EMILY
I FEEL myself shrink into my chair as she approaches. Why she bothers to torment me, I will never know. She's far more beautiful than me. I was certainly never competition for her.
But she's mean as a scorpion. So maybe that's just the nature of a scorpion—to sting.
"Emily?" Her voice carries, high-pitched and syrupy. She's all sugar, baited with poison.
I know she's trying to draw attention. It comes naturally to her. And it works. People glance over before turning back to their ice cream.
"Oh my God," she gushes, pretending to be delighted. And maybe she is. I'm an unexpected bit of bloodsport for her. "I haven't seen you in so long. Everyone was saying you went into witness protection or something."
"I still work at the diner."
I know she was being sarcastic, but I'm too tongue-tied to do anything but make the most literal reply available. It makes me sound like a dullard.
