The line into Donna’s diner stretches half a block down an otherwise sleepy Studio City sidewalk. Skye does what any good girl would do at first—pops out of the parking lot and waltzes to the back of the crowd.

But she’s got it all wrong.

The secret to beating the “Sold Out” sign at Donna’s during rush hour is breaking the rules, and when it comes to breaking rules...

        “Lines are for losers, Skye.”

        “True, but a necessary evil.”

        “Not always,” I say.

I step out of the crowd of senior citizens and wave to Skye to follow me. We get a couple of sideways glares from the handful of young-old timers who dress up in thrift store fifties clothes and hang out at diners to feel authentic. But we’re through the front door and beelining to the public bathroom like it’s the only reason we came.

When it comes to pulling off a lie, conviction’s key. Step one: Get to the back. Step two: Wait for the hostess to forget we came in. Step three: Steal an empty table. Step Four: Pancakes.

Donna’s is a bar and booth joint for nostalgia junkies and other people’s grandparents. The old grazers book the booths and wannabe-old timers crowd the bars.

The whole place smells like it’s been around since the fifties but that’s part of the charm. Everything’s black and white checkered except for the musty red carpet leading back to the bathrooms. Not exactly the Hollywood standard, but it lights the way well enough.

The usual grazers don’t pay attention to much outside of their burgers and fries, except on Saturdays. Saturdays mean midday rush, and a midday rush means back orders. So while the kitchen cooks are running out of breakfast food, the customers isle watch for people like me and Skye. Sneak-and-seat-stealers.

        “We’re gonna get caught,” she says.

I grab onto her hand as we smile our way past a wiry haired hostess. She’s new, but I know her face. Her eyes linger on me and Skye for a couple seconds too long until family of four snags her attention back to where she’s paid to keep it.

        “I’ve done this a million times, it’ll be fine. Just act like you’ve already got a table and no one will say anything,” I say.           

As much as I don’t wanna believe it, Skye’s onto something. The grazers are staring a little longer than usual, and there’s not a single empty table in sight.            

         “We may need a rain check on those pancakes, Ty.”

         “Oh no, we’re getting pancakes.”

We pass the last booth in the back where and older woman is spooning sugar into the last third of her coffee. No plates. No food. Just coffee. She’ll be out in ten minutes tops.

         “Lady to the left’s about to leave,” I say.

         “And if she doesn’t?”

         “Then I’ll make you breakfast at my house.”

         “Right, Miles would love—”

         “Skye!”

I’d know his voice anywhere, and the second I hear it I go flying into the old coffee drinker’s booth. She glances up from her cup and smiles at me, like she’s been waiting for someone to sit down with her for thirty years.

I pick up the nearest menu and bury my head into the burger and fries section. Skye’s still standing next the booth, skin paler than pale, staring out what has to be Miles skipping down the isle to see her. I can smell his goddamn cologne a good two minutes before he gets close.

He pulls her away from the booth and into an Arm and Hammer hug and a Listerine kiss. If I were a girl, dating someone who smelled like an Axe commercial 24/7 would bother me, but Skye slips out of sight, and follows him so I guess she’s okay with it.

They settle into the booth behind me and Miles starts talking loud enough for half the restaurant to hear. At least the older patrons have hearing aids so they can tune out whenever they want.

       “Where were you this morning? I’ve been calling you for last two hours, Skye. Your mom was freaking out. I was freaked out. You could’ve said something, babe.”

God, he sounds just like his dad, just thirty years younger.

          “How’d you know I was here?” She asks.

She sounds so much colder than she did on the canyon with me. I’ll take it as a compliment.

         “Some girl from yearbook committee saw you come in and messaged me. I put a search and rescue up for you on Facebook, Skye. I was gonna call cops if you—”

So the hostess was a snitch. Figures.

            “You told to me to leave, Miles. You said if I couldn’t handle your decision to get lost. So I did.”

            “I didn’t mean that,” he says. He’s lying.

            “Sounded like you did.”

            “Well, you were freaking out about the whole college visiting thing, and I thought you’d be cool with it. It’s only another week, Skye.”

          “I understood the first two weeks, Miles. I gave you your space. But you promised me this week. I thought you wanted us to do this together.”

             “I do, it’s just—“

             “Lacey, right?”

If any girl ever outdid Skye in Miles’ obsession book, it was Lacey Peters. At least that’s how it was before him and Skye got together. Every guy athlete at our school has a hard-on for Lacey, especially when she shows up for homecoming or scouting season.

She’s a state champ, Westlake Alum, USC senior, and rising superstar in the college scouting and admissions game. Anyone who’s ever gotten a free ride or five-star-scholarship to college out of Westlake was handpicked by Lacey.

I knew Miles was shoe in for the big leagues, but I didn’t know he was talking to Lacey. I guess Skye didn’t either.

            “I can’t turn down a college tour from her, Skye. You know how important this is for me.”

            “I know, I’m not saying you have to, but why is she taking you alone?”

         “What do what me to do? Tell her no because my girlfriend wants to come along? C’mon, Skye.”

Miles almost raises his voice at her and it takes Ghandi level restraint for me to not clear the booth and knock his teeth out.

            “That’s not what I’m saying, Miles.”

            “Then what are you saying?”

            “I just feel weird about it.”

            “It’s one more week, Skye. I promise the second I’m done, I’ll take some time out for us.”

A waitress teeters over to their table and cuts off the conversation. Miles orders a plate of waffles for himself and a bowl of fruit for Skye without even asking what she wants. I would’ve given her pancakes, bacon, and every other unhealthy item on the menu if it made her happy.

            “Please be cool about this, babe. It’s five days. That’s all. I’ll give you my schedule if it makes you feel better. Plus I’ll be home most nights, and you can hangout with Ty until I get back.”

A glass cracks against the table and I don’t need to see it to know it’s Skye’s. The booth starts to feel smaller every second she stays silent.

If Miles knew how to listen, he’d hear everything in that silence, but he talks right through it ‘cause he finds the sound of his voice far more comfortable than the truth.

Miles’ phone rings and he picks up before Skye has the chance to say anything.

            “Hey, Lace!“

Lace? Way too friendly.

            “—Sure, twenty minutes is fine. See you then.”

Miles gets up from the table and I hold my breath just waiting to hear what excuse he comes up with.

            “I gotta head out but we’ll talk about this later, okay?” He says.

            “Just do what you need to do.”

He kisses her and it’s so sloppy I can hear it through the booth.

            “I love you,” he says, and walks off before he can hear the sadness in Skye’s voice when she says it back.

I wanna sock him for leaving her. I wanna scream at him for screwing things up when it’s so easy for him to do the right thing. He’s always been about Skye. No bullshit, just a straight shooter boyfriend.

So I don’t know how he can cut her out of two weeks he promised to spend with her, and still tell her loves like he means it.

He does mean it, but he’s leaving her alone when he shouldn’t. I can’t leave her alone when I should. But I’m not the one who’s supposed to be taking care of her. He is.

              “Don’t make her wait too long, young man.”

The weathered woman across from me looks up from her cups and smiles the kind of smile that makes you feel at home with total stranger.

              “She’s too pretty to be sitting on her own,” she says.

I reach across the table and shake her hand. Her fingers feel like worn leather.

             “So are you, thanks for letting me stay a while,” I say.

             “Not at all. You looked like you needed a place to rest your legs.”

 I stand up, pull a couple dollars out of my back pocket and place it on the table.

            “Have your next cup of coffee on me.”

            “That’s very nice of you. I sure hope that young lady’s worth the wait.”

            “Don’t worry, she is.”