A Sweet Life-kindle

by Andre, Bella

  Kristin turns around, noticing my discomfort and asks too loud, might I add, “Amanda why are you all red? Are you tired, sweetie? Are you okay?”

  Why can’t women read each other’s minds?! It would be so much easier on everyone. Preston’s laughing, I only know because, though I’m behind him, I see his shoulders shake. Translation: he is barely able to contain his mirth. There is no justice in the world, I hate that he knows how uncomfortable he makes me feel. It’s so inconvenient to wear your emotions on your sleeve.

  We get to the gate in record time, meaning Brad was so obsessive about us getting to the airport two hours before our flight that we literally got to our gate two hours before boarding. This is not a good thing. There isn’t much to do while you’re in the Boise airport, except drink coffee and read magazines. If there were shops or at least bookstores, I could find something to do. But a girl can only handle so many magazines and caffeine before a five-hour flight.

  Or can she? I glance at the menu across the way; the coffee shop is already starting to sell Christmas drinks. Kryptonite, they name is peppermint mocha.

  I tell myself no.

  No more caffeine. It’s the last thing I need since I'm going to be sitting so long. But the damn sign's flashing — swear, it’s flashing at me!

  Well, one won’t hurt. Getting up, I go to the nearest stand and order a peppermint latte from a barista who looks less than pleased to have to put down her People Magazine and help a customer. There is something deathly wrong with society when people who are at work don’t want to work. When she finishes, I leave her a fifty-cent tip, hoping to cheer her up, but instead I get a weak smile and a “please come again.”

  Rolling my eyes, I watch as Preston approaches the counter with all that sexy smoothness. Crossing my arms in frustration, I watch the barista jump up from her seat and ask him for his order. She twists her hair, yes, twists her hair as if she is twelve, then tells him it’s “no charge.” Before she hands him his coffee, I see her writing on the side. With disgust, I fight the urge to roll my eyes as I see her digits and name. What is with women throwing themselves at men, particularly at Preston? He, with a sudden pep in his step, turns around toward me.

  “Could you be any more disgusting?” I purposefully bump into him, in hopes that the coffee scalds his hand, and sit down.

  “Excuse me for wanting free coffee? If it makes you feel better, I left her enough tip to pay for it and then some, if you’re thinking that I’m a cheap ass. Poor girl.”

  He smiles as he sips his grande peppermint latte. We have the same taste in coffee?

  “Plus, I’m guessing if it would have been a guy, you would have gotten something free too.”

  I think about this for a second then answer, “You’re right, I would have.” Feeling better, I sip my coffee and look away.

  “Challenge accepted!” he exclaims, getting up from his seat next to mine.

  “What do you mean challenge accepted?” This can’t be good.

  He starts to pull me toward the down escalator as I turn around to yell for help from Kristin. But, as per usual, she can’t read my mind; therefore, she just waves at me, like I am getting ready to go on a ride at Disneyland, and bumps Brad as if to say, Oh, look how cute they are going down the escalator. The last thing she sees is me making a cut-it-out motion with my hand as my head ducks below to the first level.

  “Look, a dude.” Preston points toward a nerdy-looking barista who is reading Theology Today with an interest I can only describe as a little too intense.

  “Piece of cake.” Smoke is about to pour from my ears like a cartoon. To make myself feel better I make the bet sweeter, for me. “I get a free coffee, and you don’t talk to me the entire trip. No texts, no notes, no hand gestures,” I challenge.

  “Deal.” He shrugs.

  I pull out some lip gloss, spreading it across my mouth and approach the counter wearing my most flirtatious smile. “Hi.” I wave. Oh my word, I’m going to lose. Why did I just wave at someone right in front of me? My stomach churns as I think of the plane ride at stake.

  Nudging, breathing in my general direction, arms grazing. Holy shit, I’m going to get arrested for attacking a man in public. I can see the headline now. Woman Taken to Prison for Trying to Prostitute Herself Across Poor Soul with Pretty Eyes.

  Not happening.

  The barista lifts his eyes for a mere second before dropping the magazine in front of him and taking a cup in hand. “What would you like, miss?”

