The Espressologist

by Kristina Springer

  The tallest girl steps out to the front and holds her hand out like she’s carrying a serving tray. She has her blond hair pulled into a loose ponytail and she’s wearing three different-colored tight shirts in layers, skinny jeans tucked into purple slouch boots, and a long dark purple coat.

  “Well, I’m Sadie and my favorite drink is a small vanilla-bean frappycap. This here is Jenna,” she says, pointing to a shorter girl with dark hair, camouflage pants, a camouflage army hat, and a zipped black puffy jacket. “And this”—she indicates the last girl who has short brown hair, a Mexico team soccer jacket, a red T-shirt, and jeans—“is Izzie. They both like small strawberries-and-crème frappycaps.”

  I inwardly smile and type. They kind of remind me of Em, Katie, Ava, and me freshman year.

  “Okay, guys, ages?”

  “We’re fourteen,” Jenna answers shyly.

  “And our interesting tidbit,” Izzie pipes in, “is that we are all Guild Masters in World of Warcraft.”

  “Impressive,” I say, although I’m not really sure what they are talking about. Obviously some kind of video game. I enter their information. This is actually kind of fun. The girls take their drinks to a table near the door to hang out.

  After I finish typing, I look up and see the sweetest-looking older gentleman. He’s got to be in his late sixties. He’s bald and wearing a dark brown corduroy golf hat, a thick brown peacoat, and a red-and-black plaid scarf. He totally looks like the university professor type.

  “I’d like a short cappuccino,” he says in a deep, booming voice to Daisy, and then faces me. I’ve already started typing his drink choice into my spreadsheet.

  He is smart. I knew it. And money-conscious. Not many people order the short cappuccino, since it isn’t actually on the menu. It’s eight ounces and cheaper than the twelve-ounce small, which is the smallest size that we advertise, but it has the same amount of espresso in it. He’s getting more bang for his buck.

  Gregory—that’s the name he gives me—steps over to my table and provides the required info, but I’m hardly listening. I already know the PERFECT match for him. These two completely adorable sisters, Belinda and Anna, also in their sixties, come into our store every Sunday morning before they head off for their weekly grocery shopping trip. I nicknamed them “the bargain babes” because they order the same thing every week: a doppio on ice, which is basically two shots of espresso over ice. Then they take their cups over to the milk station, where they fill them up the rest of the way with the free milk we have out. Voilà, iced lattes for almost two dollars less than the menu price. I happen to know that Belinda is a retired librarian and a widow. I type “Belinda?” in the match box in Gregory’s row and make a mental note to talk to her on Sunday. I’m so excited—I can do this! I can match perfect strangers.

  I’m super happy with myself and looking forward to my next customer. Just then three young boys with long dark shaggy hair and glasses, wearing long-sleeve tees and droopy pants, come in through the door. Something about them just screams future software developers to me. I’m struck with inspiration and whip around in my chair to see if the teenage girls are still there. They are. Could this be my first on-the-spot match? Okay, calm down. Let’s see what they order first.

  One of the boys steps up to the counter and gives Daisy his order. He turns to me and says, “Hey. I’m Ed. This is James and this is Dan. We ordered three small hot chocolates. That’s our favorite drink.”

  BINGO. I don’t even have to check my notebook to know they are a match with the girls.

  I take down their information, for record’s sake, and wait for them to get their hot chocolates. I open a new document and peck furiously at random keys, just to look busy for a few minutes. Even though I already know their perfect matches, I don’t want them to know it was so easy. There. Enough time has passed. I get up and Derek comes whipping around from behind the coffee bean display where he’s been hovering and says, “Hey, where are you going?”

  I wink. “Gimme a minute.” I walk over to the boys’ table, take Ed and James by the arm, and indicate with a nod for Dan to follow us. I lead them to the table near the door where the girls are sitting. “Sadie, Jenna, and Izzie,” I say, “meet Ed, James, and Dan.” All six of the teenagers act awkward for a moment, but then James sees Jenna’s PSP sitting out on the table and slides into a chair next to her and asks her what game she’s playing.

