Jackie had never been further from the city. She felt as if she were king of the world, marching a two-person parade down the long, straight road, just as free and wild as she was meant to be. Oren, on the other hand, had never felt worse.

His skin, which was already pale, had managed to turn even paler, into the greenish hue of spoiled milk. The city was gone and the road was endless. Surrounding them were lush oak trees stretching up toward the sky. Songbirds bounced from branch to branch singing sweet morning melodies. Oren could not shake the image of the deer from his mind, its lifeless eyes judging him, or possibly his own eyes within their reflection judging himself. Either way, he felt judged and embarrassed. He had become a degenerate. He had run away from home like a fussy, no-good middle schooler.

He knew his parents wouldn't care. He knew exactly how the entire situation would happen. He would be dragged home by the police, and his parents would pay them off to not say anything because it could "damage the Cleverfield name", and then they would ask haphazardly if he was ok, and he would reply "yes", and it would be over. Hell, they would probably just pay him off while they were at it.

"El pajarito canta sobre tejados rojos" Jackie sang sweetly, skipping.

"What is that?" Oren asked.

"A song," Jackie answered. "My dad used to sing to me when I was younger."

"El gato se arrastra~" she continued. She did not have the voice of an angel. Rather, she sang like a dog, quick barks and long howls, off-key but filled with an undeniable passion. The song brought a strange comfort to Oren, a comfort quickly broken as something crept out of the thicket. A deer, its fur course and tan, its antlers long and curved, walked to the middle of the long road attempting to graze the cement. It perked up at the sound of their footsteps, and dashed to the opposite side of the road, disappearing into the woods with a burst of leaves.

"Maybe it wanted to die," Jackie said.

"What?" Oren asked, breathless, sweating.

"The deer you hit-maybe it wanted to die. I'm just saying," she said, shrugging. "You can't prove it one way or another."

"You're kinda...morbid," Oren said.

"Yeah," Jackie chuckled proudly.

"It feels like we've been walking for hours, but I haven't seen...anything but trees," Oren said. It was true, there were no farmhouses, no cabins, no cars, just the road, and the woods. "It's starting to get dark too," he mentioned, peering cautiously over his shoulder at the sun beginning to nestle into the treetops.

"Look!" Jackie yelled, racing a few feet ahead. In the distance was a diner.

The diner looked like it was from the '50s, with white and turquoise siding, and arched tinted windows. A large neon side towered above it spelling out "Tiff's" in almost eligible cursive. The woods had finally ended, leading out into a flat grassland where the diner resided. There was no parking lot, no driveway, no path, it simply sat at the edge of the road, amongst the reeds.

"Come on," Jackie said impatiently, running toward the diner. Oren hesitated, but the fear in his mind was beaten by the cold on his arms and the hunger in his stomach.

They were greeted by a wave of warmth as they entered the diner. It was dimly lit, yellow light shining on each of the tables like spotlights. It was empty besides an old woman sitting in the back, snoring, clinging to a crocodile handbag. Behind the counter was an annoyed-looking waitress, her blue and white apron thrown on haphazardly. Her thick black hair was pulled back by a checkered bandana. At the sight of Oren and Jackie, she sighed, rolling her eyes dramatically. She grabbed two lamented menus and tossed them onto a nearby table, motioning for them to take a seat. They took a seat opposite each other at a red leather booth by one of the windows.

"Welcome to Tiff's, what can I get y'all?" the waitress asked, pulling out a pen and notepad from her pocket.

"I'll have a cheeseburger, fries, and a milkshake," Jackie ordered, listing the items off her fingers.

"Same for me, thanks," Oren said shyly, handing back the menus.

The waitress trudged into the kitchen, repeating the order at a yell. An ancient-looking speaker sputtered music from the corner of the diner, a gentle, instrumental melody. Oren sat straight, his legs crossed, his fingers woven together in his lap. Jackie sat cross-legged upon the booth, building a trench out of sugar packets.

"So..." Oren began, rolling his thumbs. "How'd you end up on the run?"

"Because I wanted to," Jackie answered bluntly, carefully stacking a toothpick fortress by the trench. She peered up, catching Oren's dissatisfied expression. Her features softened. She let go of the toothpick. "I wasn't very happy where I was either."

