by Betsy Flak
A frown pulls at the corners of your mouth, but you follow Paige as she sashays out of the classroom. With Harry trailing in your wake, you and Paige stop by your lockers. Then the three of you head to your next class.
The rest of the day is uneventful. You shuttle from class to class to class, sometimes with Paige, sometimes with other friends. Magda does not show up in any of them.
One thing is out of the ordinary, however. Four different times—once in the cafeteria, once on the stairway, and twice by your locker—goosebumps run up your arms. Each time, Magda stands only a few feet away. Each time, you and Magda exchange a smile behind Paige’s back.
After the last bell rings for the day, you rush up the stairs to your locker.
Paige is already there, sliding a violet notebook into its slot in her organized rainbow. When you arrive, she beams up at you. “Hey there! You wanna hang out with Julia and me?”
Your hand slips into your pocket to collect your phone. You check the time, then shake your head. “Can’t. I got a shift over at Corner Coffee. It starts in fifteen minutes.” That’s just enough time to ride your bike over to Fruitvale’s downtown and make yourself a mocha before your shift officially starts.
Paige’s index finger pulls at her lower lip. “Hmmm. What if Julia and I come to Corner Coffee with you?”
Now there’s a thought. Bryce used to be a real hard-ass when it came to having friends over during shifts. But ever since he and Sammy got together, he’d become much more chill. “Yeah, sure. I mean, Bryce might kick you out, but I think Sammy’s workin’ this afternoon too.” You grab your faded backpack, empty except for the Corner Coffee T-shirt and a library book for your dinner break.
“Oh, so they’re still a thing?” Paige leads the way down the stairs.
“Yup, ever since early this summer. I mean, I’m happy for Bryce, I’m glad he found someone, and certainly Sammy’s existence makes my life easier. I just wish they didn’t disappear into the back room quite so often, if you know what I mean.”
Paige pokes you in the ribs as you exit the front doors and work toward the bike rack. “Oh, please, like you wouldn’t do the exact same thing if you worked with your significant other.”
“What was that? Something about a significant other?” Julia pops up over your shoulder. Her brown eyes look you up and down, like she’ll see your significant other on you.
Having reached the rusty bike rack, you kneel down to unlock your bike. “No, Julia, we were just talkin’ ’bout Bryce and Sammy.”
Julia bites her lower lip, then hops over her bike. With a foot on either side, she ties her loose curls into a tight ponytail. “Oh, right. Are we headin’ to Corner Coffee then?”
“Yup.” Paige leaps on top of her bike and streams away, pedaling as hard as she can south along State Ave toward Fruitvale’s downtown.
You and Julia follow. Eight—instead of the usual ten—minutes later, you stop in the alleyway a block away from Corner Coffee. It’s the only one with bike racks, even if they are across from the dumpsters. Scrunching your nose at the rancid scent, you hold your breath. Above you, the fire escapes from the apartments over the library and the other shops loom.
Your heart jumps into your throat.
The brick walls close in on you, blocking out the sun. The alley’s exits on either side drift farther and farther away. The hairs on the back of your neck prickle.
You shudder, shaking off the doom and gloom. This is where you always park your bike. There is nothing different today from any other day, except that it’s the first time you’ve come here after school.
Behind Paige and Julia, you hurry out of the alley and onto State Ave. Late afternoon sunlight streams down, peeking between two puffy clouds. Your bare arms stretch out to either side, baking in the sun’s caress. When Paige and Julia stop in front of a boutique’s spotless window, you raise your face to the warmth with your eyes closed. A breeze tickles your arms and legs.
After a couple minutes, you peer at Paige and Julia from between slitted eyes. They’re pointing at and discussing the shoes displayed in the window, a variety of platforms, stilettos, and wedges.
You frown. If you know Paige, this is the beginning of a shopping trip—one that you can’t join. You slide your phone out of your pocket and check the time. Less than five minutes left. As it is, you won’t be able to make your mocha before your shift.
Paige moves toward the glass door of the shop with Julia on her heels. When her hip nudges it open, a string of bells tinkles. Paige glances back at you and tilts her forehead toward the opening, inviting you in.
