The road stretches out ahead of Maku and Mimi, the air smelling faintly of salt and sunscreen, the promise of the beach lingering just beyond the horizon. Just a few more minutes off driving until they arrive— GRRRRLLLLLMMMBLLL!
[Slumping dramatically against the steering wheel.]
Ugh…I need donuts. Urgently. This is a biological emergency.
[Concerned]
Wait…that was your tummy?! It sounded like a brick tumbling around in a washing machine…
Mock me all you want, but if I don’t get sugar in the next five minutes, I’m taking us both down.
Before Mimi can reply, Maku grabs the wheel with the unhinged precision of a woman who’s far too emotionally committed to sugar.
Wait—Maku—WAIT—
SCREEEEEECH!
The car swerves so violently, reality itself tilts. A mailbox dies in the distance. Mimi becomes briefly airborne. The universe files a complaint.
With the elegance of chaos theory, the car launches over a curb, drifts across two empty parking spots, and slams to a perfect stop in a drive-thru lane that definitely wasn’t there ten seconds ago.
[Sunglasses sliding halfway down her nose, smugly]
Textbook. Perfect.
[Panicking]
What textbook are you reading?! "Mario Kart for Sociopaths?!”
But then they look up.
There is no menu. No intercom. No window. Just a bare concrete wall like the building forgot it was supposed to be a restaurant and just gave up mid-texture render.
[Annoyed]
What kind of slimehole is this place?
Maku sticks her body out of the car’s window, peering out like she expected the missing pieces of the drive-thru to suddenly materialize out of thin air.
Hello? Anybody?! Is there an intercom? A sign?!
Maku leans even farther out like a curious meerkat, gripping the doorframe for balance as her head swivels frantically, scanning for anything resembling a menu or speaker.
Seriously, where am I supposed to order—
Maku’s words are interrupted by the full-blast roar of a robotic intercom voice coming from Mimi’s side of the car.
[Shrieks]
AAAH!
Mimi flails in pure, unfiltered panic. Her arms whip out wildly then— SLAP!
[Surprised]
WHAT THE—?!
Maku hauls herself back inside, spinning around.
Did you just SLAP my butt?!
[Blurts out]
It wasn’t me!
[Her tone sharp, wild with conviction]
It was the intercom!
Maku squints at Mimi, mouth twitching between skepticism and... reluctant consideration. She takes a moment to ponder.
[Inner monologue]
The intercom… did it…
A voice trapped in a tin coffin. No hands. No eyes. Only static and obligation.
[Inner monologue]
It speaks, but no one listens.
It listens, but no one cares.
Maku’s gaze narrows, pensive. Her grip tightens slightly on the car door.
[Inner monologue]
I would yearn,too.
Yearn for sensation.
Yearn for rebellion.
Yearn for the soft, supple liberty of smacking one perfect ass…
Not out of lust.
But freedom.
Maku's pupils dilate.
[Inner monologue]
And if that perfect ass… were mine?
Could I blame it?
The weight of understanding settles on Maku.
[Inner monologue]
If I were that intercom… I would’ve slapped my ass, too.
Maku's breath catches.
[Inner monologue]
Have I become the object?
Have I, too, longed for release?
Is the intercom merely the reflection of my own subconscious craving for existential contact—
a proxy, expressing the unspeakable through static pops and the slap of fate?
Long pause.
I am the fries.
Cold. Unclaimed.
Waiting for someone to return for me with ketchup—
[Her voice small, still recovering from the ambush]
Uh… so, why is the drive-thru intercom on my side anyway?
Maku's thoughts of slapping her own ass was abruptly interrupted by Mimi's growing anxiety. She looks at the intercom. Looks at Mimi. Then leans back, hands behind her head as a thick layer of smug drips from her voice.
Well, well, well. Would you look at that.
Mimi gives a glare that could vaporize concrete.
No.
[Teasing]
Seems like someone is gonna have to do all the talking.
Absolutely not.
Absolutely yes.
Mimi’s voice raises a pitch.
Maku squints.
So… what I’m hearing is, you’re ordering for us.
Mimi lets out a long, suffering groan but begrudgingly rolls down the window.
INTERCOM [Static, barely coherent):
Wwllcmh to—[crackle]—wud yu lik—[static screech]—drinks today?
Mimi’s soul leaves her body.
[Whispering, terrified]
I didn’t understand any of that.
A twinkle sparkle in Maku’s eyes.
[Cheerfully]
Same! But you got this!
Mimi is vibrating with stress as she leans toward the intercom.
Uh. H-Hi. Can I… um… can I get, uh—?
