The bell above the door chimed-a tinny, cheerful sound that clashed with the heaviness in Arlis's chest. The air inside Zimmerman's Diner was thick, a suspension of frying bacon grease, stale coffee, and floor wax. It smelled like failure. It smelled like home.
Martha Zimmerman was behind the counter, scrubbing at a stain on the laminate that had been there since 1998. Her eyes were red-rimmed and puffy. She looked up as the door closed, and her face crumpled.
"Oh, honey," she whispered. She rounded the counter, wiping her wet hands on her apron, and pulled him into a hug that smelled of bleach and onions. "Hailee called. She... she said some awful things."
Arlis felt her trembling against him. Over her shoulder, he saw his father, Frank. He was standing at the griddle, spatula in hand, staring at the sizzling meat. His shoulders were slumped, his spine curved under the weight of a mortgage he would never pay off.
Frank turned slowly. He didn't look Arlis in the eye. "If it's about money, son... we can sell the truck. It'll give you a few months to find something."
Arlis pulled back from his mother. He gripped her shoulders, his fingers firm. "Mom. Dad. Nobody is selling the truck. We aren't begging anyone for anything."
Martha blinked, tears caught in her lashes. She stared at him as if he were speaking a foreign language. She was used to the Arlis who apologized for taking up space. This Arlis stood with his feet planted shoulder-width apart, his chin level.
He walked to the corner booth-the one with the duct tape on the vinyl seat where he had done his homework for twelve years. He slapped the folded copy of The Capital Gazette onto the sticky table. He took a red pen from his pocket and circled the notice.
Martha followed him, wringing her hands. "Arlis, that's the exam list. You were twelfth. They only take the top ten."
"Candidate Number One is Jacob Miller," Arlis said, tapping the paper. "I know him from State."
Frank wiped his hands on a rag and walked over. "So? He's a genius. Dean's list."
Arlis lowered his voice, leaning in. "There are rumors on campus. Miller has a problem with his background check, something serious from when he was a kid that got sealed. The check for City Hall is federal level. They'll find it."
It was a lie-he didn't know it from campus rumors. He knew it because in his past life, Miller's mugshot had been on the news three days after the fellowship began.
Frank and Martha exchanged a glance. Frank looked skeptical. "Rumors don't get you a job, Arlis."
"And Number Two," Arlis continued, ignoring him. "Sarah Jenkins. She just got an offer from McKinsey. Sixty grand a year starting. She isn't going to take a twenty-thousand-dollar stipend from the city."
He looked up at his parents, his eyes burning with intensity. "When two candidates drop out from the top ten, under the 'Supplemental Candidate Protocol,' Article Four, they have to reopen the interview pool to the next five on the list. That includes me."
Martha covered her mouth with her hand. "You mean... you still have a chance?"
Before Arlis could answer, the diner door swung open. A gust of wind brought in Mrs. Gable, the neighborhood gossip whose tongue was sharper than a butcher's knife.
"Well, look who's back," she cackled, her voice grating. "I saw Hailee's car at the gas station. She told everyone you're moving back into your old room to live off your poor parents."
Frank's jaw tightened. He took a step forward, his fists balling at his sides.
Arlis stood up. He moved smoothly, placing himself between his father and the woman. He put on a smile-not a genuine one, but the polished, shark-like smile of a seasoned political operative.
"Mrs. Gable," Arlis said, his voice projecting clearly across the quiet diner. "You always have your ear to the ground. But Hailee might have forgotten to mention that I'm currently preparing for the final interview at City Hall."
Mrs. Gable blinked, her mouth hanging slightly open. "Interview? I thought you failed."
Arlis stepped closer, invading her personal space just enough to make her uncomfortable. "Some things are confidential until the official announcement. Internal protocol. You might want to order a double cheeseburger while they're still cheap. Good things are happening for this family, and you never know when demand might pick up."
Mrs. Gable stammered. She looked from Arlis to Frank, then clutched her purse tight. "I... I just came for coffee." She threw a dollar on the counter and practically ran out the door.
Silence stretched in the diner. Frank looked at his son, really looked at him, for the first time in years.
"Make me a double cheeseburger, Dad," Arlis said, sitting back down and uncapping his pen. "I have work to do."
His phone buzzed on the table. He glanced at the screen. A text from an unknown number.
Heard you're still dreaming. Give it up. - Kyler
Arlis stared at the pixelated text. He didn't type a reply. He simply smiled, cold and sharp.
