thinking about.

Well, it was the weekend. El Hopper was going to sit back, relax, and enjoy her breakfast.

The buzzer went. Dad's forgotten his key, she thought.

El stretched and put her Eggo between her teeth, before going to let Hopper in. Then she froze. Don't be stupid. El swallowed the remainder of her Eggo and then peeked out of the window, making sure it actually was Hopper.

Mike Wheeler was waiting in the street, holding a chunky rucksack.

`Oh my God!'

She dithered for a moment then pressed the intercom. `Hello?' El squeaked.

`El, it's Mike. About the radio. Remember?'

Stall him, stall him…

`Come on up.'

WHAT?

El unlocked the door for Mike and then ran into her room, wiping syrup from around her mouth.

El began to randomly throw clothes out of her wardrobe whilst simultaneously running her fingers through her hair and brushing her teeth.

Mike knocked on the front door.

El yanked on her jeans so vigorously she completely lost her sense of balance. Arms flailing, she fell over and smacked her forehead on her desk.

`Ow!'

The knock came again. `El?' He called uncertainly through the door.

`Yeah, I'm coming, hang on!' El opened the door. Mike smiled tentatively and lifted up his rucksack.

`You needed help with your radio?' Mike was surprised at the change in El. She did seem a bit disheveled and there was a red mark on her forehead, but her chin was up and her eyes were bright and intelligent.

`Yeah, the radio. It's just through here.' Luckily, there actually was a broken radio in the apartment. It had been broken for four years, but Mike was clearly good at AV stuff. `That one.'

`Okay… yeah, I think I can do it.' Mike put down the heavy rucksack and pulled out all kinds of weird tools.

For a moment, El watched him work with interest. Then she sat down next to him. `Can you talk me through it?'

`Sure. So, this bit here…' Mike's eyes began to glow the minute he started to explain the different parts of the radio, how it worked together, and how to fix it. His long, delicate fingers twisted wires and turned screws and El watched him, entranced, her heart beating as fast as an AK-47. `And there,' he said finally. `Try it.'

El turned on the radio and for the first time in four years, the football game blared out. Both of them smiled in triumph.

`What time is it?' El asked suddenly, realising she had no idea how much time had gone by. She looked at the clock on the wall. `Wow, it's almost one.'

`I've gotta go, I promised mom I'd be home for lunch-' his stomach gave a massive growl.

El shook her head. `Have lunch here. It's a half-hour walk back to your part of Chicago.'

Mike looked like he was about to object, but then nodded. `Okay, what do you have?'

That was a good question. El got up and went over to the fridge. Inside was the food Hopper had left for her lunch. Salad bits, eggs, butter. No, that wouldn't be enough for the two of them. `We'll have to be a bit creative,' El warned Mike, shutting the fridge.

`Sounds fun.'

`Okay, find as many ingredients as you can in the house and bring them into the kitchen.'
The two of them split up, searching through cupboards. Mike found half a packet of dried rice, a packet of biscuits, a white, fluffy tomato, and a Lucky Charms box with some cereal dust and a few marshmallows at the bottom. El managed to uproot an onion from the depths of the corner cupboard, along with a tin of tuna. All these ingredients were placed on the table, along with the eggs and salad and butter from the fridge. They stared at them for a very, very long time.

`Do you know how to make anything out of this?' El asked finally.

`Maybe. Have you ever had tuna rice?'

`No.'

`We'll need the onion, the tuna and the rice. I think that I saw some pepper in the salad bag.' Mike pointed at each of the ingredients in turn, then got some oil, a frying pan, and a knife. `You chop the onion and I'll pick out the pepper.'

Once a small pile of onion and pepper was gathered on the chopping board, El tipped oil into the frying pan and set the stove alight. Then she put a pan of water on to boil.

`Okay, this is where I go a bit fuzzy,' Mike said sheepishly.

`I'm sure we can figure it out. Can't be that hard.'

They were wrong.

After two burnt fingers, one exploded mouldy tomato, and half an hour, Mike was scraping a burnt, gritty mess of rice, tuna, onions and pepper into his and El's bowls. El laid out the cutlery and got some water.

They sat down at the table and, with some trepidation, El raised a forkful to her mouth and swallowed. Her eyes bulged.

She smiled.

`Mike, you've got to try this!'

Pleasant surprise washed through Mike's chest and he eagerly swallowed down some of his meal.

It was disgusting.

El started laughing, then laughed even harder when Mike chucked his jumper at her.

`You are evil!'

El caught the jumper and couldn't stop giggling. `Sorry,' she spluttered, trying (and failing) to keep a straight face. Mike saw her, going scarlet with suppressed laughter, eyes sparkling, and suddenly his mouth was opening before he could stop it.

`There's this terrible sixties diner Dustin introduced me to on Thursday,' he said quickly, `and I wondered if- you know, only if you wanted to- maybe you and Max could come sometime. Tomorrow morning.'

`Yeah, okay. I'd like that. What time should we meet you there?' El knotted her fingers together under the table. Did this count as a date? Was Mike asking her out on a date?

`Their breakfast is pretty good. Is seven okay? They stop serving waffles at eight.' Mike looked about as nervous as she felt. `I mean, if that's too early, you don't have to.'

`No,' El said quickly, straightening up. `I'll phone Max and tell her. And thanks again for fixing the radio.'

`No problem.' He walked out into the hallway, El next to him. `See you tomorrow.' And then Mike walked down the musty corridor, towards the stairs. Just when he reached them, he gave her a quick, shy wave, and then bounded down the stairs, the overhead lights flickering constantly.

El shut the door.