I was sitting inside the diner, ordering a milkshake and a few fries. The door swings open and just in time, the lady took my order and I watch as Lauren approaches me with this expression on her face that I can't quite describe correctly.

Yesterday at school, after we both decided to be partners for a project in EWS: English Writing Skills (in short EWS), I gave her my phone number, although I doubt, she would even want to call me. I knew she wasn't happy with the thought of sharing her number; I don't blame her either if she assumes, I'm going to leak it, which I also doubt anyone's actually going to want it.

She sat on the empty sofa in front of me, her fingers intertwined, bringing both her hands on the table, resting it. She appears like she's preparing to interrogate me for some crime I didn't even commit.

"So—"

"I want you to take me somewhere," She immediately says, cutting me off before I could even continue speaking. I took the water bottle sitting on the table and quenched my thirst instinctively, mainly ignoring how abrupt and blunt she was.

"T-Take you where exactly?" I nearly stuttered.

"I don't know the name of the street, but I do know which way to go," she says, her voice hinting with eagerness and much confidence.

She seems like she knows what she wants, even though I don't have a single hint as to what's going on right now... and why she even called me.

"Did you call me just to be your chauffeur?" I ask her.

She looks at me, her eyes blinking, with guilt written all over her face. As she purses her mouth, she nods her head slightly, causing me to laugh.

"What's so funny?" She asks.

"Nothing," I say, "You really are intriguing."

"To be completely honest, I thought you wanted us to start the project already, but I never expected that you would end up hiring me as a chauffeur and becoming your investigative assistant," I winked at her.

Before she turns away from me, I hear her scoff.

"You're just a chauffeur," She deadpans.

I struck a hand to my chest, my eyes shut as I say, "Ouch."

Lauren looks at the gumball machine in the far-left corner of the diner. She lifts her hand and says, "Excuse me," drawing one of the employees' attention.

She starts ordering a chocolate milkshake with extra chocolate sauce and onion rings.

"So, where are we going?" I ask her after I let her finish taking her order.

She smiles at me and opens her mouth, then after that, she closes it. She was hesitant to explain anything to me, but the idea of confronting her actions never crossed my mind.

"It's fine if you are not comfortable sharing it," I say, "I won't force you."

"You know when people say that, it's like they are also saying 'tell me,'" She says.

I got my order, and I could already feel my mouth salivating. I grabbed and threw a fry in my mouth. I took a sip on my vanilla milkshake, and closed my eyes, smiling as I clasped my hands together—a heavenly-made taste.

I open my eyes and watch her watching me, snickering to herself.

"What? It's a good combination," I say.

"I know," she says.

Her order arrives a few moments later. She smiles at the server before walking out of our sight.

She steals a french fry from my plate, making my mouth drop in horror. When she shoves it in her mouth, she casts a smile at me.

"I don't think we're that close for you to steal a French fry from me!" I exclaimed.

She rolls her eyes and says, "And I don't think we're that close for you to claim yourself as my assistant."

As I looked at her, I slumped my shoulders, hoping to snatch an onion ring off her plate, but she was swift to slap my hand away.

"There's this studio," She says in between chews, "My mom knows a curator, and her paintings were displayed there. The curator that owns that studio hosts an art gallery for people looking to purchase some artworks. My mom sold a few, but there are paintings left in that studio, and I want to get them back, at least."

I look at her, not knowing what to say, but she continues to devour her onion rings.

She looks at me after she sips her milkshake, "The only thing that reminds me of my mom is her paintings."

Somehow, the questions I was going to ask her immediately disappeared—answered.

❀

"Are you sure this is the right path? We've been circling this street almost four times already," I say, sounding bored, as I continue to drive.

"It's somewhere over here. I know it is," She says. I look over my shoulder and see her, frantically searching for the place in her seat, looking uneasy.

"Maybe it was destroyed?" I asked quietly.

I didn't hear anything from her until she yells, "Stop!"

I hit the brakes too hard in a panic, causing me to nearly get thrown out of my car if I hadn't had my seatbelt buckled. I thank whoever has invented seatbelts.

I parked the car, and I can hear Lauren unbuckling her seatbelt now. She quickly got out of the car before I could even turn the engine off.

I got out of the car after I unbuckled my seatbelt, tailing her to a building. The building was vacant, save for a few rusty bits of rusted industrial equipment. Outside were the vine-covered walls of the building. It looked similar to those buildings in Brooklyn, New York.

Lauren jiggles the lock that was on the door as if that would help.

"I don't think it's a good idea if you plan to try and get inside," I say. "We might get sued for trespassing."

"We're not trespassing," Lauren turns her head back at me. She says as she squats down, examining the massive padlock on the door, "I'm just trying to check if it's open, or at least if someone's inside."

"I don't think anyone has ever been inside that place for such a long time," I say as I look around, "I mean, look at this street. It looks so suspicious at night."

"You're being judgmental," She says.

Before she walks back to where I was, I wait until she finishes examining the lock. She lets a sigh escape her mouth in exasperation as we continue to gaze at the structure looming above us. She then leans on the car beside me.

"Are the paintings the only thing that reminds you of your mother?" I ask as I look at her.

She nods her head in silence then says, "It's the only thing that reminds me of what she gave and taught me."

She stares at me with my eyebrows pulled together in confusion as I stare at her.

"Art," She simply says. "She taught and gave me art. It's what reminds me of her and what reminds me of who I was. I think, without that, I'm nothing."