  His voice squeaks on the miss, making me pity him all the more. This is all Preston’s fault!

  Clearing my throat, I try to engage him in conversation so I can flirt, or try to. “So…” I look at his name tag, “John, that magazine looks pretty interesting. Are you studying to be a pastor?” He nods his head yes and blushes as I mentally high five myself for such clever flirting.

  His expression turns serious again as he asks “Did you want coffee or not?”

  Laughing, I twist my dark hair around my finger. “Of course silly, that’s why I’m here.” I make a pretend pushing motion with my hand as if to say, You are so funny!

  But he’s not having any of it, and he looks bored. Not the normal bored where the eyes go dead. No like so bored that he looks offended that I'm speaking.

  HOW CAN I BE MORE BORING THAN THEOLOGY TODAY!

  No offense.

  “Umm,” I stutter, “just a small black coffee.” Taking out the money, I begin to think of ways to ignore Preston.

  The barista accepts my money and gives me some change.

  This time I do not tip. I should have, but Preston would have seen it.

  Walking back toward Preston, I keep my head down, waiting for the jokes to hit, but instead Preston just looks at me with prideful eyes and shrugs. “It’s not because you weren’t pretty enough, you just made him too nervous.” He and I walk side-by-side to the elevators before he says, “He was probably afraid of being rejected.”

  “Nope.” Why am I defending the coffee guy? “He was just more interested in his stupid magazine. Did you see me wave at him?”

  He turns toward me and winks. "My favorite part.”

  “FINE! You win, I lose. I hope you’re happy.” I down the entire contents of my cup and throw it in the trash.

  “Oh no, you don’t get away that easy. There is one other coffee shop upstairs. I say we give it a try, that is, unless you’ve faced enough rejection for the day?”

  “Challenge accepted,” I mutter as we yet again pass Kristin and Brad, this time however they’re both looking in our direction, smiling and tilting their heads as if to say, Oh look, now they are going for a walk! How cute! We will have words later. You can bet your ass.

  We approach the dreaded destination to find two male baristas behind the counter. This should be fun.

  “You don’t have to do this, you know,” Preston says softly. “I promise I won’t tell anyone that theology boy rejected you.”

  I hit him in his muscular shoulder, probably hurting my hand more than his body, and turn to face the music.

  “Just be yourself!” Preston shouts after me as I redden to the shade of ultimate embarrassment.

  Both baristas look up as I approach. By now you must have guessed that I’m extremely keyed-up on caffeine. I had one full cup of coffee along with two shots of espresso. The wise choice is to order a snack or bread to soak up the sugar, or I will be totally out of control in about ten minutes. There is a valid reason for not drinking too much caffeine and pop: I have trouble shutting up when it is in my system.

  I’m sure you’re thinking, Wow, Amanda, you already have that problem. How could it get worse?” To which, I am guessing, you will soon find out that it can indeed get worse.

  “What would you like, miss?” the first one asked.

  He was quite good-looking for a sixteen-year-old. There’s no way I should have ever thought that. I inwardly groan. I am so glad nobody can hear my thoughts. It reminds me of the time I went
to the mall and saw a sign for Abercrombie and went, “Ooo! He’s cute!” Not realizing that the sign was for the little kid. Abercrombie, for kids under the age of eighteen. I was MORTIFIED, and of course, Grandma Ned was with me.

  You can only imagine her response. If I remember correctly, my mouth got washed out with soap while I read the Old Testament section about sexual immorality. If you ever doubted it before, I got to know my Bible around Grandma Ned.

  The cute underage barista is patiently waiting for my order. Clearing my throat, I order a bagel and decaf coffee with cream. The first one types in my order while the other goes to work.

  “Oh no!” the second barista yells.

  I quickly look in his direction fully anticipating a scarring coffee burn

  “What’s wrong?” I ask, trying to keep my voice even.

  “Oh, I just used regular rather than decaf and already put it together. Guess I’ll have to redo it.” He shrugs.

  “NO!” I yell, using my outside voice. “It’s fine. I’ll take it.”

