Savage Saints (Monsters of Saint Mark's)

When we arrive at the diner we are seated at a booth and handed menus. Pell took me out to dinner a couple weeks ago, so I have actually been here before and understand that a menu is something with food on it. And you are to pick what you want from the list.

“I will have the Fun Burger with a strawberry milkshake,” I tell the waitress.

She giggles at me. “That your usual now, Tomas?”

Oooh. She remembers me. I am pleased. “Yes,” I tell her. They serve the burger open-faced and there are eyeballs and a smile drawn on the top in ketchup and mustard. “I find it delightful.”

The waitress, who is wearing a name badge declaring her to be called Sassy, giggles again. Then pushes my dear Madeline in the shoulder. “Be nice to him, Mad Dog. Or I’ll snatch him up when you’re not looking.”

Madeline chuckles.

“Mad Dog?” I ask.

“Oh, that’s what we called Madeline in school. She was Mad Dog Madeline on the boys’ wrestling team.”

“Really?” I am impressed. “You’re a rough-and-tumble girl, are you?” Both females snicker at me. “What? What did I miss?”

“Nothing,” Madeline says. “I’ll have the fried chicken, Sassy. Make it extra crispy. And fries on the side.”

“Do I get fries, Sassy?”

They snicker at me again.

Sassy pats my shoulder. “Kids’ meals come with the fries, sweetie.” Then she walks off, shaking her head.

“She’s nice,” I say.

Madeline sighs. “You know why I like you, Tomas?”

“Tell me. I’m dying to know what people think of me.”

“You’re not afraid to be yourself, are you?”

“Why would I be?”

“See?” She points at me. “That. That right there. You’re very confident.”

I puff up my chest a little, which is filling out this tight t-shirt spectacularly. All those years of working out have suddenly paid off now that I’ve gotten my hands on some real human clothes.

“You’re not from here, though, are you?”

“How do you know that?”

“Your accent. It’s… what? English?”

“English?” I make a face. “Do I sound like a Saxon?”

Madeline snorts. “A what?”

“I’m…” But I have to stop here. I’m not actually sure what I am or what this accent is. In fact… “Do I have an accent?”

Madeline reaches over the table to playfully slap me on the shoulder. “You’re too funny.”

I smile. “Thank you.”

“But seriously, who are you and where did you come from? I’ve never seen you in town before today.”

“Oh, I’ve been here before. But I don’t get here much.”