The Espressologist

by Kristina Springer

  “Okay, now spread,” Mom says. I yank the turkey’s legs apart and I feel a little dizzy. I don’t know why, but I turn back to the sink and open one eye to see what Mom is doing. Just then I see her whole forearm disappear into the turkey and then reappear with a mound of gushy red turkey innards.

  “Oh, my god!” I yell. I let go of the turkey legs, cover my mouth, and run out of the kitchen to the bathroom.

  I hear my mom sigh and Susie say, “Don’t worry, Auntie Cheryl, I’ve got it.”

  But I don’t even care. Let Susie hold the turkey’s legs. I’m so not going back in there.

  After a moment of dry heaving over the toilet, I step to the sink and squirt three large globs of antibacterial soap onto my hands. I scrub for a few moments, trying to erase any evidence of the last few minutes.

  I head to my room to think about what to do next. Well, I’m certainly not about to eat turkey after what I’ve just seen. A smile spreads over my face as I remember Will’s invitation yesterday and I decide to attempt slipping out and hitting his Thanksgiving celebration. I pick up yesterday’s pants off the top of my laundry pile and search for Will’s phone number. I find the piece of paper, grab my cell phone off my desk, and climb up on my bed to make the call. I dial his number, mentally preparing what I’m going to say as I hear someone pick up.

  “I’m sorry, the wireless number you are trying to reach is not in service,” a mechanical woman’s voice says to me.

  “What?” I say. I take the phone away from my ear and look at it. “That can’t be right.” I hit END on my cell phone and then dial the number again. The same robot chick answers.

  “I’m sorry, the wireless number you are trying to reach is not in service.”

  I snap my phone shut and lean back on my pillows. I wonder what happened. Did his parents find out he failed his quiz and turn off his cell phone service? No, that would be overly dramatic, wouldn’t it?

  I hope he is okay. What if he got in a terrible accident? He could have been standing too close to the train tracks on his way home last night when he heard someone yell his name. Only it wasn’t him they were calling: it was a girl named Jill. But it was too late; he turned too fast, lost his footing, and fell right onto the tracks. Before he could scramble off, WHOOSH! He was run over by the orange line! Oh, no. Poor Will. He’s probably lying in a hospital bed somewhere calling out my name.

  “Jane . . . Jane . . . Jane . . .”

  But no. That doesn’t make sense either. His phone would have just forwarded to voice mail if it had been squashed by a train. That, and I’m sure there probably would have been something on the news.

  I lie on my bed for a few more minutes and then I sit bolt upright, suddenly feeling a little nauseated again. Did he give me a fake phone number? No. I mean, he wouldn’t do that, right?

  I try to read my book, which is really pretty good, but it doesn’t take my mind off the whole Will phone number thing. I decide to go on instant messenger and see if there is anyone else online to talk to. I log on and a moment later see my buddy list window appear. I scan the list—Megan87, Beerfreak111, HotButterKisses, and EM2009. Yes! Em is online. I quickly send her a message.

  baristachick09: EM!! OMG, I’m so glad u r online!!!

  EM2009: Hey, Happy Turkey Day!

  baristachick09: Seriously, no turkey talk. : (

  EM2009: Y? What’s wrong?

  baristachick09: Em, am I totally lame? Do u think Will likes me?

  EM2009: Will, who gave you his #, Will? Totally.

  baristachick09: That’s just it.

  EM2009: ???

  baristachick09: I called the #. Not in service.

  baristachick09: r u still there?

  EM2009: Yeah. Just thinking.

  baristachick09: It’s bad, right?

  EM2009: I dunno. Maybe, maybe not. Maybe something happened?

  baristachick09: Like what?

  EM2009: I don’t know, ask him when u c him.

  baristachick09: Maybe. : (

  EM2009: Cheer up. It’s a holiday! : )

  baristachick09: Y r u in such a good mood?

  EM2009: : ) : ) : )

  baristachick09: What? Tell me.

  EM2009: Cam=AWESOME.

  baristachick09: u talked to him?

  EM2009: Yeah. A few times. We were just IMing but he had to go help cook. OMG, what a sweetie.

  baristachick09: He is.

