-Junior-

Through sheer force of will, Sylvia gets me into the passenger seat of her truck and inertia carries us all the way to the local Waffle House at 11:30PM on a school night.

We laugh and reflect on the season, splitting a chocolate chip waffle between us. Our waiter goes out for a smoke break just as we finish eating, leaving us with nothing to occupy our attention but each other.

“Waffle’s on me, for the help tonight.”

“I got the tip, then.”

“No, it’s fine!”

“Here, I got-”

“Put that away.”

Sylvia puts her money on the table, and I put mine away.

She’s still in her puffy Middletown High jacket, not looking the least bit tired.

“Where is our waiter?” I ask, looking around the bright and empty house of waffles.

“Dunno. What kind of music are you into?”

“Oh, like, pop music, mostly…”

“What kind of pop music?”

“Oh, umm… have you heard of Leo Mondragón?”

“Hmm… sounds familiar.” Sylvia slaps the table, rattling our plastic plates. “Oh my gosh! Didn’t he do a song with King Queso?!”

“King Queso? I don’t think so?”

“Have you not heard of King Queso?! Oh my god, I stan him so hard.” Sylvia pulls out her phone. “In eighth grade- oh my god- I went to one of his shows and got to meet him!”

Sylvia extends her phone out to me, and I take it. Playing is a video taken backstage at some sort of venue. Slumped over on a stool is a tall, fit teen with black hair and blonde highlights.

“Alright, there you go dad!” 

Peeking out from behind the black backdrop is a little girl I immediately recognize as Sylvia. She’d changed a lot since eighth grade, but I recognize her right away, even with longer hair.

“Alright, go ahead and step over here sweetheart, stand to the right. Say hi for me!” The event coordinator points Sylvia to King Queso’s right.

Sylvia approaches Queso with her head down.

“Hi,” she says.

Queso barely acknowledges her. As Sylvia turns around to get her picture taken, he straightens up a little and puts his arm over her shoulder.

The next ten seconds of the video absolutely drains the life out of me. For ten brutally awkward seconds, Sylvia smiles as pictures are taken, kneading her hands nervously while King Queso offers up nothing behind her, honestly looking dead inside.

I say as much. “This is brutal!”

“What do you mean?”

“He looks miserable! How much did you pay for this?”

“It was my birthday gift that year.”

“It was your birthday too?! Oh, no…”

Queso shifts in his seat, lowering his arm and almost swatting Sylvia away.

It gets worse. Before she leaves, Sylvia turns her head, like she might want to say something. “Sorry!” is all she gets out before putting her head back down and the video ending.

“Cool, right?”

“What a jerk! You must have been heartbroken.”

“It wasn’t like that, though! Being there, it was a different feeling. I actually had a really good time.”

Hearing that baffles me for a moment, and I don’t know what to say next.

Eventually, I hand Sylvia back her phone.

“That’s good,” I say. “I dunno, though, if I ever met Leo Mondragón, I’d probably be too nervous to say anything!”

Our waiter returns and takes our cash without saying a word.

We drive back to the high school in silence, a comfortable silence.

When we get back, the school’s parking lot is empty, but the lights are still on above our heads.

“Goodnight,” I say.

But she doesn’t say goodnight back to me, not yet...