Heart Condition

Chapter Eight: Coffee and Calculus

I slammed my cup down on the little dish and looked at Zeda.

            She shook her head, “You’re sabotaging yourself. Why must you do this?”

            “Because it’s the only way I can make math interesting.” I said, carrying a tray of fresh scones to the display case. Checking my phone, I thought to myself, if he wanted to bail, it would have happened already.

            “You get that you treat coffee like most people treat alcohol, right?” She asked, scrubbing her hands under the faucet. I stared at the display, wondering if I could steal some coffee cake without them noticing. I’d charge it to my account anyway, but that would just kick in my nervous eating, and I wouldn’t be able to control myself.

            “Heads up.” Warned Zeda. My eyes lifted, seeing Sasha walk inside; and what do I do?

            I duck.

            Crouching under the counter, I took a breath. I’d just stay here until he gave up, or I could text him and tell him I finished my shift early, that we could try another day. But what would I do then? Bail? Why was I nervous, anyway? I’d gotten a ride from him just fine.

            Zeda stood beside me when she spoke, “He just took the oversized chair by the window. He’s checking his—Oh my God, he owns a watch. Color me intrigued.”

            “Z, shut it.” I muttered through my teeth.

            She nudged me with her foot “Boys barely know how to tell time on analog clocks. Forgive me for admiring it.”

            I stood up, throwing down my towel, looking up at the clock “My shift’s over.”

            “You go, girl.” Zeda chimed, and I adjusted my ponytail before checking to make sure I hadn’t spilled any coffee in the obvious places. I grabbed my bag from behind the kitchen door, hitched it over my shoulder and walked toward my imminent death.

            My feet hit the edge of the chair, and Sasha looked up from his books. He smiled.

            “Hi.” He said.

            “Hi.” I said.

            Smiling, he gestured toward the chair. I sat, and he nodded, “Okay. Um, hi.”

            I laughed nervously, “Hi again.”

            He reached for his notebook, and I could see his hand shaking just barely. Finding a fresh page, he looked up “Where should we start?”

            Next to me, I reached for my book “We’re in chapter…three, but the test is mostly about the first half…”

            “Oh, okay.” He nodded, taking the book from my hands “Let me just take that…”

            “Cool.” I chirped, feeling the caffeine kick in, “Cool, cool, cool.” He looked up, and unfolded his glasses.

            He smiled, “I should know better than to trust someone who works in a coffee house. They’re known to develop addictive personalities.”

            “Coffeecoffeecoffeecoffeecofffee.” I replied, speaking faster than I would even if I was having a panic attack.

            We poured over my math book, and my phone started to ring.