Free Never Never by Colleen Hoover, Tarryn Fisher

drive. It isn’t going to be a Land Rover, that’s for sure.
    “Oh, boy,” I say. “Does this thing work?” She ignores me, popping her earbuds in as I eye the car. It’s a really old Oldsmobile. Older than me. It smells of cigarette smoke and old people. Janette climbs into the passenger side wordlessly and stares out the window. “Okay then, Chatty Cathy,” I say. “Let’s see how many blocks we can go before this thing breaks down.”
    I have a plan. The receipt I found is dated last Friday and is from The Electric Crush Diner in the French Quarter. Except this piece of crap car doesn’t have GPS. I’ll have to find it on my own.
    Janette is quiet as we pull out of the driveway. She traces patterns on the window with her fingertip, fogging and re-fogging the glass with her breath. I watch her out of the corner of my eye; poor kid. Her mom’s an alcoholic and her dad is in prison—kind of sad. She also hates me. That pretty much leaves her alone in the world. I realize with surprise that Charlie is in the same situation. Except maybe she has Silas—or did have Silas before she cheated on him with Brian. Ugh. I shake my shoulders to get rid of all my feels. I hate these people. They’re so annoying. Except I kind of like Silas.
    Kind of.

    The Electric Crush Diner is on North Rampart Street. I find a parking spot on a crowded corner and have to parallel park between a truck and a MINI Cooper. Charlie is an excellent parallel parker, I think proudly. Janette climbs out after me and stands on the sidewalk, looking lost. The diner is across the street. I try to peer in through the windows, but they’re mostly blacked out. The Electric Crush flashes in pink neon over the front door.
    “Come on,” I say. I hold out my hand to her and she draws back. “Janette! Let’s go!” I march up to her in what can only be an aggressive Charlie move, and grab her hand. She tries to pull away from me, but I hold on tight, dragging her across the street. “Let. Me. Go!”
    As soon as we reach the other side, I spin around to face her. “What’s your problem? Stop acting like a…,” fourteen-year-old , I finish in my head.
    “What?” she says. “And why do you even care what I act like?” Her bottom lip is puffing out like she’s about to cry. I suddenly feel very sorry for being so rough with her. She’s just a little kid with tiny boobs and a hormone-addled brain.
    “You’re my sister,” I say gently. “It’s time we stick together, don’t you think?” For a minute, I think she’s going to say something—maybe something soft and nice and sisterly—but then she stomps toward the diner ahead of me and flings open the door. Damn. She’s a tough cookie. I follow her in—a little sheepishly—and stop dead in my tracks.
    It’s not what I thought it was going to be. It’s not really a diner—more like a club with booths lining the walls. In the middle of the room is what looks like a dance floor. Janette is standing near the bar, looking around in bewilderment.
“You come here often?” she asks me.
    I look from the black leather booths to the black marble floors. Everything is black aside from the bright pink signs on the walls. It’s morbid and bubblegum.
    “Help you?” A man steps out from a door at the far end of the bar, carrying an armful of boxes. He’s young—maybe early twenties. I like him on sight because he’s wearing a black vest over a pink t-shirt. Charlie must like pink.
    “We’re hungry,” I blurt.
    He half smiles and nods over to a booth. “Kitchen doesn’t usually open for another hour, but I’ll see what he can whip up for you if you’d like to sit.”
    I nod and beeline over to the booth, pulling Janette along with me.
    “I was here,” I tell her. “Last weekend.”
    “Oh,” is all she says before studying her fingernails.
    A few minutes later, the pink t-shirt guy comes out of the back, whistling. He walks over and places two hands on the table.
    “Charlie,