Page 15 of Hey Girl

Hitting the lock function on my key fob I quickly cross the street and hope to catch up to her. Damn, she’s a speedy little thing.

When I finally reach the Java Cabana, I whip open the front door and am greeted by a most unexpected, not to mention an unfavorable site.

I see Rebecca, her back to me and her body turned inward, much like it was when we were in the elevator. Her delicate shoulders are hunched beneath a white, crocheted top and her flowery skirt bounces with the nervous jiggling of her leg.

I don’t know what’s going on, but I don’t need to, just by her posture and the self-important, scathing look the barista - wait, he’s a guy, does that make it baristo? Doesn’t matter—it’s clear, he’s making her feel scared and insecure and something is happening to me.

My vision takes on some kind of infrared haze, making the scene before me appear in black and red shades. I see the baristas body take on some kind of webbed-graphical form.

Visual Attained.

Target Acquired.

These words flash through my mind in a deeply demonic and oddly robotized voice.

I don’t know who you are barista boy… but you’re about to get Chrisified.

Rebecca

“Mmmocha latte. Mochalattemochalattemochalatte,”I chant quietly to myself in the corner of the crowded coffee house. This is the homework I’ve given myself for the day- place a coffee order without stammering or freaking out because there’s, heaven forbid, people around. “MOCHA. LATTE.” I say firmly and confidently. I’ve got this. I have fucking GOT this. Damn, I wish I could say ‘fucking’ out loud. New homework: practice fucking. The word, not the action. Although the action I definitely need to be schooled in too and okay! I’m getting off track. Mocha latte motherfucker!

I square my shoulders and step into the line, hell-bent on making this self-assigned homework my bitch. There are two people ahead of me and I don’t know if I’m glad for more time to practice in my head or afraid it will make me lose my nerve.

No. I have to do this or I have to give myself a big fat ‘F’ on my homework (and not for fucking). I’ve never had an ‘F’ in my life, and I won’t start now. I keep practicing my order in my head and before I know it, I’m up. A gangly, bored looking guy that looks fresh out of high school and regards me with a look that says he’drather be back home in front of his X-Box tilts his head lazily in my direction.

“What can I get for you?” He asks as he drums his fingers on the counter.

“Mocha latte…please.” Whew. Now all I have to do is hand over my debit card, grab my drink and get out of here.

“Size?” He lifts an eyebrow at me.

Shit. I forgot what size I wanted… and to practice saying it!

“Uh…,” I start, acting like I’m thinking, buying myself some time. “Hmm… uhh…” Don’t stammer! “Uh… the uh medium.” There, that wasn’t so bad. I did it! I inwardly celebrate.

“We don’t have mediums,” he points out, clearly irritated.

“Oh. Well then um…” I’m starting to shake. I’ve got to do this.

“Twelve, sixteen or twenty,” he prods impatiently.

I take a deep breath to try and center myself, but it’s not working. It never works. I don’t work, not like other people.

“Today,” he draws out the word long and dramatic, complete with an exaggerated eyeroll.

I’m about to scrap this whole thing, turn and walk out as fast as I can and let the waterworks flow as soon as I’m in the enclosed safety of my car when I get a sudden whiff of oceany musk, and a lean and toned figure leans against the counter next to me. I feel my mouth hang open as I turn to see sparkling green eyes lacking their usual playful tone and instead regarding the cashier seriously.

“Do you have somewhere to be, man?”

I don’t know what’s happening here but I’m thankful for the reprieve as the guy straightens up and his face morphs from annoyed to confused.

“Uh… what are you talking about?”

“Do you have somewhere to be?” Chris repeats in more of a demanding than questioning tone as he leans his arms down on the counter like he’s settling in for a riveting conversation.“Do you have somewhere to be, other than right here, at your register, ready to take coffee orders? Does your shift end when she completes her order or something?”

“Uh, no. I’m here until four…”

“So, what’s your hurry?” Chris asks. “There’s no one behind her. Why the dickish ‘tude?”