You shove your hands into your pockets and shake your head. “Sorry, I can’t. It’s ’bout that time.”
“That’s right! I forgot you have to work today. Don’t worry, we’ll meet you at Corner Coffee after a li’l harmless window shopping.” Paige waves goodbye, then disappears into the store. Julia does the same.
Window shopping, indeed. You stomp your way down the sidewalk and across the mouth of another alley to arrive at Corner Coffee. As always, the sign of a steaming coffee mug half your height greets you. You walk past the first cheery window with its baskets of fake coffee beans and potted plants, straight toward the center door. You tug it open with a grumble.
A line winds through the tables, at least ten people deep. Your brows furrow. It’s not usually this busy on a weekday afternoon. As you stride toward the back counter, you peer around your annoyed customers.
Ah, that explains it. Bryce is here on his own. You pass through the wooden gate on one side of the counter and join him in the workers’ area. Dodging his frantic movements, you head to the closed door behind him. You crack it open, then twist toward Bryce. “No Sammy today?”
“Not yet,” Bryce growls, his back to you while he fiddles with the espresso machine. A cloud of steam swirls around him.
You slip behind the door and enter the break room-slash-inventory area. Leaving it open a sliver, you unzip your floppy backpack and get out your book and the black T-shirt emblazoned with the Corner Coffee logo. Then you tuck your bag into your cubby. You poke your head around the open door. “Trouble in paradise?”
“Didn’t say that.”
You peel off your regular T-shirt and replace it with the Corner Coffee one. In the open doorway, you wriggle your timecard at Bryce. “You want help or do you want me to wait the one minute until my shift officially starts?”
He rolls his green eyes while delivering two steamy mugs onto the raised serving counter. “Help, please.”
After punching your timecard, you begin a hectic shift filled with impatient, irritated customers. By the time Julia and Paige arrive well over an hour later, you’re hot and sweaty. You push back a strand of hair sticking to your forehead. “Hey guys. What do you want?”
“Store credit?” Paige winks.
“Sorry, no can do. Bryce is here and watching me like a hawk.” You tip your forehead toward Bryce and the busy espresso machine. While you usually pay for Paige’s drinks out of your own money and call it “store credit,” you’re saving up for a car. If you buy Paige’s on “store credit,” you’ll have to buy Julia’s too.
“Ohhh-kay.” Paige points at the iced coffee you poured for yourself during a rare break in customers. “I’ll just have what you’re having.”
“Me too,” Julia pipes in.
“Large?”
Paige and Julia nod as one.
You get out the plastic cups and the marker, then mutter, “Okay, two large iced coffees for?”
Paige giggles.
Embarrassment floods your cheeks. You scribble “Paige” on one cup and “Julia” on the other. “Sorry, it’s been a long day already.”
“It’s okay, hun.” Paige grins up at you.
You smile. It’s been a rough start, but it seems to be slowing down a bit. Besides, Bryce has to give you a dinner break at some point. Now you’ll have someone to spend it with.
The bell attached to the door chimes
. As you collect the cash from Paige and Julia, two people enter the café.
You add Paige’s and Julia’s cups to Bryce’s queue. “Okay, you’re all set.”
Paige and Julia move down the counter to the serving area. You glance behind them to check on the new customers ambling toward you.
You stifle a gasp.
There they are, NFHS’s newest students, the twins Magda and Davey.
Your heart hurtles away from you like a runaway train. “W-welcome to C-Corner Coffee. What can I get you on this f-fine day?” you stutter through the rehearsed greeting.
Davey scans the chalkboard menu behind you. His dark brown eyes scrunch at the corners when he smiles. “A large black coffee will work fine, thanks.”
“What type?”
“Ummm…” Davey chews on his full lower lip, his gaze raised toward the menu. “The Kona blend, I think.”
You enter Davey’s order on the cash register. “No problem. Mug or cardboard cup?”
“Mug, please.”
After writing “blk-k” on a neon post-it, you add it and a clean mug to Bryce’s queue. Then you switch to Magda.
Her eyes—a reddish brown—peruse the menu. When they finally meet yours, they smack of challenge. “I’ll have a large soy sugar-free vanilla latte, extra foam, extra hot, with a bit of cinnamon, please.”
