by Izzy Daniels
After class, I’m supposed to meet Jack at the Coffee Beanery since he has some math class getting out at 10:30 a.m, too. Wednesdays are my busy day and I won't make it into work until late afternoon. My hand is tired from taking notes for the last two and half hours, so I flex and shake it before gathering my stuff and making my way towards the coffee depot (one of the drawbacks to working late hours is the need to recaffeinate at frequent intervals; I mean, it’s a delicious drawback, so I can’t really complain). I stop off in the bathroom first to relieve the diuretic burden of my caffeine addiction. I catch sight of myself in the mirror and can’t stop the internal grimace: my hair is out of control frizzy and the skin below my eyes looks bruised, standing out on my all too pale skin. Speaking of, a cursory glance shows I’m alone in the bathroom, so I pull my shirt up and check the tender bruise on the right side of my ribs, spreading from just under my bra down to the bottom side of my ribs. It’s moved from bright red to dark red with green edges overnight. I hear female voices just outside the door so I shove my shirt down, grab my stuff off the counter, and pick a stall to finish my business.
I can see Jack’s giant curly head already in our spot so I assume he got out of class a few minutes early. “Hey you. Good morning!”
“Hey yourself, missy. Anything you want to tell me?” he asks with his serious face. My pulse jumps and begins racing. What does he know?
“Umm.. hmm? What now?” I gulp.
“Don’t you ‘hmm, what’ me. Are you gay? Last night, I saw a side of you I’ve never seen, Emma. Why didn’t you tell me?” He’s leaning forward now and thank the stars he lowered his voice.
“Whoa, slow down there, lughead. What are you talking about? Can I have coffee first? I like your shirt, it’s pretty. The vomit green really brings out your eyes.” He stares at me for two seconds before he stands up, grabs my mug, and walks off. I watch him walk away. Gay? I never considered it. Alright. I’m giving myself total permission to be honest. Here goes. When I saw Jack walk in with Brooke last night, it was like… I couldn’t not look at her. I knew she couldn’t see me, so I stared, like I was in some kind of trance. I saw her short black hair as she pushed a strand out of her eyes, I saw the lights glinting off her piercings, I saw her slender neck and the tattoos there. Her black v-neck gave me a peek at the full slopes of her breasts, and since I’m being perfectly honest, yes I looked. I saw the slightest glimpse of her midriff and her tight red pants tucked into black combat boots. Her arms were decorated with tattoos and I just wanted a better look. I’ve never seen anyone like her. Not just attractive or dressed like that, but with such confidence. Her self-assurance was captivating. I really didn’t know if I wanted to be her or be with her. Which was definitely a new thought for me. Bonnie slapping the menus into Jack’s hands snapped me out of it and I hustled back to work. So, noticing her, that doesn’t make me... gay. I people watch all the time. I don’t know what Jack thought he saw, but he was obviously wrong. Oh right… being honest . Watching her savor before devouring her dessert caused tingles and throbbing in places that never tingle or throb. That might make me, maybe, a little bit, gay. Well Crap.
Jack sits down with his usual bacon and cheese bagel and nudges my coffee toward me. He doesn’t say anything, just raises his accusatory eyebrow. I’m almost certain he got this technique from his mom. I’ve seen her use it on him and his two brothers when she thinks one of them did something wrong but doesn’t know what yet. Usually, she puts the eyebrow up and waits for one of them to crack under the pressure. It’s a good move, but it won’t work on me. I give him my best smile and hold my coffee mug with both hands. His eyebrow never wavers as he picks up his breakfast and takes a bite, his eyes on me the entire time. His thick jaw moves rhythmically with his chewing. I lean backwards against the sturdy chair and attempt to give him my own version of The Look. I have no individual control over my eyebrows so I know I’m failing, but I stick with it. He chews, I sip. Chew, sip. He increases the intensity of his stare by narrowing his familiar green eyes and I can feel myself slipping. Double crap .