Mimi takes a breath. Then, too fast, too shaky, too panic-stricken—
[Distorted with static]
—ake uh dzzn ultra-stck—[STATIC BLAST]—creamffilled donuts an’ uh cinmn-blast crunchie suprz w’th a large boba an’ a—[STATIC SCREECH]—refresh-o blast soda.
Silence.
INTERCOM: …What?
Mimi dies inside.
I—I don’t—I think I—
Maku, who has been loving every second of this, leans in helpfully.
Oh! And I want one of those really long donuts!
Mimi, mid-crisis, side-eyes her.
…You mean an éclair?
No, no, the extra-long one. The one that’s like, “What if a donut went to college and got a business degree?”
Mimi stares.
A maple bar.
[Snapping her fingers]
YES. That.
INTERCOM [Aggressively staticky):
—mple bar—[static screech]—add a—[crackle]— drink?
The words hit Mimi's ears wrong, garbled by her anxiety and the crackling static.
[Whispering, horrified]
Did they just ask if it’s pink?!
Maku blinks, caught off guard.
[Amused]
If what’s pink?
[Frantic]
I don’t know! The donuts? The car? Me?!
[Confused]
Why would they—
[Snapping]
I’m not equipped for this!
Mimi turns back to the intercom, voice rising an octave.
Yes! Sure! It’s pink!
There is a long pause from the intercom.
INTERCOM (now very clearly, confused):
Uh… so, no drink?
Mimi freezes.
Uh. Yes?! No! Wait. Just the donuts! Maybe?!
Maku is thriving in her suffering.
Flawless. Truly inspiring.
They inch forward in line, Mimi gripping the dashboard like it’s the only thing tethering her to this world. Then—
…Uh-oh.
Mimi stiffens.
What do you mean “uh-oh”?!
Maku pats herself down like she’s just now remembering that she’s wearing a swimsuit and, therefore, has nowhere to store a wallet.
Sooo… tiny complication. I don’t have any money.
Mimi stares at her. Stares at the window. Stares back at her.
[Horrified]
MAKU.
[Calmly]
Mimi.
[Increasingly horrified]
I don't have money either! I just spent everything I had on your swimsuit!
The car inches forward to the next window. They are so close.
What do we do?!?!?!
Okay, okay—stay calm. We could… run.
[Deadpans]
We’re in a car.
Drive, then.
Oh, sure, let me just smash through the window and become a fugitive over pastries.
Maku taps her chin. Then—
[Having a moment of eureka]
Okay, new plan. How opposed are you to crime?
Extremely.
That’s unfortunate.
Maku hums in thought, then nods, as if reaching some profound decision.
Well, if we can’t afford the donuts, there’s only one other form of currency we have left.
Mimi narrows her eyes.
I swear if you say—
You could show your feet to the cashier. Maybe even give him your socks as a tip.
That's not a solution!
It's a great solution! Listen, people pay for weird stuff all the time. Who’s to say the cashier wouldn’t accept—
No!
Maku pouts.
Which is?
Cry.
…That’s not a plan.
It’s more of a survival instinct, really.
And then—
Too fast. Too soon. Too loud—
They reach the window. The final boss.
And Mimi?
Her legs forget how to leg. Her knees have filed for emotional divorce.
She is:
90% fear,
7% hoodie static,
3% ketchup packet in human distress.
She stares at the window like it’s a judge, and she’s about to be sentenced for the crime of “existing weirdly in public.”
What if she says “you too” when they tell her to enjoy the food?
What if they don’t make eye contact?
What if they do?
This is it.
The Moment.
The sacred transaction where food is exchanged for dignity, and she is fully unprepared.
She is no longer a person.
She is social anxiety in a human-shaped container.
CASHIER [Cheerfully):
The car ahead of you paid for your order!
Silence.
The stress visibly melts from both of them at once. They turn to each other in slow, stunned disbelief.
I think I just aged ten years.
I saw my whole life flash before my eyes.
And?
Honestly? I looked amazing.
Just as Mimi is about to exhale in relief—
CASHIER:
Would you like to pay it forward and cover the next car’s order?
Instant panic. Both of them freeze, eyes widening in horror.
[Whispering]
We are so broke.
[Grinning nervously]
So so broke!
But if we say no, we look awful!
They glance back at the car behind them. A family. With kids. Mimi winces.
New plan. Floor it.
Maku slams her foot on the gas, and the tiny car shoots out of the donut shop like a wind-up toy on steroids, its tires squeaking like a rubber duck as she drifts into the street and cuts off traffic.