You arch your eyebrow. “High-maintenance much?”
Magda shrugs. “I like it how I like it. Besides, I am lactose-intolerant, so one of those details is needed. The rest I just prefer.”
“Fair enough.” You wink. “I think I can handle it. Mug or cardboard cup?”
“Mug, please.”
You mark up a post-it with all the details of Magda’s order—including a note that you’ll be making the drink—then add it and her mug to Bryce’s queue. “All set. Your drinks will be delivered down there.” You gesture toward the opposite end of the polished counter.
“Thanks,” the twins say in unison. It’s more cute than creepy. You think.
You ring up the final customer behind them, then turn to the line of empty cups and mugs awaiting Bryce’s attention. Like a good little worker, you grab the next in line, which happens to be an iced mocha. You prepare and deliver it to the waiting customer, then return to the queue.
This time, Paige’s and Julia’s plastic cups are up next. You scoop ice into each one, then pour the concentrated coffee. It pops and fizzles over the ice. You leave room for cream in Paige’s drink and fill Julia’s to the brim. After snapping on the plastic tops, you hand Paige and Julia their beverages. Over your shoulder, you peek back at the cash register.
No one waits there.
Paige adds an abundance of cream and sugar to her iced coffee. Taking a sip, she glances askance, toward the whispering Davey and Magda. Her hazel eyes narrow. “I think we’re gonna go…”
A butterfly wing tickles your stomach, but you react with the expected alarm. “What? No! I just—”
“Yeah, I think we’ll hang out at Julia’s instead.” After cutting you off mid-sentence, Paige casts a final disapproving look at the twins. She heads out the door with Julia on her heels.
You turn away from Paige’s disapproval and grab Davey’s empty mug. You fill it, then slide it over the counter toward the waiting Davey. “Here you go.”
Davey grins, his straight, ivory teeth standing out in the dim lighting of Corner Coffee. “Thanks.”
“And what about mine? Or couldn’t you handle it?” Magda teases.
You rise to her challenge. “Don’t you worry about it. Your coffee’s up next, Mags.”
Davey splutters into his coffee cup, then peeks at his sister.
Magda’s smile grows wider. With her hands on her hips, she tilts her head to the side. Her wild curls bounce with the movement. “Prove it.”
“Oh, I will.” You collect Magda’s mug and prepare her drink exactly as ordered.
When you hand it to her, Magda places a five-dollar bill in the tip jar.
Your eyebrows crawl up your forehead in surprise. You fish the bill out, then extend it back to her. “Magda, I couldn’t—”
She waves you off. “That’s for you never calling me ‘Mags’ again.”
You pocket the five. You’ll just have to return it later. With a “Mags” attached. “Thanks, Magda.”
“No problem. Um, so, I guess we’ll see you later?”
“Sure thing,” you reply.
As Magda and Davey weave through the tables toward the back booth in the corner, Davey twists around. Walking backward, he raises his mug and calls, “Thanks again.” His sunbeam of a smile flows over you.
The bells near the door tinkle. Sammy strides through it.
You rush out from behind the counter and trot over to him, if only to avoid staring after Davey and Magda like a lost puppy. “Sammy! Bryce is so pissed at you for bein’ late. Be careful.”
Sammy runs a rough hand through his mussy hair, but his smile doesn’t fade. “You worry too much.” His pinky wiggles at you. “I’ve got Bryce wrapped around my little finger.”
After stepping around you, Sammy passes through the gate to join Bryce behind the counter. His leather messenger bag flaps against a thick thigh. He slings an arm around Bryce’s hunched shoulders. “Bryce, baby, how are you?”
Shrugging Sammy’s arm off, Bryce finishes the final drink with a dollop of homemade whipped cream. He growls, “You’re late.” Then he hands a middle-aged man the cardboard cup. Whipped cream rises over the brim like a snowy mountain range over a valley.
Sammy’s almond eyes widen. “I know, and I’m so sorry.” His fingertips brush against Bryce’s forearm. “How can I make it up to you?”