“If you must know, I don’t have answers to those questions,” I say with a nonchalant shrug.
“Emma, you can trust me. I saw you look at her, I heard you flirt with her.” Satisfied with their work, his eyebrows return to their normal location.
“It’s… well.. Okay. I admit, I was a little out of character with her. I may have found myself a little bit attracted to her. But I’ve never been attracted to another girl, or a boy for that matter. I don’t know what you want me to say, Jack. I don’t know what it means.” Now I’m the one leaning forward whispering, a note of panic entering my voice.
“Emma, it’s okay. It’s okay. You don’t have to know what it means. I’m sorry I pressured you to tell me. I thought you knew and just never told me.”
I shake my racing head. “No, I’ve never had to think about it before. Did I make a fool of myself? Oh, god.” My arms fold on the table and I hide my face, worst-case-scenario thoughts taunting me.
“No, you didn’t. It was totally hot, trust me. She definitely thought you were hot. Emma, look at me.”
“No,” comes out muffled through my arms.
“Emmaline Rhodes.” Oh no he did not . “Oh, yes, I went there.”
“What, Jack?” I say, turning my head to the side and looking at him with one eye.
“She was totally into you. I promise, she stared at you the entire time. Why are you hiding?” I let his words sink in. First excitement, then disbelief floods me. This is so bizarre, Jack and I have never had to discuss anything like this. I have always cut him off whenever he asked me about dating or boys.
“Because I’m a spaz, Jack. She’s so… and I’m so… not. I’m just not. It’s not going to happen. Please, can we just let it go? I don’t have time to be interested in anyone.” A sick feeling finds its way into my belly. Someone like her would never be interested in someone like me.
“Fine, Emma, but you’re wrong. Dead wrong. That’s all I’m going to tell you, when you’re ready to hear more, let me know.” He grabs his orange juice and finishes it off. I glance at my watch and realize I have ten minutes until I need to leave for my next class. I’m staring at my best friend and trying hard not to drill him on Brooke. To get her off my mind, I change the subject.
“So, Saturday morning breakfast and a movie? Your turn to pick. Is Nicky coming home for the weekend?” Nicky is Jack’s older brother, he’s a senior in college this year and plays football. Pretty much every Saturday morning I go to his house until it’s time to go to work and we have a big breakfast and watch a movie. Jack is on to my tactical maneuver, but he doesn’t push it.
“Of course, who else is going to feed me? No, he’s not coming home this weekend, but I think next weekend maybe. Mom talked to him on the phone last night so you can ask her,” Jack informs me.
“Alright, I will. I better get going soon. Thanks for my coffee,” I say with a sincere smile.
“Em, I’m meeting up with Brooke tomorrow in the library at 12:30 p.m. You should think about stopping by,” he suggests in a low voice.
“Uhh, yeah. No, that’s okay. I’ve got work. See you later, buttface.” I grab my bag and dash for the exit before he can say anything else.
I’m all done with classes at 3:15 p.m. so I traverse the entire campus to reach my car and head off to the restaurant. Instead of my usual routine, rushing to change and get inside after I park, I take a moment. I have done a magnificent job of not thinking about my first crush. A girl. I have a crush on a girl. Even if it’s doomed and nothing ever actually happens, this is kind of a big deal. I’m nineteen and I have my first crush . I spend another few minutes just marveling at the idea of having a crush, the feelings of excitement and attraction. When I can’t delay any longer, I put those feelings away, in a special mental box.
Joe is in the office today and he kisses my cheek as I grab my apron. He reminds me that tomorrow afternoon, the kitchen is mine to e
xperiment with and he can’t wait to try my next creation. He knows about my dream of owning my own restaurant and he always tells me about the struggles, especially financially, that will take place, but he never stops encouraging me. He lets me do inventory and do mock order forms, he shows me how to operate the computer systems. He really is one of the kindest people I have ever met.