  My work here is done.

  I hurry back toward my table and pause by Derek with my hand in the air waiting for a high five. He glares at me like I was just picking my nose and shoves both of his hands into his pockets.

  “What was that about?” he asks.

  “I made my first match. Well, actually my first three matches,” I say with an enormous smile on my face. Yes!

  10

  It was so much fun, Em, seriously. Awesome. I made eight matches last night alone. EIGHT MATCHES! And there is potential for at least four more.” I’m sitting cross-legged on Em’s bed recounting the evening’s events. Em is searching through her backpack for her history notes.

  “Shoot! Shoot, shoot, shoot!” Em says, throwing her backpack on the floor.

  “Everything okay?”

  “Not really. I’m dead if I don’t find my history notes. There is an exam on Monday and it’s worth half our grade.” Em sits down in her chair and puts her head on her desk.

  “Well, relax. Just call someone from class, borrow their notes for an hour, and run over to the library and make a copy.”

  “Hmm . . .” she says, standing up and looking at me. “That could work. Okay. Wow. I feel much better. Thanks!”

  “No prob; now back to me.”

  “I’m sorry!” Em laughs and plops down on the bed next to me. “Go ahead, tell me more about the big Espressology night.”

  “It was fun. I mean really, really fun. I didn’t think I’d have such a good time. I’m totally made for this.”

  “That’s so cool,” she says. “See? I knew you could do it.”

  “Yeah, and Derek was stoked. It was our busiest Friday night ever. I swear he would have kissed me if he didn’t hate all people.”

  “I’m happy for you, Jane, really. I’m happy that good things are happening for both of us.”

  Both of us? Oh god, is she going to talk about Cam again?

  “Yeah,” I agree, bracing myself for what I know is coming next.

  “I can’t believe how awesome Cam is, Jane. Thanks again for setting us up.”

  “Sure,” I say flatly.

  “He’s made me forget about Jason. I mean totally. Jason even called me the other day wanting to talk. I asked him who it was and he was all, ‘You mean you forgot my voice already?’ and I said, ‘Seriously, who is this?’ I could tell he was hurt and I’m glad.”

  “Ooh . . . drama! Well, having another guy to date is totally good for revenge on Jason.”

  “But Cam isn’t revenge, Jane. I really like him.”

  “Yeah, you keep saying that.”

  “What?” Em stands up and stomps over to her dresser for her bottle of water. “You don’t believe me?”

  “Oh no, I believe you. I guess I’m just shocked. Shocked at how fast you moved on,” I say.

  “That’s a good thing, though, isn’t it?” she demands.

  “I guess it is,” I answer. Maybe if I agree, she’ll just drop the whole conversation.

  “Well, hey, maybe we can double soon? You can ask Will out and the four of us can do something,” Em says.

  I’m not sure why, but the thought of going on a double date with Em and Cam sounds about as fun as a colon cleansing. Which I’ve never experienced, but my mom says it is super gross.

  “Um, I don’t know about Will,” I say.

  “Why? I thought you guys cleared everything up.”

  “We did. I’m just not sure if it is in the beans for us. I’ll have to check my notebook,” I tell her.

  “Jaaaane!” Em sings, laughing. “Freaking ma
ke it in the beans, girl. Change your favorite drink if you have to.”

  “Uh! I can’t just make our drinks match. This is serious stuff, Em!”

  Em shakes her head and reaches for the phone to hunt down those history notes.

  “Love is in the air.” I sigh, happily restacking a pile of coupons on the counter at work. Brenda is on the other side of the pick-up table, wiping it down.

  “That was too cute,” she agrees.

  The store has been pretty slow for a Tuesday afternoon, except for this adorable couple who just got engaged. The girl said that her boyfriend picked her up from work for “lunch” and brought her down to the rocks by the lake. It was totally freezing, so she had no idea what they were doing there. Then he got on one knee and proposed. She said yes and they played hooky from work for the rest of the afternoon. They just came in for medium mocha cappuccinos for here. I drew a heart with chocolate syrup on top of the foam in each of their mugs.

