Growing Up and Other Tall Tales

Chapter 1

I'm not in a bad mood. I'm not.

It's that the girl in front of me is mumbling her unnecessarily complex order into her phone, making me want to pick it out of her hands and throw it to the nearest planet.

It's that somewhere in my mind is the dancing thought of the eight paged literature essay I have to write about how Mercutio pushes the plot of Romeo and Juliet. (He should've killed them both from the start.)

It's the woman beside little Miss Mumbles is rummaging through her purse searching for change because god, ma'am didn't it maybe occur to you that you might need to pay?

It's that I have a trigonometry test tomorrow and everything that comes out of my teacher's mouth is suffocated by either his cigarette or his ego and oh, you don't want the bill? Congratulations, you just bought yourself a share in the mass annihilation of endangered species and a tree just died for you for nothing, and right, you want a refund for your half eaten strawberry croissant because you wanted a strawberry croissant with almonds. Let me go check with my manager if I can collect my end of month salary even if I commit felony murder.

So I definitely mean it when I say I'm not in a bad mood.

"Lyra, stop. You are doing the thing again."

"What thing?"

"The thing where you mentally stab everybody. It's very off putting, not to mention, bad for business."

I look at him with said look. He stares right back with his much softer and mellow eyes, as if it'll be melt the hardness of my expression. It doesn't. He sighs as he registers the resoluteness in my malice,

"You don't have to look at me with that face."

"I'm sorry." I apologize, "Next time, I'll look at you without my face."

"Much appreciated thanks."

I snort and toss the napkin I am using to wipe off chocolate sauce stuck between my nails unceremoniously at his face. His laugh of disbelief is muffled behind it.

"Iced skinny hazelnut macchiato, decaf, sugar-free syrup, extra shot, light ice, no whip."

These kinds of people just want to watch the world burn.

Even Nick grimaces.

"Right away. Please have a seat until your order is ready. Can I have your name?" I say instead

I don't miss the way she smiles at Nick who grins right back, apparently appalling coffee orders aren't red flags. When she leaves the counter, typing up her order and without looking at him, I say,

"Don't."

"What?" the immediate response comes, filled with innocence

"This is a family friendly environment. I'm not going to lose regulars because you can't keep it in your pants."

"We just smiled!" he exclaims and I look at him now, noticing the way his lips twitch upwards, very conscious of his intentions

"What do they see in you?" I mutter under my breath stacking up the cups next to the machine

"I think being alluring and enigmatic are one of my many delightful charms."

"I don't think you know what those two words mean," I point out, "Or how to count,"

He doesn't even refute me and continues to elaborate on the semantics of the attractiveness of the mystery of someone at a café.

"She's doing her thing again?" a new voice comes up behind me and I roll my eyes at Nick whose knowing grin widens as he sees who cut him off.

"Fuck you." I reply creatively

"She's in one of her moods," Nick feels the need to translate because someone has suddenly made him my Sarah Sanders

Zeke grins, his canines glinting in the lazy Sunday afternoon sun, "Boyfriend trouble?" he leans forward, "The one in Canada?"

"You know what?" I snap my fingers loudly, "Yeah it is and he does. Small town, called kiss-my-ass."

Zeke swipes his hand over his face and raises his hands defensively. He looks at Nick as if to say "she's all yours" and then returns to the kitchen.

"He's going to kill you in your sleep." Nick wheezes

I eye the long queue ahead of me and the even longer hours of work I have left before muttering,

"He won't have to."'