Wednesday nights are not super busy and I get a ton of prep work done for tomorrow so I will have plenty of time to cook. Joe lets me do an appetizer of my own on the occasional weekday. I’m working my way up to doing a solo entree. However, tomorrow I’m going to use the sausage I ordered to make a bread roll. I’m going to fry the sausage with some garlic and then roll it into fresh bread with spinach, dried tomatoes, and some Italian cheeses. Then I’ll use Joe’s recipe for a marinara dip with any orders of it. Joe’s marinara dip is perfection and would compliment just about anything you dipped in it. When I was trying to pick a recipe this is the one that got Jack’s vote so he’s coming in after his… meeting with Brooke. I tighten the knot of my apron forcefully and head over to my station. I get the feeling it’s going to be a long night.
4
Brooke
The wailing of my alarm finally wakes me. Eyes closed, I reach out my arm and smack it off my bedside table. Sadly, the offensive technology doesn’t go far because the cord is trapped against the wall. At least it shut up so I can go back to sleep. Ugh. This is precisely why I have three more alarms set. Waking up is hard, not a big fan. When the next alarm goes off, I’m already shutting it off. What day is it? Oh, right, Thursday. I have no classes until a 1:45 p.m. but I have to meet up with Jack in the library before then. Which makes me think of Emma and how completely not gay she is… I think. I really need to replace my gaydar batteries.
If waking up is hard, actually getting out of bed is nearly impossible. I live in a one-bedroom apartment on the second floor of a complex not too far from the university. There are mostly college students living in this complex, some that graduated and just don’t know where they’re headed. Since most are also students, there is a shuttle that runs every hour on the hour from 8:00 a.m. to 6:00 p.m. and it costs only quarters to ride. The only downside: it’s utterly packed from morning to night and if you want to make it on the bus you have to get there at least thirty minutes early to wait in line. I’m always glad I don’t have to take it. A few times when I’ve been on my way to campus I watch them stuff themselves into every crevice of the bus in ways that are probably not safe at all. I usually give someone a ride, but my jeep only seats two comfortably.
I glance over at my desk and my computer screens and try to convince myself to get out of bed and finish my work. I have a Friday deadline to meet. A quaint floral shop, In Bloom, is located in a tiny shopping center a few miles down the road. It’s owned by a the sweetest lady, Barbara, and she asked me to design her site and help her program it for online orders. All I have left to do is upload and edit some of the pictures I took of the shop and the flowers. Five more minutes and then I will definitely get out of bed. I lay back and stare at my ceiling and once again, thoughts of Emma float around my traitorous brain. I am completely aware of the fact that we only talked briefly and I’m obsessing like a borderline stalker, but the way she stared at my lips is haunting: It was incredibly sexy.
With some frustration, mainly sexual, I get out of bed and into the shower. The chilly water washes over me, but eventually my goosebumps fade as the water warms up. I take my time lathering up. Telling yourself not to think of something is pointless but I’ve found that staying busy helps. I make my way out of my bedroom and to the kitchen. When you walk in the front door, you have my living room to the left with nice big windows and my small kitchen to the right. If you follow the hallway dead center you’ll reach my bedroom and the bathroom right outside of it. I walk over to the fridge and grab a bottle of water and a banana. I set both down on my computer desk in my room as I boot up. Time to finish this website and get paid. I’ve been a freelance photographer and website designer since I graduated high school, monetizing a knack for creating attractive layouts and combining them with original photos and Photoshop magic. My graphics teacher taught me how to code and gave me a few books, but I picked it up quickly. I make pretty good money, but I want to turn it into a business. After high school, I wandered a bit, working here and there, taking some prerequisite classes online. But now I’m twenty-two and I want to get serious about turning it into a really great career. So here I am, taking business and accounting classes.
