The Watermelon Project

Chapter Four

Mom pulls away from the curb and I'm left alone on the sidewalk, standing in front of the student center. It's 8:52. I have eight minutes. I take a deep breath and wipe my slightly sweaty palms on my jeans. To be honest — well, I was about to say "I have no idea why I'm so nervous," but that would be a lie. I know exactly why I'm so nervous. I'm about to go get coffee with a hot brown eyed boy. Albeit, we are meeting to work on an ecology project, but I'm thinking there's going to be some chemistry involved. I'm sorry, that was a terrible joke. I don't even see my dad that often. I don't know where the dad jokes come from.

My now fully sweaty hand almost slips off the door handle as I yank it open. Seriously — who designs college doors? They weigh like 800 pounds. I step inside the student center atrium and cool autumn air is sucked in behind me. October. My favorite month. Not September, no...that would be too obvious.

The student center is starting to come alive as students grab coffee and breakfast before heading to their nine o'clock classes, or emerging zombie-like from their eight a.m.s. I head over to the small cluster of tables next to the coffee bar and slip onto a stool, my backpack resting against my feet. Someone is sitting at the table next to me listening to their friend complain about her sucky roommate. This is why I live with my mother.

"Hey, September from Ecology Class," Nick says, sliding onto the stool across from me.

"Good morning, Nick from Ecology Class," I reply, and the corners of his eyes crinkle as he smiles.

"Been waiting long?" For a brief moment, I think I see a flash of concern dart across his eyes.

I look down at my watch. It's 8:58. "Nope. Just got here. Besides, you're early."

"Ooh, a whole two minutes. That's a record for me. I'm never early," he says, seeming relieved. Was he nervous about making me wait for him?

"I must be special then," I say, surprising myself with my flirtatious comment.

"Oh no, it's not you," he grins and raises his eyebrows slightly, "it's the coffee. I never let myself buy coffee here unless I have a good reason." Whatever nerves he may have been feeling have seemed to slip away.

"See, but then I am special. I'm the reason you get to have coffee."

"Touché." We grin at each other for a few seconds, and then Nick jumps up. "What type of coffee do you want? It's on me."

"I'm actually more of a tea person, and are you sure? I have some extra food points on my school card."

"A tea person?" He pauses and looks me up and down. "Hmmm. I see it. And no, I insist. On me."

"Alright, if you insist, I'll have an Irish Breakfast tea, please."

"At your service, mum," he says, attempting what I think is supposed to be an Irish accent.

"What was that?"
"I honestly don't know. I'll go get your tea now." He points toward the little coffee and tea bar and I crack a smile, shaking my head.

A few minutes later he's back standing in front of me, placing a steaming cup of tea down on the small table we've claimed.

"I almost accidentally grabbed the Scottish Breakfast tea bag but I figured that wouldn't go over well."

"I can imagine that the Scottish and Irish don't like being confused."

"Yes that, and, I couldn't have you thinking that I didn't know how to read."

"Oh, well, yes, good point. That would have been slightly concerning, considering that we're going to be working on a project together."

"My thoughts exactly." He smiles and places his coffee down on the table, sliding into the chair. He takes a sip.