The knock on the door at five A.M. was both a blessing and a curse for Savannah Smith. It was a loud knock: the hardy type brought about by thick skin on knuckles and the echoing ring of the metal door as it resisted the heavy pounding. Savannah blinked slowly, and with a wry twist of her lips yawned and wiped a dribble of drool off her cheek.

A quick inventory of the room reminded her of what had happened: A battlezone of highlighters and green pens, crumpled papers with doodles and quick scrawled notes, sticky notes lined every edge of the table and paperclips had spilled across the floor. She, herself, was wearing an old T-shirt for a band she didn't know and gym shorts from a high school she had graduated from three months ago. She had worked herself to sleep again, and by the looks of it there had been, yet again, no success.

The knocking got louder as Savannah pried her aching body off the chair. "I'm coming, I'm coming," she mumbled, more for her own benefit than that of the visitor of the ungodly hour. She balled up her blanket and grabbed her jacket from a chair nearby, shrugging it on hurriedly as she crossed the room. She unlatched the door, and yawned out at the visitor, "Yes?"

He was out of place. But considering that Savannah was a girl driving an RV on a road trip, she didn't have room to talk. Outside the barest beginnings of daylight shown through the misty clouds, and the brisk cold air reminded her that she was, indeed, in an unknown location. The rumbling of an engine nearby brought to life the situation. The areas smelt like gasoline, but it was only because she had parked at a truck refuel stop. The signs blinked with promises of the best pork she'd ever eaten but Savannah thought that the family restaurant in Tennessee had been better.

The boy was roughly her age, give or take a few years, with matted dark hair that clung to his head in a style that she immediately labeled as "mop". His cheeks were rounded and his eyes dark. Savannah was a whole step above him, but his height made them eye to eye. He looked just as surprised as she did that they were the same age.

Savannah was suddenly glad that she had not been in pajamas.

"Your sign," He said with a voice that suggested he hadn't spoken out loud in several days. "Is it real?"

Savannah glaced at her door, just to make sure she knew what sign he meant. Yes, that sign, of course.

"Knock if you have a story, free meal will be provided." She repeated from memory. Despite the early hour, a faint smile ghosted over her lips. "Do you have a story?"

The boy twiddled his fingers, "Does it have to be an action story? My story isn't-- I mean. I-I'm not good with action stories. I can do romance--well kind of. Not really. I mean, I could try? Does it have to be real? Or can it like have dragons and knights and aliens?"

Savannah rubbed sleep from her eyes, "It can be whatever. As long as it's not wasting my time." She turned away, leaving the door open, "I've got eggs. I think. Unless you rather get coffee from over there."

"Huh? Oh! Uh, eggs are good?"

She walked through the mess that came with her job (if it could be called a job. Savannah liked to think it was) and made her way to the kitchen-- if it could be called a kitchen. (Savannah didn't it was). The stove was big enough to fry maybe two eggs at once and cook bacon on another burner. The fridge was opposite stocked with milk and breakfast foods. She heard the boy stumble in after her, his nervous breathing as if he couldn't quite believe it was happening. Savannah had given up on keeping her RV as clean as physically possible, especially for the guys who showed up at her doorstep at five in the morning looking for food.

"Don't mind the mess," She called to him as she heated up the burners.

In the artificial light Savannah got her first good look at him. He stood up a couple inches under the roof at his full height, but slouched as if to make himself smaller. Savannah could understand: sometimes she felt too big for the RV and she was only three-fourths of his height. His clothes were old, tattered jeans with holes in the knees, sneakers that had seen better days and better care. His shirt was dirty, but only to the practiced eye. Savannah asked his name.

"Isaac," he replied, nervously, "Isaac Phobis."

Savannah hummed and cracked an egg on the counter, "How do you like your eggs, Isaac Phobis?"

"Uh, scrambled?" He said it like a question. Savannah glanced back him. He was staring around her living room in wonder, "Do you live in here?"

She let out a startled laugh, "What? No! I live in the mansion down the way." She rolled her eyes, "Of course I live in here. In fact I was sleeping in that chair less than five minutes ago."

He looked at the chair in horror.

"Oh relax, will you?" She sighed, "And sit down, I'm almost done with your eggs. The bacon will be another minute."

"Bacon?" Isaac repeated once again with that wonder in his voice. He tentatively sat down on the booth seat across from the table. His eyes scanned over her notes, which made her bristle even after all the other times she had invited people into her living space. She pushed the eggs around the pan once more before sorting through the cabinets to find where the plates were. She always moved them, considering she only have five in the first place. The cabin was filled with silence, except for the sizzling of the bacon.

Isaac cleared his throat, "Isn't this...dangerous?"

Savannah glanced back at him, "Dangerous?" She repeated almost as if she had never heard of the word. It even tasted fake on her lips, a word that had lost it's meaning. She grabbed a pen from nearby and scribbled out a note to herself to grab eggs next time she was near a WalMart.

