No Plan B

1

Connor;

Like every morning, I'm up at 7:35 am. I sleepily crawl from my sheets, and make my way to my bathroom. My eyes lift, staring at the reflection of some messy-haired 22 year old with green-brown eyes and a nonexistent future. He's stuck at his Starbucks job from 8:30 to noon, and he can't seem to find out why his Honey Nut Cheerios taste stale. Then I realize, it's me.

I grab a headband from my drawer and wrap it around my messy hair. Forgetting it's broken, I turn the cold water knob with as much force possible, making the knob come off. A heavy groan escapes my lips as I adjust the knob back on. I splash the frigid water in my face, finally waking myself up, and rub the dark circle cream under my eyes.

I grab the hand towel from the wall and dry my face off. I walk back into my bedroom, throw on a black t-shirt, black pants and slip on some tennis shoes. I jog out of my room, down the hall to the kitchen. I open the pantry and grab a Nutri-Grain bar. I grab my phone off the charger and look at the time as I stuff the bar into my mouth. "Eif ah'clogh?!" I shout with the bar still in my mouth.

I quickly run into my bathroom, now stuff the bar down my throats and I begin to fix my hair so I don't look too crazy. I quickly stared at my ghost white skin, hating how pale I am and how I'd never be able to change it, and rush out the door, making sure to grab my phone and apron.

I climb into my car and start it up. I decide not to listen to music, but instead I check my text messages. Hayley texted me; "hey, warm me up a c frap, plz?"

I began driving off so I could get her drink ready, and mine as well. I always have my coffee in the morning before we open with Hayley. Hayley is the basic friend—she's delightful, gracious, talkative and she will defend anyone that's her friend. She makes friends easily, mostly because of her likable personality. I won't deny that she's beautiful—she has nice brown-blonde curls and green-blue eyes with freckles that surround each eye. She wears makeup(which I think she doesn't need), yet I still believe she is beautiful, with or without.

I don't have a crush on her. She's pretty, she's likable, she's lesbian. But back in high school, every boy had a crush on her and I never wanted to be like the other boys. She's not really my type, anyways. She's the same height as me, and that's kinda embarrassing. A 5'5 Starbucks boy who, to add on, looks like a 15 year old due to his lack of facial hair or body mass. Yeah, it's embarrassing.

Once I arrived at my hell, I stopped the car, opened the package and grabbed a breath mint. I chewed it up and climbed out of my car. I jogged into the Starbucks and checked the time; 8:16 am.

I signed in and walked back behind the corner, and began preparing Hayley's drink and mine. The bell on the door rang and my head perked to see who was standing there. Sure enough, it was Hayley. "Good morning, Connie-Boy." A bright, white-toothed smile was hidden under her lips as she waltzed over to me.

I smiled timidly back, "'Morning, Hayley." I greeted and handed her her caramel frappe.

The curly haired girl sat at a table and stared at her drink before sipping it. "Connor," she began, staring at her drink. She stirred it, mixing in the whipped cream in with the caffeine, "what're you gon' do after Starbucks?" Green-blue orbs met my eyes, genuine curiosity filling the gorgeous spheres.

I remembered I never told her–there is no "after Starbucks". I have no plan after this, this is the end of the line. I'm no good at anything. I decided to just tell her; "There is no 'after Starbucks'. I don't have any other plans or anything. I like it here." I replied, stirring my dark coffee.

The eyes turned to worry—"What? Wad'you mean?"

"Starbucks is what I am going to do."

Her eyes narrowed. "You can't work at Starbucks until you die. What if they close down every Starbucks? What are you going to do then? Or what if you get a family you need to provide for?" She quizzed me, making me feel even worse about the new situation she brought up.

My breath stopped and I stared down. I shrugged. I don't have a Plan B. I don't like moving from place to place. I like staying in one place and I never really thought of what else or what I'd ever do in life. When I was little, I admired the idea of being a firefighter. There's qualifications to being a firefighter. You have to be physically and mentally ready for all of that is yet to come.

I kept the pause until Hayley spoke again, "Connor, two or three years from now you won't be able to work at Starbucks. Starbucks can't be the end of the line for you." She explained.

The breath from my lungs began to shake. That's scary. I won't be able to work here forever, there has to be another way out. I can't go out with Starbucks, I have to get a real job. I need a Plan B. How do I even make a Plan B? What would I do?

A small sigh came from Hayley and she stood up, "You-you're not serious right? You planned on Starbucks all your life? No Plan B? You gotta do something else, Con." She looked me in the eyes.

I looked back at her. "I'm not good at anything." I told her in a hushed voice.

"Conner Kennedy Brooks, you are great at lots of things. You're a great friend, you're courageous, you're a role model—"

"I'm scared, not courageous, Hayley. I don't want to think about what I have after Starbucks. A Plan B doesn't exist for me."

Then I began to think: What even is the point? I've have no Plan B and I'm stuck at a stupid Starbucks for God knows how long. I'm probably only going to stay in Plan A for so long, that Plan A fades into a Plan .ZY. I feel like I'm only going backwards. The tides of time for me are only shifting back, until I'm left at jobless. Back in my mom's basement and trying to get by.

Hayley realized I was zoning out, and waved a hand in front of my face. "Connor, I don't wanna stress you out, but you gotta start thinkin' about your future. I gotta go to the gallery. Bye." She peaked at her phone and squeezed me into a hug. She gave me a few dollars and left.

I looked down at the money and put it in the register. I looked up at pale ceiling. The back door opened and Timothy, my co-worker, appeared. He pulled his apron over his head and walked up to me.

"'Sup, Con. Where's Hayley?" He asked, as he signed in.

I paused and then looked back at him. "She had to go to the gallery early." I explained as I sipped at my not-so-hot-anymore coffee.

He let out a small "oh" and he began making himself a coffee. He scanned his card in the register and began preparing his drink.

"How old even are you, Connor?" Tim asked, pushing back his curly, overgrown pitch-black bangs.

I paused and shifted my gaze towards my co-worker. "Twenty-two. You?"

His eyes went wide, "Dude, I'm 17."

Then I realized: maybe I am getting a little too old for this job. Maybe I need to start making a Plan B.