"Here you go." the waitress announced upon her return, sliding two plates onto the table. The burgers were thick and greasy and beautiful. Between the two golden buns was a crisp pattie, fresh lettuce, a thin slice of tomato, American cheese, and almost burnt bacon. The smell made Oren's stomach churn, it had been the longest he had ever gone without eating. Two tall chocolate shakes slid up next to their plates, topped with a mountain of whip cream, maraschino cherries planted on the peak. "Enjoy," the waitress said as if she actually hoped they didn't enjoy the meal at all, as if she secretly wished they would choke.

Jackie attacked the burger, ripping it apart like an animal and shoveling it down her throat, the ritual only occasionally broken by a long slurp of her shake. Oren, on the other hand, removed the tomato delicately and took a small bite.

"What's that pin for?" Jackie asked, a blob of ketchup falling off her chin and splattering onto her plate.

"What pin...?" Oren peered down at his hand, clenched shut, holding tightly to something. He unwrapped his fingers to reveal a small, brass violin resting in his palm. "I-I was a part of the school band. My parents got me a private instructor and everything. I won a local competition for original composition."

"So you play the violin?" Jackie inquired, poking at the pin, leaving behind a smudge of mustard.

"Yes," Oren answered hurriedly, shoving the pin into his jean pocket.

"Do you...like to play the violin?" Jackie asked, studying the sudden tension on his face.

"Not really. I always wanted to play the guitar, but my parents said it was childish. They told me the violin was a 'noble, classical instrument'. So, I learned to play that instead." Oren explained.

"I don't care what people think, or at least I try not to. I think people are wrong a lot of the time; make a lot of assumptions." Jackie said. "I like to just go with my gut, you know?"

"Last night was the first time..." Oren paused, locking eyes with Jackie momentarily. "...The first time I ever felt like that."

The song from the speaker faded, replaced by a barbershop quartet. The sleeping woman in the corner finally awoke, blinking slowly, taking in her surroundings. She gathered her things and walked out the door, a pair of silver bells jingling above her.

With the last, dramatic bite of her food, Jackie wiped off her hands and dove into her suitcase. She tossed out a pair of socks and a yellow rain jacket until she finally found what she had been searching for: a sketch pad. She grabbed a number 2 pencil and began to scribble in it. It was unusual to see her so focused, her eyes narrowed, her tongue sticking out from her bottom lip.

Eventually, the waitress sauntered by and grabbed their dishes silently, carrying them back into the kitchen. The quiet kitchen. The very quiet kitchen. Oren pondered the lack of noise for a moment: there was no clinking of the utensils, no sizzle of the meat on the stovetop, no gurgle of the frier. He turned hurriedly, catching the waitress just as she passed through the door. The oven was unoccupied, the stovetop bare. The sink was piled with dirty dishes, some even making their way to the floor, unwashed and shattered. As far as Oren could tell, besides the waitress, the kitchen was lifeless.

"Hey," Jackie grabbed hold of Oren by the chin, turning him back around gently. "Hold still," she ordered, returning her pencil to the page. Oren peered down and realized she was drawing him. It was an almost perfect caricature, toolboxes, like looking in a mirror of paper and lead.

"You're good at that." Oren sighed, pushing his worries to the back of his mind.

"I know," Jackie said with a cocky smirk.

"But I don't know if I'm the best subject." Oren chuckled. Jackie looked up at him seriously. Oren dropped his smile as the chuckle died in his throat.

"Don't say that." Jackie pouted, scribbling with a little more force than she had been. "I think everyone's beautiful." Jackie flipped through the sketchbook so Oren could see. One after another were detailed, perfect renderings of strangers, down to the pores in their skin, to the hair on their nose. Many of the strangers were not traditionally attractive, but the way Jackie drew them made them look beautiful, almost angelic.

The jingle of the bells singled a new visitor. Jackie and Oren turned their heads toward the door to find a tall man walking straight for them. His skin was dark and his features sharp. A blue, cotton jumpsuit was pulled on over his bulk. He was holding a silver wrench, tapping it against his muscular back.

"You kids lost?"