  “How is the best assistant manager ever?” Derek asks, setting a stack of papers on the counter while he slips on his jacket. He’s getting ready to leave for the day.

  “Are you talking to me?” I say, wide-eyed.

  “Who else?”

  He gives me an ear-to-ear grin.

  “You’re in a fantastic mood,” I say.

  “That I am. I just got off the phone with our district manager. He said our promotion is fantastic and to keep up the great work. We did more sales than any other Wired Joe’s in the district last Friday! Can you believe it?”

  “Omigod! No, not really. That’s insane! I mean, I knew it was busy but . . . wow.”

  “We’ve got to really advertise all week and get people extra pumped up for this Friday. I want us to beat last week’s sales.”

  No pressure or anything.

  “How are the matches going?” he asks.

  “Great. I’m at eleven matched couples right now. All of them have either instant-messaged, e-mailed, or chatted on the phone. Three of the couples have already had their first date. I’ve been getting some really positive e-mails back from the couples all week.”

  “Seriously?” Derek gets excited all over again. “That’s fantastic, Jane! Can you get some positive quotes from your matched couples so I can put them up around the store to advertise this Friday’s event?”

  “Sure. I don’t think it will be a problem. I’ll ask a couple of them and get back to you.”

  “Excellent job, Jane!” Derek says, pointing his index finger at me as he heads out of the store. “Don’t be surprised if you get a raise soon.”

  Though I’ve never seen anyone other than a cartoon person do this, I half expect him to do one of those sideways heel clicks in the air as he walks away.

  “Cool!” I reply, feeling all smiley. I can’t believe how my luck is changing.

  Seconds after Derek leaves, the door swings open and Melissa and Ginny enter. How does this chick continually sense my happiness and swoop in to squash it? Well, at least she should behave this time after our last talk.

  “Hello,” I greet them in a professional voice. “The usual?”

  “Oh, wow,” Melissa exclaims, “are we considered regulars now? That is so cute—just like that old show Cheers.”

  Ginny giggles.

  “Yes, Jane, get us the usual,” Melissa says with great dramatic flair.

  I sigh and inwardly roll my eyes. What a twit. I run her credit card through the machine, mark their cups, and push them toward Brenda to make.

  “So, Gin,” Melissa starts, “can you believe our little Jane is an Espressologist?”

  “A what?” Ginny asks.

  “An Espressologist. My friend Michelle from my textiles class told me all about it. Jane is matchmaking people via their coffee choices every Friday night. She even matched Michelle last week.”

  “Really?” Ginny looks from Melissa to me and back to Melissa.

  “Yeah. Jane’s future may not have appeared too promising in school last year, but I always had hope for her. I knew she’d do something really big,” Melissa continues.

  Is she being legit? Have we actually turned a corner since our big confrontation? Can we move on from all this? Can we actually even be friends?

  “Yeah, I heard she dumps out your used espresso grounds onto a table and talks to them. They tell her who your future spouse is. She’s like a carny fortune-teller or something. Whoooooo!” she says, wiggling her fingers in the air at Ginny.

  Or then again, maybe Melissa is still the same big-mouth idiot she always has been.

  “That is not what I do,” I say angrily. “There is an actual science to it.”

  “Didn’t you get D’s in science?” She laughs.

  How did she know that? What, did she get a hold of my transcripts?

  “Tell you what,” I offer, “come in Friday and I’ll show you. I’ll match you with someone.”

  “Me?” she asks. “You want to match me? Ha! No thanks. I can certainly find my own dates.”

  “Fine.” I shrug. “Suit yourself. Looks like your drinks are up.”

  Brenda calls out, “Small nonfat lattes.”

  Melissa grabs her drink and Ginny looks at me like she’s going to add something.

  “C’mon, Gin,” Melissa says, and Ginny follows her out the door.

  11

  This is a nice surprise. What did I do to earn an escort to class?” I ask.