"Yeah, letting people into your home like this." Isaac explained. He seemed to grow in courage as he spoke, turning his tone from a frail sound to a hardy voice. The voice of someone who was normally outgoing. "What if they were a serial killer?"

"What if I'm a serial killer?"

"Are you?"

"Only on Tuesdays."

Isaac turned pale, "It is Tuesday!"

Savannah blinked and pouted, "It was a joke, Dude. Chill. Is it really Tuesday?"

"How long have you been doing this that you've forgotten how to tell the day of the week?"

Savannah huffed pushing the scrambled eggs onto a plate and turning off the burner. She tossed the pan in the sink content to clean it later and turned her attention to the bacon. She had seen her mother cook it a million times before but for some reason she herself never got it right.

Somewhere along the line she must have forgotten to update her calendar, which wasn't that surprising. It was a rare case that she remembered the month much less the day of the week even when she lived back home. So she outright ignored Isaac's question. Who was he to be questioning her when he obviously had no concept of time?

"Where are you from Isaac?" She asked instead. She had to shuffle through a couple cabinets to find the tongs she wanted to flip the bacon strips.

"Around here," He responded vaguely, "You?"

"Not anywhere you've heard of so don't worry." She faced him with a smile wide enough to be dangerous and a plateful of eggs and bacon. "Do you want salt or cheese?"

He was practically drooling at the site. Savannah knew she wasn't a great cook, but it pleased her that she could at least make breakfast for the boy in front of her. She swiped her notepad off the parallel table and slid the pencil out of the cup glued on the table. Then Savannah sat opposite of him, with the plate between them.

"The way that this works is this," She started with a stern tone, "You tell me a story; I take notes. As soon as I determine that you aren't making it up as you go, I'll give you the fork."

"Can't I eat, then share the story?"

"What would keep you from just pretending that you had a story just to get free food? No, you have to tell the story before you eat otherwise I get the short end of the stick. It's not like I'm going to take this food I made and throw it in the trash if you share a good story."

"What if I told it while I eat?"

"Before." She stressed with a biting tone, "I've been burned like that already. By a creep in South Carolina."

"But what if I'm just really bad at telling stories?" He glanced down at the eggs, longingly. Savannah thought she heard his stomach growl but it could have easily been an eighteen wheeler come to life a row down.

Nonetheless, she gritted her teeth and gently explained with all the patience she could muster, "I've got some experience with this kind of thing. I can tell the difference between a story and a mosh posh of words you're making up as you go."

"You can?"

"Of course," Savannah shrugged, running a hand through the untamed mass that was her hair. She knew her hairbrush was somewhere lying around, but she merely pulled her jacket tighter on her shoulder and leaned back. "I'm a writer at heart. Savannah Smith, but I doubt you've ever heard of me. I published while I was back in high school, but it was subpar. I decided I'd take a gap year before I went to college and try to get another book out there. Unfortunately, my creative well of ideas has run dry."

Isaac picked at the bacon with his bare hands and she slapped his hand away.

"So this is my well thought out idea." She continued in a tone that suggested it was not thought out at all, "I'll collect notes on real stories from real people and put them in a story of my own."

"Uh, isn't that plagiarism?"

She jabbed her pencil at him, eyes narrowed, "Do you have a story or not?"

Isaac Phobis nodded nervously, tucking his rather large hands in his lap. "Yeah, Yeah I do! I just-- I mean..."

He looked past her at the assortment of blankets and books that haphazardly invaded the small room. Everything from farming to the mob to the depths of the oceans were somewhere in those books. She had kept them with her since she was kid, so naturally they had to come with her on the trip. Isaac however, frowned, "What's that?"

Savannah tracked his movements and looked over her shoulder praying to whatever deity was out that it wasn't a spider or something. She really hated spiders and the last thing she need this early was an eight legs devil's spawn creeping out of--

Isaac's hand reach out and snagged the bacon before she had turned back and he shoved it in his mouth.

Savannah cursed. She threw down her notepad, picked up the plate, and shoved it in his hands, "Get the Hell out of my RV."

He looked bewildered, as he choked down the rest of the bite, "Look, I haven't eaten in--"

"GET OUT!"

Savannah didn't wait for him to move she grabbed his arm and pulled him out of her booth. In any other circumstance it never would have worked, but Isaac was just shocked enough that she managed to get him all the way to door before he offered any type of resistance.

"I have a story--"

She told him where he could shove his story and slammed the door in his face.

"What about your plate?!"

The only response was the engine of the RV roaring to life, astoundingly loud in the quiet truck stop. He scrambled back and the RV wasted no time moving. The lights flashed once, twice and at five fifteen in the morning, Savannah left her last stop in Virginia and headed blindly in whatever direction was closest just as she had been doing since she left home.

(2118 words)