  The baristas look between each other as if I had just asked them if they could spit in my drink and then tell me nicely, “You don’t have to pay for the Americano then. It’s our fault.”

  Walking away, I feel a confident grin begin on my face just as the first barista yells after me. “Miss! Miss! Sorry, but you still have to pay for your bagel!”

  My face tightens as Preston tries to unsuccessfully hide his laughter from me with his coffee.

  Turning around, I walk back to the counter and slam two dollars onto the countertop, telling them to keep the change. Then I strut past Preston with my head held high and bagel full in my mouth. He better not ask for me to share. Tying not to focus on the fact that I lost a bet to Preston, I sit down next to Kristin in a huff.

  “So how was your walk or whatever, or wait a second…” Her eyes lock onto my coffee then back at me. “How many of those have you had?”

  Preston plops down next to me and laughs. “Three. Actually she's had four shots of espresso and one cup of coffee to be exact.” Amused, he flips open the newspaper and smiles as Kristin stares at me with ice in her eyes.

  “You know what caffeine does to you!” She hits Brad to involve him in the conversation, sealing my fate.

  “You did what!” he yells, jumping out of his seat. “You know what caffeine does to you!”

  “Preston dared me!” I protest in true teenage fashion, while Preston looks innocently at both of our friends as if to say, I have no idea what she’s talking about.

  “Just out of curiosity's sake, what does Amanda do when she has too much caffeine?” Preston sits the newspaper on the counter and waits. He’s staring at Kristin and Brad in anticipation of the story he knows they will probably blab.

  “At least let me tell it so I know there are no exaggerations or falsifications.” I look Brad’s way, causing him to look down in shame. He has a tendency to exaggerate everything.

  “So it’s not that big of a deal. It only happened one time and I have since learned my lesson.”

  Preston needs to understand that it's not a regular occurrence for me.

  “You know what?” I say with heavy sarcasm. “I’m not going to tell and neither are you!” Pointing at both of my friends, I dare them with a glare. “True friends keep secrets. Just know that you have nothing to worry about.”

  Kristin eyes me as she turns back to Brad. “Okay, Blue Pants.”

  “Shhh,” I say, patting her on the knee.

  “Did you just call her Blue Pants?” Preston wants to know.

  “Yeah, on account of the blue pants she rocked during her last caffeine surge. Those poor kids didn’t even see her coming.”

  Brad takes off his baseball cap and holds it to his chest as if the children died or something, and I feel my resolve weaken as I look again toward Preston.

  “Fine, I drank a lot of caffeine then wanted to go play laser tag, wore blue pants to blend in to the blue walls in the laser-tag place, and stayed for three hours while I attacked small children with my laser gun.” I try to let the words flow as fast as possible, hoping he won’t catch all of it.

  “She wouldn’t let us leave until she won,” Brad admits, as if he were re-living the event.

  “We were so hungry.” Kristin holds Brad’s hand as they both lean in to touch heads.

  “It was dark. Cold, so very cold,” Brad continues as he closes his eyes as if he is traumatized.

  “Ok. We’re done,” I say as I leave all of them and sit by myself to pout.

  They’re laughing their asses off as as I try to keep the smile off my face.

  It’s hard to stay mad at people like Brad and Kristin. I mean I want to, but whatever, they’re like oatmeal they just hang on the ribs until you give in. With reluctance, I have to admit it has been the most fun start to a vacation I’ve had in a while. Though to be fair my last vacation was a drive to Boise. I stayed at the Holiday Inn and ate a bag of seven dollar peanuts. I live no the edge, seriously.

  So this? Fun, it’s even with Preston, but as I think this, I have a sickening feeling that I have a lot more fun to look forward to. I groan a little as I realize the caffeine is now hitting my stomach full force. I need the bathroom. Now.

  As quick as possible, in efforts to not bring attention to myself, I get up then sprint toward the bathroom. See? Being a runner is useful and applicable in many situations. While in there, I decide to put on some more lip gloss then strut out, finally feeling comfortable and able to carry on a decent conversation. It looks like the plane is already boarding. To be honest, I am a bit excited to be riding in first class but you aren’t going to hear me say that to Preston. No, it would go straight to his head, and that’s the last thing this world needs.

