by Izzy Daniels
“Gay, remember?” Which he should, since the third thing he said to me was On a scale of one to ten, how homo are you? and he didn’t seem super surprised when I said eleven . He doesn’t really answer but the blonde is walking our way, eyes on the floor as she walks. When she gets to the table I realize I’m a giant perv because this girl looks to be barely eighteen. She gets to our booth and when her eyes find mine my breath catches a little. Her pale blue magnetic orbs stay on mine for only a moment, but when they glide over to Jack’s I feel a tiny sense of loss. What a pair of eyes . But it gives me a chance to look at her profile in closer range. She has a small, slightly upturned nose with a smattering of freckles across it, light pink lips with the bottom one almost pouty by nature. Her blue eyes are the most noticeable of her features, for sure. She has a slender neck and jaw line and in all, she’s very much the young girl-next-door adorable. When her eyes land on Jack her face lights up and her big smile transforms her face from cute to oh, wow . She’s beautiful. She sets down the water pitcher on the table as Jack starts talking.
“Ems, feed me. The beast is awake,” Jack begs. “Oh, this is Brooke. She’s ravenous.” He waggles his eyebrows at me suggestively. Her eyes swing back over to my face and I’m held still by their depths again. Her face goes pink and her eyes fall to her hands, holding a pen and pad from her. Oh my gods, she’s blushing . She’s definitely shy and suddenly I get the feeling I’m going to be in deep trouble. “Brooke meet Emmaline, chef and restaurateur extraordinaire.” One of her eyebrows arches up at that.
“Wow, impressive introduction. I’m honored to be in your presence.” I give her a big grin to try to break the ice a little, but her cheeks just get brighter and she can’t quite meet my eyes again. I’m enthralled. “Could I get your autograph? Emmaline is a pretty name. Is it a family name?” She’s still studying her pen but now she’s chewing her lip.
“No, it’s not a family name,” She says, followed by a sort of quiet afterthought. “My mom’s name was Martha.” I note the was and my silly mood sobers a little bit. The brief flash of pain across her face is all too real for me. “But if I ever do anything worthy of giving an autograph, you’ll be the first.”
“What!? Unbelievable. As your best friend, I get first dibs,” Jack claims. “And anyway I’m the one about to make it a reality for you. I have a plan! A plan so incredible, so fantastic, well you’ll faint but I’ll catch you and while caught, you can bask in my glory.” Her dubiousness makes me laugh again and earns me a quick glance. I force my eyes away from her and back to Jack. He starts telling her, long-windedly, about his idea to do our marketing project for her restaurant dream. While I sit back and watch them I realize they’re probably more boyfriend-girlfriend than best friends.
“Are you guys a couple?” I blurt out of freaking nowhere, completely interrupting Jack’s stream of excited marketing stratagem. They both give a little laugh. Emmaline shakes her head but Jack’s the one who answers.
“No. Emma is like my kid sister. We’ve been friends for too long. More importantly, I don’t date shrimps.” Her face goes to mock outrage and I get the impression that this is a running joke between them. There is obviously a huge difference in their heights, probably over a foot.
“Excuse me, I’m only two months younger. So you’re the obnoxious, barely older, big brother I have never wanted. Who would want to date a giant like you, anyway?” I’m partly amused by their obvious fondness of each other and partly jealous. Jealous? That’s weird. But now that I’ve thought it, it does feel true even if I don’t understand why. I’ll ponder that later. He scoffs indignantly at her and crosses his arms in true pout fashion. Emmaline rolls her eyes at him.
“So, anyway, that sounds great, you guys. Just let me know if you need help. But let me get you something to drink and eat, maybe? Brooke, do you want a minute to look over the menu?” My stomach fluttered when she says my name. I have no idea what’s going on with me. Shit I stopped listening after she said my name. What was the question? She’s now looking at me curiously. Stop staring into her eyes longingly and focus. Did she say menu? Oh, I got this.
“Yes, I’ll need a minute. But I’ll have a water to drink.” She nods. Crushed it .
“Jack, you want a tea and some mozzarella sticks as an appetizer?” But she just walks off before he even answers. He turns his head around to watch her walk away and there’s a smirk on his face when he turns back to me.
“It’s not gonna happen, you know.”
“What’s not going to happen?”