  Em and I are powerwalking up West Jackson Boulevard on the way to my English class at the college.

  “I have a pass to go to the college library and do some research for a paper, so I thought I’d just keep you company for a few,” Em replies.

  Ha. Yeah, right. She knows Cam is in my English class. I’m sure she just wants to “bump” into him.

  “Thanks. You’re a sweetie. So, did I tell you the latest with Will?” I can barely keep the excitement out of my voice.

  “No, you didn’t. Tell me, tell me,” she says.

  “He came in last night and was totally flirting.”

  “Obviously.”

  “No, really, I didn’t know what to expect. I know he explained away the whole Thanksgiving thing, but I wasn’t sure if I believed him or not. But now I do. He’s so cute,” I say.

  “And cute boys never lie. Kidding!” she exclaims when I scowl at her.

  “Like everyone else who came in yesterday, he wanted to talk to me about the whole Espressology thing.”

  “Of course,” she says, grabbing my arm and steering me around a homeless guy sitting in front of a building and yelling at people to give him money.

  “He looked deep into my eyes and told me he was lonely and really hoped he could find love, too. He totally had me in a trance. I could hardly talk,” I tell her.

  “No way. What did you do?”

  “I told him to stop in on Friday night and I’d see what I could do,” I say.

  “Cool! I work this Friday night, too. So is he coming?”

  “Uh, no.”

  “Why not?”

  “Some fraternity thing. But he promised to come in next Friday. I told him we are only doing this for four weeks,” I say.

  “You are going to match him with you, right?”

  “Duh. Of course. But I feel kind of bad about it.”

  “Why in the world would you feel bad about it?”

  “Because I checked my notebook and we are not exactly a match.”

  “Rough,” Em says.

  “I know, but he has to be mine. I’ll just have to fudge this one.”

  “Definitely,” Em agrees as we approach the door to my school.

  “This is me.”

  “Um, okay.” She looks up and down the sidewalk. I can tell she’s looking for Cam. “Are you working tonight?”

  “You already asked me that,” I reply. “Are you okay?”

  Just then Cam turns the corner and heads straight for us.

  “Hi, Cam,” Em says dreamily.

  Cam opens his mouth to respond
.

  “I’ll leave you two to talk,” I announce before he can say anything. I really don’t need to hear any lovey-dovey gush between those two. I head into the school and toward my classroom.

  I take my seat and shrug off my jacket. Although I don’t want to, I’m thinking about Cam and Em and wondering what they are talking about outside. I don’t have long to think, though, because Cam comes in only a minute or so later and slides into his seat behind me.

  “Hey,” he says.

  “Hey.” I briefly glance back at him.

  “How’s it going?”

  “Not bad,” I answer, still facing forward.

  “Can you turn around?” he asks.

  I want to stay mad at him for what he wrote in his biography of me, but it is hard. I turn around.

  “Yes?” I ask.

  “Hey,” he says again.

  “Hey,” I say again.

  “I just wanted to see you smile,” he tells me, and my heart defrosts like thirty degrees. “Last day of class, huh?”

  “I know,” I reply. “Did you get your final paper done?”

  “Yeah, you?” he asks.

  “Barely. It’s been a crazy week.”

  “So I hear.”

  What exactly did he hear? I wonder. Does Em talk about me to him? Oh god, they have this whole separate relationship and they talk about me!

  It’s silent for a moment, and we are just looking at each other. A tuft of his shaggy blond hair is almost over his right eye, and I suddenly have the urge to brush it back for him. But I resist. It’s not nice to brush back other people’s boyfriends’ hair. Especially not your best friend’s boyfriend.

  “Do you remember what I said you could do on the last day?” he asks.

  I sit for a moment thinking. “No . . .”

  He reaches into his folder and pulls out some stapled sheets. “I said you could read the paper I wrote on you.”

  “Oh, no thanks,” I say, suddenly feeling a little angry again.

  “Aren’t you curious?” He looks at me with a puzzled expression.