  Chapter Nine

  We shuffle onto the plane, each of us buzzing with excitement. I nearly choke when I see that all of the First Class seats have personal TVs as well as blankets and pillows. Wow, this could be my heaven, complete with a glass that has neverending red wine. Inhaling, I look at my seat number, only to trip over my bag and face-plant into the seat next to me.

  “Straight lines, Amanda. Straight lines,” Preston whispers behind me as he sidesteps and takes his seat in front of mine. I mutter something unintelligible as I crawl to my seat. At this time, I am unaware as to why I thought it would be a good idea for me to sit by the window. I’m terrified of heights. What was I thinking? I lean forward to ask Kristin to switch me places just as she turns around. Shit. She’s going to ask a favor. I know that face. I freaking taught her that face when she needed to get out of taking her Geometry test in eleventh grade. She’s going to ask me to move. That is her pouty face; I know it’s her pouty face. Oh no, don’t do it, Kristin DO NOT DO IT!

  “Panda?” she pleads as she takes my hand within her own and leans in to whisper. “I know this sounds silly, but Brad and I haven’t had much alone-time lately, and what, with the five-hour plane ride and all, we thought it might be fun to sit together. Would you be mad?”

  Of course I’ll be mad! But I can’t say this, not when I want to be a good friend, plus it’s because of them that I’m even on this trip. Okay, it’s not a big deal. I’ll just fake sleep the entire time Preston sits by me. It shouldn’t be hard. Damn it, I’ve had lots of caffeine today. Why is this happening? Not sure if my eyes are twitching because of anxiety or the caffeine, I start to panic, thinking I’m going to develop a nervous tic from all the stress.

  But I’m stuck, so I agree and let Kristin switch with Preston, and I resign myself to my fate.

  ”Hey, buddy,” Preston jokes playfully as he sets his messenger bag underneath the seat in front of him.

  I, however, do not feel like being a buddy. I find myself reaching over to unlock his tray just as he is about to bring his head back up.

  “Crack!”

  It hit his head hard. He glares at me just in time for Kristin and Brad to turn around, concern written all over their faces. “Is everything oka
y?” Brad asks as he eyes Preston rubbing his sore head.

  “It’s awesome,” he answers in an irritating manor.

  I make a thumbs-up sign then stick my tongue out at him when they turn back around. He tries to grab it before I put it back in my mouth but I snap my teeth at him like a piranha. Am I acting childish? Yes, but it’s self-defense. This guy is dangerous.

  You can tell by the way he wears his pants. What type of guy wears pants that expensive? Don’t think I didn’t notice. He’s wearing Rock and Republic jeans. Even I don’t own a pair of Rock and Republic jeans! I let my hungry gaze wander up and stop at his belt. See? Another sign I missed! He wears a belt! Men who wear belts are overcompensating. It’s like they have to show to the world they have a set of balls. I trail up to his tight T-shirt and wince as my eyes meet his.

  His smile turns cocky as he asks, “Looking for something, Amanda?”

  “I was,” I say sweetly and look back down. “But nothing to see there, hmm?”

  Preston's jaw tightens so hard I swear I hear bone crack. He licks his lip and says softly, “You wanna find out?”

  Hell yes, I do! “No.” I sniff and look away so he doesn’t see my tell, my twitchy eye and hand that both want nothing more than for my body to give in to whatever Preston’s offering. “I’m good.”

  “I bet you would be.” He snickers. “Actually, I'm thinking good is more of an understatement.”

  Go away, go away, go away. I turn and glare as his hands move to my thigh and slowly crawl up toward my hip.

  “In fact, if you’re looking for another challenge…”

  “No more challenges.”

  “Fine.” He removes his hand, still smirking.

  My body weeps with the unfairness. My ovaries do a little flip as if to say, We almost had him! I tell them to stop. I’m only twenty-one. I don’t need children yet.

  They reference Mrs. Butterworth.

  I sigh.

  One cat, guys, not ten.

  Leaning down, I tuck everything underneath Brad’s seat and gaze out the window, away from Preston and his peppermint gum and big hands.