Masked

Entry Eight

Hey, future me. Ten o'clock rolled around Saturday morning on a crisp, chilly October day. I sat silently in the far corner of the shop, upon the elevated floor, at a table for two. I sipped on a caramel mocha as I waited for my partner, with my MacBook open to my notes document and a blank document for the final copy of the write-up.

The coffee shop was bustling with people, bringing with them the sounds of the brewers, bells, clinking utensils, and mindless chatter. Every once in a while, you could hear a car horn honk as it drove on by, or even the chirping of robins or chickadees outside the window.

I looked down and refocused on my MacBook screen, turning up its brightness in the dimly lit corner of the coffee shop. I began typing out some information on crosswalks and tickets before the armchair across from me was pulled out and filled by someone.

I pretended I hadn't noticed his arrival, took a sip of my coffee, then proceeded to type aimlessly. I was slightly worried that last night's events would hurt our somewhat stable friendship, and although I pretended not to care, I genuinely did like having him around. He coughed to break the tension between us, but when I didn't look up, he slid forward on his seat, leaned over the table, and slammed my laptop shut.

"Hey Brookie baby, where's my coffee?" He smirked playfully, but when I remained unresponsive towards his goofy antics, his smile was replaced with a teasing smirk.

"I come all this way to a coffee shop date, and don't even get a coffee? Oh, woe is me..." I opened my laptop again, then looked in his hands to see a pumpkin spice latte, a laptop, and his on-paper notes. I rolled my eyes and he chuckled to himself before opening his laptop, wirking at me. I took this as my time to speak.

"Are you okay?" I whispered, just loud enough for him to hear. He smiled and nodded, reaching for my hand under the table. I swatted it away, and he mumbled something under his breath, then scooted his chair closer to the table. I was reassured that he was indeed 'okay', so I decided to continue with my prepared work.

"So, what did you discover and research? I finished my part on crosswalks, tickets, even four-way-stop right-aways and laws. What about you?" I expected his face to pale, his smile to drop, and his hand to turn over blank pages of noteless, scarce information, but none of those came true. To my surprise, Gray plopped down five pages, front and back, of notes on car crashes.

I looked up in shock.

"You wrote this? When? Did you even do anything in Socials?" He chuckled yet again, shaking his head slowly.

"Brook, there is a LOT you don't know about me," I didn't disagree. My assumptions of fuck-boy Gray were all wrong so far, and his statement was intriguing. I wanted to know more about him, I wanted to know all of him, especially after last night, but I wasn't about to let him know that.

I scoffed, then sent him the link to edit the formal essay write-up. He began typing immediately, carrying a light-hearted conversation with quips, puns, dirty lines, and questions as we went along, both writing our discoveries on driving laws together.

We carried on like that for two hours, until we had a formalized, eight-page essay, written nearly flawlessly. I was astonished at how quickly we had finished the assignment and was shocked at how well Gray knew his grammar, spelling, and formats. We had created a top-tier essay, and we were sure to get an A. I scanned the essay briefly, reading transition sentences and introductions and conclusions, smiling at the flow of the writing. It was better than what Danielle and I could have produced, especially considering how little time we spent on it.

I looked up at Gray, who noticed my astonished smile and pointed to his lips. Confused, I cocked my head to the side, unbeknownst to me at the time, still smiling.