  EM2009: We r going out tomorrow night.

  baristachick09: u r? Cool.

  EM2009: u r ok with that, right? r u mad?

  baristachick09: No.

  EM2009: r u sure?

  baristachick09: Yeah.

  EM2009: Remember—u set us up . . .

  baristachick09: I know, I know. Not mad, promise. Just thinking about the Will thing.

  EM2009: Don’t let it ruin your day. 4real.

  baristachick09: Ok.

  EM2009: My mom is calling. Got2go. c u tomorrow, k?

  baristachick09: c u.

  I log off and sit back in my desk chair. I know I set Cam and Em up and I am happy that Em is happy but . . . I don’t know. I guess I’m a little surprised that they’ve hit it off so quickly. They’re both awesome, so I guess I shouldn’t be too surprised. Ugh. It’s probably this whole Will thing making me feel weird. I push away from my computer, climb back into bed, and throw my fuzzy pink covers over my head. Maybe a nap will help.

  It’s still dark out after I’ve slowly trudged into the store. I can’t believe I have to work this early, but it’s Black Friday, our busiest day of the year. Everyone comes in for coffee to keep warm and awake while they wait in line at electronics or toy stores or wherever else all the big sales are. I’m trying to mentally prepare for the day of craziness when I see a sleepy-eyed Em come in.

  “Hey, Jane,” she says. She yawns and walks to the break room to put her stuff away. She comes back up front and helps me arrange the chairs.

  “Tired?”

  She yawns. “Uh-huh.”

  “I’ll go make some drinks to wake us up.”

  “Good idea.”

  “Have you tried the maple macchiato yet?” I ask.

  “No, but I’ll drink anything this morning. I need something to kick me into gear.”

  I step behind the counter and turn on the espresso machine. Derek comes out from his office and gives me a look.

  “Jane, I need to see you,” he says.

  Shoot. He looks pissed. What could I have done now? I follow him back to his office and take a seat.

  “What’s up?” I ask.

  “Well,” he starts, “I don’t want to take the word of one employee over another, but if there is something going on I need to stop it right now.” I stare at him blankly.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You’ve been doing well lately, Jane. Really.”

  “Okay . . .”

  He sighs heavily. “Are you giving out free drinks to your friends?” he asks.

  “What?” I hope I sound shocked. “No, of course not! Who would say that about me?”

  “I really shouldn’t say,” he answers slowly, but instantly I know. It’s that stupid middle-aged Botox-faced Daisy.

  “Daisy told you that, didn’t she?” I ask. Derek holds up both hands in protest.

  “I really shouldn’t say,” he repeats, shaking his head from side to side.

  “You don’t have to,” I say. “I know it is her—she is totally jealous of me. And how can you trust someone whose face doesn’t move when she talks? You wouldn’t even know if she’s lying.”

  Derek smirks at this, but then quickly goes back to stone-faced.

  “Okay, like I said, I don’t want to take one employee’s word over another’s. But if you are giving away free drinks, you need to stop immediately. It is grounds for dismissal.”

  “I’m totally not, Derek,” I lie, but mentally promise myself to never do it again.

  “All right,” he says. “Go on back up front an
d finish setting up.”

  I nod and rejoin Em.

  “Unbelievable,” I say in a low voice when I’m within earshot of her.

  “What?” she asks.

  “I’m going to totally kill Daisy when I see her. She told Derek that I’m giving away free drinks to my friends.”

  “Omigod, what a witch!” Em says. She stops refilling the cookie tray to look at me.

  “Yeah, I can’t believe she’d do that to me,” I say. I twist my hair with my fingers.

  “Especially when I’ve seen her giving away low-fat muffins to her Jazzercise friends!” Em says.

  “Jazzercise?” I giggle at the thought of Daisy dancing around a room with a bunch of women. “Yeah, I guess I can see that.”

  “Well, I know why she did it,” Em says.

  “Why?”

  “She wants your job.”

  “Really?”

  “Uh-huh. Daisy thought she should have been promoted to assistant manager.”

  “Why? I’m totally better than her and I’ve been here longer,” I say.

  Em shrugs.

  “What a brat.”

  “You definitely have to put her in her place,” Em says.