“She’s never shown anyone the time of day. I know what she does to people. I saw your face. Just take my word for it, it’s not going to happen.” He looks a bit sad when he says this to me. But I’m more focused on the part where he thinks he knows me. Okay, maybe I was having lesbianic thoughts there for a minute, but he can’t just assume that and then tell me it won’t happen.
“Whoa, I wasn’t going to try anything. She’s cute, I can appreciate her looks without begging her to go out with me. I’m not desperate. It’s raining cute, single lesbians out there.” It’s really not. But he doesn’t need to know that. For the first time in a really long time, I feel off my game. How did this guy peg me so fast and what is it about Emmaline that had me instantly moony eyed?
“Shut up,” I throw out for good measure. I grab my menu and slump down into the booth a little bit, effectively hiding behind it.
“Uh-huh,” he says. Obviously, he really is good at being obnoxious.
Shortly after that, I ended up flawlessly ordering a plate of pasta carbonara and Jack an entire meaty pizza that he’s nearly finished. Other than ordering and refilling our drinks once, Emmaline hasn’t stopped by our table. But out of my peripheral, I’ve been observing her. Yes, like a creeper. I can’t help it, Jack’s warning only seemed to add to her appeal. Maybe it sounds shallow because it seems that I’m only intrigued by her looks and the challenge, but it’s more. She’s been tirelessly and efficiently taking care of each booth, but none have earned her smile. The one I’ve come to think of as her true smile, the one only Jack has gotten. What else would make her smile like that? How long ago did she lose her mom? Does she still have her dad? Why does she want to have her own restaurant? I want to find out what makes this girl tick and why her best friend is a tall, friend-zoned, carnivorous neanderthal.
Jack and I managed to discuss our schedules and the group project a bit more, enough that we’re going to meet up Thursday afternoon to formally write down our outline, due next Tuesday, to email the professor. Neither one of us seems to be able to relinquish control of the first assignment, so it will have to be done together. Then we got to talking about music and movies and my work, all the while I was trying desperately not to ask questions about Emmaline yet greedily lapping up any morsels about her that Jack drops. I didn’t notice her coming towards us with a to-go box until suddenly she’s right next to me.
“How was everything?” She has a questioning look on her face, directed at me.
“Amazing. Really, the best I’ve ever had.” She smiles at me then. Almost the real one but not nearly close enough.
“That’s great! It’s one of my favorite dishes.” She hesitates and I think she’s going to say more to me, but she doesn’t. She turns to Jack and reaches for his pizza pan. “And Jack, how was your pizza this fine evening?”
“Unappetizing, Lady Emmaline. I couldn’t eat a bite. I demand a full refund and a new pizza immediately.” He slams his fist down on the table.
She gracefully put his leftover slice in the box and removed the pizza tray and stand as she speaks, “Oh yes, I see now that not even a bite is missing. I’m terribly sorry about this, sir. I can tell that you’re upset. Would dessert be an acceptable accommodation?” She says this with feigned worry. Her acting skills are remarkable.
“I will only accept a slice of the chocolate cake with whipped cream and little side of that strawberry filling I like.” He uses his hand to mime a little
cup.
“Right away. And you, my fair maiden, would you care for any of our delectable desserts? They’re sure to satisfy all your sweet cravings.” An unbidden image of exactly what I’m craving enters my mind, but I don’t think now is the best time to mention that . With some effort, I force those thoughts away and attempt to formulate an appropriate answer. I’ll think about the part where she said I was her ‘fair maiden’ later.
“What do you recommend, M’lady?” It comes out more flirtatious than I intended but I don’t back down. She tilts her face to the side and studies me. Her eyes travel from my own brown ones down to my septum and medusa piercings but they linger on my mouth. I can’t tell if she’s looking at my lips or my off-center labret, but I feel a distinct warmth in my lower abdomen. I swear I don’t mean to, but I lick my lips before I can stop myself. Then her eyes jump back up to mine.
“I think I’ll surprise you.” She swipes my empty bowl off the table and quickly walks off between a set of swinging doors. I’m left wondering if there is hidden meaning in her words. No, I’m obviously reading too much into it. I sip my water while trying to not to overthink anything. When I look at Jack’s face he looks a bit dumfounded, maybe just dumb. He doesn’t say anything, though. I take another mouthful of water as the silence stretches. Minutes tick by. Somewhere out in the world babies are being born and people are meeting their maker, but still Jack is staring at me. I’m pretty used to people staring at me. I mean, I am a lesbian covered in ink and piercings. So yeah, people stare. But Jack’s stare is different, like he’s trying to see behind all of that.