A few hours later and I have to get ready if I want to be on time for my meet up with Jack to get that outline done. I want to score one of the private rooms because, maybe, I am a little bit hoping he talks about Emma. For example, what’s her favorite color? How long have they been friends? Does she like road trips? What are the chances I’ll get to take her on a date? Sigh . I habitually apply my thick black eyeliner, winging it up slightly on each eye and topping it off with a few layers of mascara. Some light blush and clear gloss finish my look for the day. I have a mix of clothes, from skirts and tight dresses to baggy, button-ups, and thrift store rejects, because my style really depends on my mood for the day. I grab my oversized olive green pants and a form hugging black tank. My trusty boots are my go-tos. They’ve been with me through everything.
I can see the shuttle line as I make my way around my building, which is third back from the entrance of the complex. I unlock my jeep and set my stuff gently in the crowded back. I keep alot of emergency essentials in there. I like to be prepared, so I have a blanket, a flashlight, a first aid, kit, and a few of those freeze dried meals. I spent plenty of nights sleeping in this baby between state lines. The sun has been beating down on it long enough for it to be boiling inside and I instantly feel perspiration on my lower back. I pull out of my spot and stop near the shuttle line, I lean out and ask the girl in the pajamas with the giant backpack at the back of the line if she wants a ride to campus. Despite the fact that it’s eleven, she’s clearly overslept and I can empathize. She glances at me dubiously but then decides either that being murdered by me beats waiting for the bus or that I’m harmless and a ride sounds pretty good.
“Thanks! I really appreciate this. I’m Morgan,” she says as she climbs up into the passenger seat.
“No problem, I’m headed there anyway. I’m Brooke. Buckle up.” I smile at her and she smiles back. She’s cute, she has dark blue eyes and her face has rounded edges and tiny dimples in each cheek. I’m not picking up any gay vibes from her though.
Campus parking is such a bitch. I end up having to park in the furthest row in the back lot. Meanwhile, Morgan is telling me about her major. She is a freshman studying to become a social worker but her three roommates are partiers and they have people coming in and out at all hours and loud music is a constant. I notice she keeps staring at my arms, but thankfully she doesn’t ask what all my tattoos mean. She seems to be struggling under the weight of her backpack halfway into the trek through the lot. She has an enormous sweater on which I’m assuming is to hide her pajamas and I can see her starting to sweat.
“Let me carry your bag for a bit. You should take off that ridiculous sweater before you have a heatstroke and I have to feel guilty for the rest of my life that you died on my watch. Do you want that for the amazingly kind stranger that gave you a ride?” She looks a little alarmed but decides to take my advice. She hands me her bag and holy hell is it heavy. I force it on one shoulder while we walk and she struggles to get her sweater off. When she finally gets it off I notice she’s wearing a shirt with a ton of cats on it. She notices me looking at them.
“I like cats. So what?”
“Right on, sister,” I say with a smile. She ties the arms of her sweater around her waist and fixes her messy brunette bun. She throws me a dimpled smile and pulls her bag off my shoulder and replaces it on her back. I have no idea how she hasn’t snapped in two. Before we part ways, she profusely thanks me for the ride. A
s I cross the wide stone quad on my way to the library I think I see the sun glinting off a familiar head of blonde waves passing by toward the parking lot and my stomach does a tumble when I think of Emma. But just as I think of her, I lose Maybe-Emma in the crowd of students rushing through the quad. Someone’s shoulder brushing into mine reminds me that I am supposed to be headed to the library.
There’s no such luck getting one the of the private rooms, they are always the first to go. But I linger outside the doors, trying to look fierce and intimidating, trying to work mental voodoo on them. If only I could use the Force, you want to leave, these are not the rooms you are looking for. Surprisingly, I only have to stare threateningly for ten minutes before a group of four pack up and leave. I dramatically and unnecessarily dive into the room. There is literally no one else waiting for one right now, probably because I scared them off. While I pull my stuff out to work on the outline, I send Jack a text letting him know my location. What I am not doing is plotting how to stealthily extract information from him. Nope, not doing that at all.