  “I will,” I agree. “For starters, I think someone should be on bathroom cleaning duty for at least the next month.”

  Em nods and gives me a thumbs-up.

  By five-twenty a.m., we’re ready to open up the store.

  “You still haven’t asked me about Cam,” Em says.

  “I’m sorry, I meant to. What’s going on?”

  “Well,” she tells me, her eyes lighting up, “he’s taking me roller skating tonight! Can you imagine? I haven’t been roller skating since I was like ten.”

  I smile. “That is so cute.”

  “Then he wants to go to a fifties restaurant for cheeseburgers and milkshakes.”

  “It sounds like you guys will totally have fun.”

  “Seriously, Jane,” Em says, refilling the stack of cups by the register, “I didn’t think this was a good idea at all, what with the whole Jason thing, but it has really made me feel better! And Cam is awesome. You are such a great Espressologist!”

  “A what?” Derek appears behind us, fastening an apron around his back, preparing to help us with the expected crowd.

  “Oh, um . . .” Em stammers, looking back and forth between Derek and me.

  “Nothing?” I offer.

  “No, I heard you guys. You said Jane is ‘a great Espressologist.’ What did you mean? What is an Espressologist?” I look down at the floor, shaking my head slightly, indicating to Em that I want her to keep her mouth shut. Em glances at me and then looks back at Derek.

  “I’ll tell you but you can’t get mad at Jane. Because it’s totally a cool thing.”

  “Em!” I warn.

  “What’s the big deal, Jane? It is so cool,” she says.

  “Now you are making me nervous. Start talking,” Derek says.

  “Well, like I said, it’s really awesome,” Em begins, and I sigh heavily, trying to prepare for another verbal lashing from Derek. “Jane has been keeping this notebook for a really long time. She records all the drinks people order and what type of person they are. It’s kind of like she’s typecasting people based on their coffee preference or something.”

  I inwardly recoil, closing my eyes and remembering how I had lied and told Derek my notebook was for my notes on drinks for the “Assistant Manager’s Specialty Drink of the Week.” I open one eye, turn my head, and glance at Derek. He’s staring at me, obviously remembering our conversation. Crap, crap, crap.

  “Now wait,” Em says, seeing Derek starting to look huffy, “don’t get mad yet. Here’s the cool part. Jane calls it Espressology and she’s been matchmaking people based on it!”

  “Matchmaking people? Matchmaking whom?” Derek demands.

  “Well, customers and staff mostly,” Em says, now slowing down the story as she realizes Derek is less than pleased with the information.

  “You are matchmaking now? While you’re working?” Derek asks, looking at me.

  “Well, yeah, a little,” I mumble.

  “But she’s amazing, Derek, I swear,” Em interrupts. “She’s dead-on each time. It’s totally crazy. Simone and Gavin, Sarah and the cop, Cam and me . . . it’s really cool.”

  Derek is still staring at me and I can’t tell what he is thinking. Em knows that she is getting me in trouble and can’t stop talking.

  “Derek, seriously, you can’t bloody well get mad at Jane. It has no negative effect on the store. I mean, if anything, it is improving business,” she continues, waving her hands in the air. “Everyone wants to be in love and she’s making it happen. She’s making people totally happy and they love her for it. They are coming in even more for coffee. It’s a good thing! Really . . .” She trails off, and there is dead silence as we wait for Derek to say something.

  Derek slumps against the sink with his arms crossed. His face is scrunched up like he’s thinking hard, and he stares straight ahead at nothing in particular. I have no idea what he’s going to do next. He wouldn’t fire me over this, would he? Well, he could. He’s caught me lying, oh, I don’t know, how many times now? Em is giving me a worried look. She mouths, “I’m sorry.” We both wait for Derek’s tirade to begin. About twenty of the longest seconds on earth pass and then the corners of Derek’s lips turn up a bit.

  “I’ll be right back,” he says, walking away from us.

  “Em!” I scream when I’m sure he is out of the room. “How could you do that to me?”

  “I know, I know, I’m so sorry. I was just happy. And talking too much. And I really didn’t think he’d get mad. I mean, c’mon, what’s the big deal?”