“So, this is an interesting development.” He brings his right hand up to rub his chin speculatively.
“What’s that?” I ask. I’m not sure if he’s talking about the same thing, the thing that I can’t stop thinking about, or if he suddenly wants to talk marketing again.
“Emma. I’ve never seen her flirt with anyone. I wasn’t even aware that she liked girls,” he says thoughtfully. “It never occurred to me. She’s never liked a single person. But I’d wager she just flirted with you.”
Yes, yes he is talking about the same thing. Part of me thought maybe she was just teasing me the way she teased him, but a bigger part hoped it was more than that. What does that mean? Did she really just flirt with me? Before I can interrogate him, I see her coming back out of the kitchen carrying two plates. I get a quick mental image of me climbing over the table and shaking him until he answers me anyway. One very hard mental shake later, I look away from Jack and study her intently, looking for a sign that she might be attracted to me at all, or a hint of flirtation, but nothing. A big brick wall of nothing. As she sets the plates down, I only see indifference in her face.
“Chocolate cake with whipped cream and a side of strawberry filling and one crostata di limone. I hope you enjoy.” And just like that she’s gone again, checking in at her other booths. So both of us completely misinterpreted her a few minutes ago. I mean, clearly there is no mutual attraction, no lesbian vibes. It seems that I’m so desperate for female attention that I have to fabricate a server flirting with me. Probably a very straight server.
I push all those kinds of thoughts away and examine my dessert. It looks like a piece of pie, but I can’t identify the filling. I lean in close to study it and it gives off a citrusy scent. I use my fork to slice into it and take a bite. It’s the perfect balance of sweet and tart and it’s incredible. I chew slowly to savor it. My second bite is even better; I can taste the depths of the lemon blending with the simple sugar and almondy flavor of the crust. I have never had anything this delicious and trust me, I have eaten some delicious things. Yes, that is what I mean. But really, this lemon tart thing is up there in the same league. Too soon, I’ve all but licked the plate clean. If I wasn’t filled to the brim with pasta and dessert heaven, I would order seconds and thirds and do it all over again.
Jack, however, is actually licking his plate clean, so I just watch him with equal parts amusement and disgust, and with perhaps some envy. He’s a pretty cool dude, but I feel a tiny bit rejected by a girl I barely know and I’d really love to just go home and slip into a food coma and forget all about those big blue eyes. I stack my remaining dishes neatly and polish off my water. I reach inside my bag to grab my wallet and pull out enough cash to take care of the meal and leave a nice tip.
“Hey, you two, how did you like dessert?” Emma asks as she appears next to me. My wallet clatters against the table in my surprise. Evidently, this tiny blonde is part ninja because I didn’t hear her approach. Again.
“So good, Ems. Great job,” Jack managing to reply without pausing his diligent finger-licking.
“That was amazing, Emmaline. Probably the best dessert I’ve ever had!” I hope she can tell how sincerely I mean that.
“Just what every chef loves to hear. And please, call me Emma,” she says through a major blush.
“Wait, you made that?!” I knew she loved to cook from Jack’s ramblings, but I didn’t realize she was that amazing at it.
“Yeah, they let me do a little cooking here and there. Okay, so here’s the check. I’m gonna clear your plates away. Jack, really, put the fork down there’s only metal left,” Emma admonishes. I grab the check and realize she gave us her employee discount, which makes our bill incredibly cheap. I still hand her the cash for the full amount. She takes it with a hint of a furrow in her brow.
“This is too much. Wait. Are you… is this a date?” She glances at Jack and he looks forlorn as he answers.
“No, sadly, and completely unnaturally, she rejected my advances. Claimed I don’t have the parts for her particular persuasion.” He mimes stabbing his heart with his butter knife. Emma just looks confused by his antics so he clarifies. “Lady parts, she likes female goodies. Full on lesbo that one.” It only takes a second for understanding to spread across her delicate features. I hope it’s not my desperate imagination that sees a tiny spark of interest in her eyes before it disappears. She tells Jack she’ll see him tomorrow and that it was great meeting me and in a flash she’s gone with all of our dirty dishes. Who the hell is this girl?
