Ride or Die

Part 3

Ava sits in Jamie's stationary car, idling outside the diner that Jordan had suggested.
She shouldn't be doing this, she shouldn't have come. Perhaps, if she had chosen to tell him, Jamie might have let her.
Meeting new people is all part of a new environment, right? That's all it is.
She tries to convince herself of it, but the reasoning is patchy and she knows it.
This is unlike her, she wouldn't dream of doing this usually. But maybe in this new chapter, she'll keep surprising herself.
She can't help but wonder what they'd talk about in there, Jordan and her. She's never been around strangers, mostly because her mother would steer her far away from them, warning her of the dangers. In Los Angeles, who knows what this guy is about. He could be trying to kill her, for all she knows. But Ava has a funny feeling it's her mother's voice telling her that. She's just too curious to listen to it.
She snatched the keys from the ignition, the thrumming engine cutting out with a cough of indigence. She climbs from the driver's seat and slams the door behind her before she can think again and jump back in.
Outside the car is a little chillier, a light breeze picking up her hair and making it dance around her neck, causing a tremor to run down her back.
She isn't sure if it's the cold or nervousness.
Ava starts away from the car, squashing cigarettes underfoot as she weaves around the other vehicles. It means the place must be popular, and if Jordan attempts a kidnapping, there'll at least be witnesses.
The diner itself is lit warmly inside and out, with a few decorative smokers leaning against the walls, plumes of sour smoke blown from their lips.
Ava pushes the door open and steps inside, the heat enveloping her like a great hug, along with the lingering smells of freshly brewed coffee and breakfast-y smells. Which might be odd to her if she hadn't seen movies where the diners sell all day breakfast. Her mother had always commented at how "outlandish" it was.
Ava scans the diner for Jordan, and finds him at a red booth towards the back. The wall above him is home to a framed Les Paul guitar, beaten up and signed by someone famous. She isn't sure who.
A jukebox nearby rattles off old 50's tunes that blends into the sounds of chatter and clattering from the kitchen.
Jordan waves her over enthusiastically, and she walks towards him, noticing how scuffed the checkered floor is. It must be an old diner, a favourite among the locals.
She tries her best to expel the nerves, to look relaxed. As if it weren't completely out of her world to be meeting with a boy she'd only met recently.
She plops down across from Jordan.
"This is cosy."
"Glad you think so," he smiles, "I've always loved this joint."
He takes a pause to let his gaze roam around their surroundings.
Ava thinks it's nice that he invited her someone dear to him, but she isn't sure whether it means anything yet. At least she's learning about him.

"So you must come here a lot, then?"
"No, but when I do, I just never want to leave."
He exudes confidence, just with the easy way he talks, the way he sits forward. How simple it is for him to make eye contact. It's never been that easy for Ava, but she tries her best to match him.
It isn't easy to replicate, because Ava is always so terrified of an awkward silence creeping in, finding it difficult to hold a conversation.
Jordan seems right at home and she almost envies it.

"So, tell me about your enthusiasm regarding carrots," she tries, "that's why I'm here, after all."
Almost as soon as the words leave her lips she wants to gobble them back up.
But to her surprise, Jordan laughs.
"What can I say? I'm a passionate guy."
"Right," Ava scrambles to cover her terrible conversation starter. "I'll just chalk you up as another of those veggie enthusiasts I keep running into."
Not much better than her opener.
"There's more of us, is there?"
"Certainly, you're not special."
Ava immediately wants to run and hide. This is going terribly. She's worse than she thought.
Jordan seems amused. She can't tell whether it's at her expense or not.
Before she can fumble through a better reply, a middle aged woman approaches, wiping her hands on a grease smudged apron.
"Now what can I get you two?" She asks, taking a pencil from behind her ear.
Jordan doesn't bother with the menu.
"Pancakes, please. Don't go light on the syrup."
She scribbles it down with a smile.
"Of course. And for you, sweetie?"
Ava glances over the menu.
"Could I have some fries, please?"