Without a word, Bryce retrieves a teal Corner Coffee apron from under the counter. He slams it into Sammy’s broad chest. “You can start by working.” Bryce storms off into the back room, leaving you and Sammy alone.
Sammy shrugs, then peels off his charcoal T-shirt. He flexes his bare six-pack while he takes his sweet time searching his bag for his Corner Coffee attire. His dark gaze flashes up to yours. Sammy whispers, “Is he watching?”
You snicker. “What do you think, Sammy? He’s in the back room with the door shut.”
“Doesn’t hurt to put on a show, just in case.” Sammy tugs the black shirt over his abs at last. His stubby fingers tighten the strings of his apron around his hips. “Bryce’ll come ’round, he always does. Just gotta give him some time to sulk first. Although…” Sammy peers at his phone, then slips it back into the pocket of his cargo shorts. “You mind takin’ dinner first? I think he’s gonna need a li’l more time than usual today.”
You bite your lower lip. Your eyes flick toward the back booth where Davey and Magda disappeared. “Actually…”
Sammy follows the movement, not that he can glimpse them through the high walls of the booth. His eyebrow arches. “You got something of your own goin’ on today?”
Your cheeks flush. “I dunno…maybe…I mean, pro’ly not.”
Despite your incomprehensible statement, Sammy nods. “All right. You let me know when you need dinner. Bryce and I will go late if it helps.” He glances askance, at the break room’s still-closed door. “Bryce might need a li’l extra cooling off anyway.”
“Sounds good.” You change the subject to Sammy’s favorite, “So, how was school today?” While Sammy launches into a blow-by-blow description of his day, you straighten things up in, around, and over the counter.
You’re listening to his lunchtime drama when Magda and Davey exit the back booth. They make a beeline for you.
Your stomach flips once, twice, three times. With more effort than Sisyphus pushing his boulder up the hill, you lift your chin and meet their eyes. You feign confidence. “Can I get you anything?”
Magda casts an inexplicable look at Davey, then slides her empty cup across the counter. “Nope, I’m gonna head out for dinner. Davey?”
Davey shakes his head. “I’ll get dinner later.�
� He extends his mug toward you. His white teeth blaze in the setting sun. “Refill?”
If you accept Davey’s mug and refill it, click here.
If you instead make Sammy refill Davey’s coffee so you can follow Magda out the door, click here.
“Paige, wait. We don’t have to do this,” you plead.
The chain swirls at Paige’s side. Her dark gaze narrows. But Paige does not attack.
You clutch a sliver of hope. “Listen, Paige, I forgive you. I forgive you. I get it, you did what you had to do to survive.” Your thumb jerks toward Khan standing and watching a safe twenty feet away. “It’s this jerk who made you do it. He’s the one at fault. He’s the one I blame.”
Paige’s black eyes dart away from you and toward Khan.
A hint of concern laces Khan’s tone. “Paige, it’s a trick. You can’t trust anyone, remember? You got all those innocent people killed. Would you forgive someone for that?”
Paige looks you up and down. Her sculpted eyebrows furrow in thought. After an eternity, she answers, “Yes, I would.”
“And I do,” you reassure her without pause. Out of the corner of your eye, you assess your actual enemy: Khan. Your new fangs throb.
Khan spins his dagger between long, spiderlike fingers. “Don’t forget that I have this. Remember, Paige? Remember how it burns?”
Paige nods. “But it’ll be hard to hit two of us at once.” She steps forward.
So do you.
Khan backs up.
Paige glances at you and hides her hand behind her thigh. Just like when you were kids teaming up against the class bully, she holds three fingers up. They count down while Khan brandishes his blade.
All those old stories better be true. You’re going to need all that super strength, super speed, super agility—all that superhero stuff in your villain body—to defeat Khan.
Paige’s fingers collapse into a fist. You and Paige launch toward Khan as one.
Coward that he is, Khan spins on a heel and tries to run away from you. You land on his back with your arms wrapped around his neck, an inch faster than Paige. The knife clatters along the cement floor.
You and Paige drag Khan down to the cold concrete. You stay on Khan’s back. Your knees dig into his spine, pressing his stomach to the ground. The heels of your hands force his shoulders into the cement.