Heart Condition

Chapter Two: Late Nights

I busted through the door of Big City Bean and jumped over the patrician; it was Friday, and I was a happy girl. Pulling my apron on over my head, tying up my hair before checking my phone and washing my hands.

            Zeda shook her head “Shut that thing off before you drop it in the espresso.”

            “Fine.” I held the button down until the screen went black, slipping it into my back pocket. Behind the register, I waited for customers patiently.

            The days at the coffee shop were always hit and miss; there was a Starbucks a block away, and people love their name-brand coffee. I, personally, liked the richness of the mochas we made here, just because I could taste the coffee a little more. And our Kona was superior to all others I’ve tried. And I’ve tried a lot.

            Joy said I had a problem. I saw it as more of an...opportunity; every coffee had a different taste, a new, different flavor. I also had a habit of throwing new additions into my morning cups of liquid caffeine. Of course, this included only more forms of caffeine, what with my decision of adding a half shot of Pepsi to my cup, or subbing sugar with a teaspoon of maple syrup.

            Zeda rearranged the syrups in the rack and asked, “Find anyone to tutor you?”

            “Not yet.” I sighed, dreading the thought of being late another day; Numel started giving pop quizzes at the beginning of the period, and I’d set my alarm to four in the morning just to ensure I had enough time to study and barely make it to school on time. And yet, I’d still end up five minutes late; thankfully, she was less apt to give me a tardy if she didn’t see me. There was much crawling involved, but it still worked.

            “Well, if you don’t find one, you can always go to student tutorial after school.” She suggested.

            Shaking my head, I refused “No way. I have work, and the shelter. I can’t.”

            “The shelter could do without you if they know your grades are the mathematical equivalent to ‘Catwoman’.” Zelda remarked. I looked at her, and she explained, “Could be amazing, it just really needs some help.”

            I stared out the window of the store, and I caught a reflection in one of the glares. I adjusted my shirt, pulling up my tank top. They can’t see it, I thought to myself, No one can see.

            Behind me, I heard the grind of coffee beans and the smell began to circulate through the store, stopping at each table and talking to strangers. And I remained enamored with the San Francisco atmosphere; people from all over California came to San Francisco for all kinds of reasons. For work, vacation, and even to escape.

            The door opened, and I heard a bark, “It’s not my fault Malone’s gone. He screwed himself.”

            I stopped, looking up. It was all of those boys from my school; Noah Spellman, Cory Walters, Mark Trenton and Logan McMann.

            Cory nodded, replying to Noah’s remark “He can quit. If he’d rather chase some sophomore slut than support his team, screw ‘im.”

            I walked to the register, not looking up. Noah nodded, “That’s right. Besides, that means I can get my stats up by the end of season, when the scouts start showing up.”

            “What can I get for you?” I asked, trying to smile. Noah looked up, and narrowed his eyes.

            He smiled, “You’re…you’re Abbie, right?”