Redefining Beautiful

Chapter Five: Change

I woke up thirty minutes before my alarm went off. After trying to fall back asleep because my brain was still tired, I realized my body was reluctant to listen and failed to fall back into sleep mode. So I put on my grey - still not washed - sweats and red Pismo sweater. I grabbed my backpack, and headed for Starbucks. It was 7:23am, so I knew no one I knew would be there, and I was right. Starbucks, besides the few cars waiting in the drive-thru, was deserted. I walked in, using the coins inside my pocket to purchase a Java Chip frappuccino for myself.

“Good morning,” said the cashier.

“Morning.” I muttered. I dumped the change on the counter, and said, “Java Chip. Light cream.”

“Rough start?” asked the cashier. I was startled by the question, so I gazed up absentmindedly and met eyes with an edgy, young guy with shoulder-length, light brown hair and a sharp chin.

“Uh,” I was mesmerized that this semi-hot guy was starting up a conversation with me. Plus, I made eye contact with his deep brown eyes and I get really awkward when I make eye contact with people in general. “I guess, you could say that.”

“I know all about those.” Starbucks dude rung up my order, and said, “That’ll be three sixteen.” I suddenly felt lame for counting out, in quarters and dimes, the amount I owed.

“Sorry. I’m not fortunate enough to have a job, so whatever is in my piggy bank from when I was eight is what I have.” I said.

“No problem. This is my first job.” Starbucks dude collected the change in the palm of his hand as I slipped him the coins, counting under my breath.

“How old are you?” I asked.

“Eighteen. I graduated from Emery just last year, and look at me, I’m still in this hell hole.” Starbucks dude was open and friendly, and since we were the only two here, I continued the conversation.

“How’d you like Emery? I’ll be a freshman next year, so I’m pretty nervous.” I confessed.

“It’s shit.” Starbucks dude tossed the change in the cash register, and began making my drink. “Unless you’re in with all the preps, you’re not going to enjoy it much. They think they run the damn place.”

“Well, you weren’t in with the preps I’m guessing.”

“Nope.” He shook his head. “They hated me, but the feeling was neutral.” He flashed me an annoyed face. I laughed. “Besides, does it look like I was a prep?” He asked, stepping back so I could view over the counter his all black uniform and coffee stained green apron.

“What’s wrong with the way you look?” I asked, unsure of what his flaws were. Starbucks dude was skinny, like, twig skinny, so I didn’t see how he wouldn’t fit in with preps.

“Well, obviously you can’t see it in my uniform.” He pinched his shirt. “But all preps look the same. You know what I’m saying ‘cause you go to J. Elmore and that’s where these big headed bitches start.” I nodded, and he continued, “Yeah, so because I didn’t wear Nike socks and Vans and cargo shorts or have remotely the same interests as the preps, I didn’t fit in with them.” He handed me my drink, and I took a sip.

“I know how you feel.” I swished my lips to the side. “How’d you, um, survive the four years then?” I danced my straw around in my frappuccino.

Starbucks dude leaned on the counter with his elbows, and contemplated for a second. “Freshman year...” he sighed. “It sucked, but only because I was trying to make my parents proud and fit in with preps. Then in English, we were reading about Maya Angelou, and a quote of hers stuck out to me. ‘If you don’t like something, change it. If you can’t change it, change your attitude about it.’” I sipped more of my Java Chip and anticipated what more he had to assert.

“So yeah, I don’t wear name brands and I’m not athletic and I’m more into music than most people, but I can’t change that because that’s who I am. I shouldn’t change because I don’t have to. Nobody has ever said I had to. That’s when I decided to do other things that were more for me like joining videogame club and focusing on school work; which is really what everyone should do. I also tried new things to see where else I fit, but the truth is, your social status isn’t going to matter in ten years. Remember that, kid.”

“Wow...” I was blown away by Starbucks dude’s speech.

“I’m Austin by the way. Austin Franklin.” He grinned.

“Charlie Anna Bates, but you can just call me Charlie...or Lee.” I said.

“Good luck on the next four years of your life.” Austin waved. Before I walked out of Starbucks, I said over my shoulder, “Thanks. I’ll need it”.