It's November eleventh, journal entry one, I'm Darcy Lewis and five days ago I died. After that things got really weird.
“Steve Rogers is staring at you again.”
“No way, Jane, you’re out of your mind,” Darcy says, eyes scanning over the restaurant to Steve’s table. James sat next to him, fingers of his left hand nervously tapping on the melamine table.
Steve’s peeling the label off a bottle of hot sauce, mouth turned down, and a line between his eyebrows. He doesn’t look happy. Steve’s eyes flick up to hers and the corner of his mouth ticks up. Darcy drops her gaze, cheeks hot as she busies herself with the salt shakers on the counter. “You’re totes imagining things.”
“Well I do rock the alien antennae and glasses,” Darcy says tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear and checking that her antennae are firmly in place.
“I didn’t say he was looking at your face,” Jane smirks handing Darcy an order of Saturn’s Rings, a Betelgeuse Burger, Quantum Field Fries, and a Martian Melt. “Table four, please.”
“This isn’t my order. Table four’s your section,” she says, narrowing her eyes. “Balls, that’s Rogers’ table. No, Jane.”
“I’m on break,” Jane says, waving her physics book under Darcy’s nose.
“I hate you,” Darcy hisses.
“You love me,” Jane mutters, opening her book. Darcy takes a deep breath to collect herself and plasters a smile on her face as she makes her way to Steve Roger’s table.