  I shake my head and frown. “What do you think he’s doing back there?”

  “I don’t know. I’m really, really sorry, Jane.”

  “Do you think he’s going to fire me on the spot? Maybe he’s getting my last check?” I ask.

  “No, he’d be so screwed if he fired you. It’s Black Friday and we’re about to open.”

  “Still,” I say.

  “Jane, if he fires you, then I walk, too, and he’s MAJORLY screwed. Let him serve the crazed Elmo 5000 seekers all by himself,” she declares.

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, it’s totally my fault. I’m positive he won’t fire you.”

  Just then Derek rejoins us up front with a piece of paper in his hands. Oh god, I think, this is it. He’s giving me some kind of termination paper. He hands me the piece of paper. I take a deep breath and look down.

  “What’s this?” It says THE ESPRESSOLOGIST IS IN. “I don’t get it.”

  “You are our holiday promotion,” he says enthusiastically.

  “I don’t get it,” I repeat.

  “It’s simple. Corporate says I need to do a promotion to bring in more customers over the holiday season, and you, my little Espressologist, are it.” I glance back and forth from Derek to Em trying to take in what he just told me. Derek walks over to the front glass door and unlocks it, letting the ten or so waiting customers in to start screaming drink orders at us.

  Ho, ho, freakin’ ho to me.

  8

  Class, settle down, settle down,” Professor Monroe says as she stands up and walks to the front of her desk. “I’m going to pass out your biographies from last week and then we are going to talk about your final papers.” She begins to walk around the room, returning papers, as Cam bolts through the door and slips into his seat behind me.

  “Hey, Cam!” I turn around in my seat and grin at him. “I was wondering if you were going to make it.”

  “Did she notice I’m late?” Cam asks, nodding at Professor Monroe.

  “Not at all. She’s just handing back last week’s paper. Which you are of course going to let me read, right?”

  “Hmm, I don’t know,” he teases. “Maybe on the last day of class. Then you can’t get mad at me, decide you are never talking to me ag
ain, and act all awkward each time you see me in class.”

  “Cam! What the heck did you write that would make me never talk to you again? Now you have to let me see it.”

  “Nope. Last day.”

  I pout a little. “Well, you can’t read yours either, then,” I say.

  “All right.”

  “What, don’t you want to read it? Aren’t you curious?”

  “No, not really.”

  Guys suck so bad sometimes. Cam turns to his left, reaches down, and rifles through his bag looking for something. As he is doing this, Professor Monroe slips his paper onto his desk from his right. I try to read it upside down as fast as I can. Cam glances up, sees what I am doing, and snaps back upright, covering the paper with his hand.

  “Uh-uh,” he says, shaking his head and smiling at me. “Not today.”

  I glare at him and turn around quickly in my seat. I didn’t see much, but I did catch a few words of the paper. Something about me being “weak” and “timid.” How dare he!

  Professor Monroe spends the rest of the class period going over our final assignment, but I don’t really pay attention. The words weak and timid keep going through my mind. Is that what Cam really thinks of me? I thought he was my friend. I thought he was such a good guy. Maybe he isn’t right for Em after all. Maybe I was totally wrong about him.

  The class ends and I gather my stuff and head for the door.

  “Jane, wait,” Cam calls.

  “Later. I have to get to work.” I put on my gloves and pull my coat tight around me. I walk out the double doors of Anthony Carter Community College and start the short three-block walk to work in the freezing cold.

  A few minutes later I walk into Wired Joe’s. I am instantly bummed to see that none of the people I like are working today. Though I should have already known that, since Derek showed me the schedule earlier in the week. Ever since this whole Espressologist thing came up I haven’t been able to think straight.

  Daisy and Brenda are standing behind the counter taking orders and making drinks. Brenda gives me a fake smile but Daisy only glares. Great, fun afternoon ahead, I think. Daisy is pissy with me because a) she didn’t get me in trouble with Derek last week and b) she’s been getting really comfy with the smell of toilet bowl cleaner since I’ve designated her the spinner for whenever we are working together. This means every fifteen minutes or so Daisy has to check the bathrooms, bus the tables, clean and stock the condiment bar, and make sure everything looks good throughout the store.