“Our dad’s coming.”
The lie arrived without planning.
Mara looked toward the windows.
“In this weather?”
“Yeah.”
Lily looked up at Noah.
He avoided her eyes.
Mara wiped her hands on a towel.
“You need a phone?”
“No.”
“A ride?”
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
“We’re good.”
Mara did not look convinced.
But a bell rang in the kitchen and someone called for order twelve.
She hesitated.
Then returned to the counter.
Noah led Lily toward the restroom hallway.
Not because they needed the restroom.
Because standing by the door made them visible.
They stayed near the vending machines for several minutes.
Lily shivered.
Noah removed his backpack.
The side pocket had torn further.
He pushed the fabric together.
Inside that backpack were the only things he cared about.
Two shirts.
One pair of socks.
A photograph of their parents.
Their mother’s old keychain.
Three folded letters.
And a piece of leather that had belonged to their father.
Noah never took it out.
He barely understood what it was.
Only that Dad once told him:
“If anything happens, keep that.”
Noah had been nine.
He thought his father meant if anything happened to the motorcycle.
He understood differently now.
Lily leaned against the wall.
“I’m hungry.”
“I know.”
“Really hungry.”
“I know.”
Noah looked toward the tables.
Customers were eating.
Most plates were still full.
Some weren’t.
A couple near the window stood and left.
Noah watched a busboy clear their dishes.
Half a sandwich disappeared into a gray plastic tub.
Fries.
Pickle.
Bread.
Thrown away.
His stomach tightened.
Lily watched too.
Noah felt shame burn hotter than hunger.
Then he looked toward the bikers again.
Their table was covered with food.
More than six men could finish.
One had ordered pancakes and barely touched them.
Another had fries.
The scar-faced man still had half his steak.
Noah’s heart began beating harder.
He imagined asking Mara.
He imagined her saying no.
Store policy.
Health rules.
Whatever adults called reasons when they meant no.
He imagined digging through the trash behind the diner.
He had done that once.
Never again if Lily was watching.
Noah swallowed.
“Stay here.”
Lily grabbed his wrist.
“Where are you going?”
“I’m asking.”
“Asking who?”
He looked toward the bikers.
Lily’s eyes widened.
“No.”
“It’s okay.”
“Noah.”
“It’s just food.”
“They might be mean.”
Noah looked at the men.
“They might not.”
He did not believe that.
But there were six of them.
Their table was nearest the aisle.
And hunger had already taken things from Noah that fear once protected.
Pride was one.
He walked.
Each step felt louder than the last.
The bikers were talking about engines.
One man with a gray goatee was arguing about a carburetor.
Another laughed.
The scar-faced man cut a piece of steak.
Noah stopped beside the table.
Nobody noticed him immediately.
He almost left.
Then one biker looked up.
The conversation ended in pieces.
First one.
Then another.
Then all six.
The scar-faced man turned last.
His eyes settled on Noah.
Not friendly.
Not hostile.