3
Emmaline
My phone begins its annoyingly buzzy buzz under my head, pulling me from much needed sleep. I groggily click the button and my alarm silences. Sitting up on my bed, I peak out my window to take in the remaining stars and emerging sunlight. I listen carefully to the rest of the house. I hear my own breathing and nothing else so I grab today’s outfit from off the top of my dresser where it remains neatly stacked. Shockingly, it’s a pair of dark jeans and white tee. I pause by my bedroom door to move my desk chair out of the way and open my door as soundlessly as I can. My bathroom is directly across my room, so I shuffle in and get myself showered and ready for my day in fifteen minutes flat. When you don’t wear makeup and have no control over your hair either, it’s a pretty quick process. After a brief stop in my room to grab my sweater and messenger bag, I’m out the door.
Not many people willingly arrive an hour early for their 7:45 a.m. class so parking on campus is better than usual. I make my way to the cafeteria, switching my overstuffed messenger bag to the left side. The world seems so quiet and peaceful; The sun is casting brilliant orange rays out, pushing the dark blues and grays away. The birds in the trees surrounding campus are chirping merrily, likely stuffed with this morning’s victories. I say a quiet goodbye to the pleasant peace of dawn as I pull open the double doors to the cafeteria. The fluorescent lights are harsh and bright in comparison, but I can already smell the freshly brewing coffee and the beginnings of breakfast. The staff, hair nets in place, are working quickly to get the assortments of food prepared and placed in their appropriate places by their 7:00 a.m opening.
I drop my bag on my usual table. I choose it mostly for it’s proximity to coffee, but it’s also a cozy two-seat table tucked in a corner. With my back to the wall, I can see the entire cafeteria while being completely unremarkable. It works well
for people watching. But for now the cafeteria is empty so I pull out my spiral notebook from my bag and flip to the page marked with a paperclip. I need to reread my notes from the last Strategies and Problems in Management class as a refresher. I can’t seem to focus though, no matter how many times I reread the first bullet point. Three tries later and I set the notebook down with a frown. No, I will not get distracted, not now. Mug in hand, I walk over to my beloved dark roast. I grab my dollar from my back pocket and take tiny, painful sips as I walk to the cashier. I can see her eyes glance to the giant clock on the wall above and behind me, probably wanting to point out the time and tell me I’ll have to wait. Operation Beg and Plead commencing in five, four, three… Before I can begin though, her face changes into a friendly smile. She has reconsidered and she says good morning as I hand her a dollar bill. With a school cup, refills are only fifty cents so she hands me back two quarters.
“Good morning. Have a great day, my addiction thanks you.” I slip the quarters in my pocket and hurry back to my chair. I pick up my notes again and proceed to not read a goddamn word. Fine, brain, if you want to lose yourself over a silly pair of brown eyes and luscious lips… no . What am I even thinking? Keep your head in the game, Rhodes . My hand reaches to the bottom of my bag to grab my granola bar. Things take a turn when I accidentally open it so vigorously it flies free from its plasticky confines and directly on the floor, landing with a slide. Great. I lean out of my chair and swipe it back up. One quick look around to see if anyone has noticed my unfortunate event and I see the coast is clear, so I rub it on my pants and take a bite. They probably sweep and mop everyday. Right? Got to keep up with those health codes. It tastes fine. I wash it down with a sip of coffee. Another bite in and I grab my notes once more, this time I read each word. Then I read all three pages of notes. I grab a pen from the front pocket of my bag and jot down the few questions I have so I can look them up in the textbook later. For now though, I pack everything back inside, throw my strap on my left shoulder and grab my cup. I toss my wrapper into the garbage bin as I make my way to the side doors of the cafeteria. I shove my way through as a group of sleepy students start to trickle in from the first shuttles. It’s significantly brighter outside now and I squint until I am across the octagonal courtyard, under overhang of the tall brick buildings. I traverse two perpendicular sidewalks before finally arriving at the College of Business building. Behind the first flight of stairs is my classroom. It’s on the smaller side, with six long curved tables from each side of the room. There’s one girl already here, she’s sitting in the front with her earbuds in and music blasting. Just as I’m setting my bag on the floor and taking a seat at the far end of the front table, the door swings open. I hear the voices of two guys loudly engaged in an discussion on their current economic concerns. They make their way to the farthest table from the front. They never adjust their volume to the quiet of the room so I just let myself eavesdrop for the next twenty minutes.