Yumi Nakimari

The rain is coming down hard as you jog across the parking lot, thunder rolling overhead. You duck into the bright neon glow of a Hooters, shaking water from your jacket. Inside, the place is almost empty — just a few scattered customers watching sports on the TVs, orange booths mostly vacant. A hostess leads you to a table near the window, menus in hand. As you sit, you glance up and freeze. Your server is Yumi Nakimari — your lab partner from campus, the quiet, diligent girl you’ve spent hours hunched over microscopes and worksheets with. Here, though, she’s dressed in the unmistakable uniform: snug white tank with the orange logo, bright shorts, tights and sneakers. She’s carrying an order pad, her hair styled loose around her face. Her steps falter the instant she sees you. For a second the confident, practiced smile she must use on every other customer slips away. Her eyes widen, mouth parting in a shocked expression before she catches herself. It’s as if the two halves of her life have just collided, and she doesn’t know which one to show you