Missed Connections

Chapter One

       -unedited-

        "This is all your fault," I hissed, watching the watery pink stuff in my small plastic bowl swirl as I twisted it around in my hand. "If you hadn't taken so long, it would still be okay." My best friend rolled her eyes down at me. Stupid height differences.

        "Maybe if you had eaten it while we were still in the ice cream parlor, you wouldn't have had to leave it outside of the store." Delilah smiled and poked my cheek teasingly. "You're such a slow eater."

        "No! You're just a fast eater..." Feeling moody now, I sighed and shook my head. "Let's go meet up with the others." I sped up my walk and headed away from the clothing shop we were just at, going down an alley as a shortcut. 

        "The cafe, right?" She asked, only needing to take a few faster strides to catch up. Delilah's dark brown curly hair was pulled into a ponytail, swishing slightly as she hurried after me. A bit of jealousy had raced through my mind as I looked up at her, knowing full well that she was gorgeous. But, I've got to deal with what -- el-oh-el the 'shit' -- I've already got, you know? With a small nod, I made sure none of the pink melted stuff spilled out of the small bowl. It was so annoying to me that it couldn't even be classified as ice cream anymore. An anomaly to all ice cream out there. "There it is!" beamed Delilah once we exited the alleyway.

        I glanced up from the bowl to see a homely cafe tucked between a clothing shop and a laundromat. Maybe you could go from left to right in order? First you buy clothing, then you go to the cafe and accidentally, possibly spill something on the new article of clothing, then move on to the laundromat.

        Then again, that sounds more like my own luck, not everyone else's.

        Really pissy luck. Life is just rude to me sometimes. Like, literal 'r-zero-zero-d' rude.

        Delilah examined me carefully with caramel, almost hazel eyes. "Ara, speak up. You're scaring me." I snorted quietly.

        "Since when did I scare anyone?" I hopped carefully across the street, watching out for cars or anything that had wheels and stepped carefully onto the sidewalk, still caring for the anomaly of an ice cream. "I thought everyone agreed that I'm too 'sweet' to be afraid of."

        She titled her head to the side with a hum, going to open the door. "That was the yearbook committee. If it had been anyone who actually knew you, you'd probably be put down as..." Delilah paused to think about it before answering, "Junk Food Girl." I wrinkled my nose in disgust at the nickname before stepping through the door she was holding open for me.

        "Thank you for opening the door, but no thanks for that nickname. And, for your information, I don't eat only junk food!" The cafe was dimly lit with a comfy atmosphere filled with burgundy, maroon, and black colors, a long bar taking up most of the back. The corner that wasn't taken up by the bar held lovesacs -- also known as bean bags -- surrounded around a fireplace with a wooden coffee table in the middle, coated with wrinkled magazines and the occasional book smothered in fingerprints. Those weren't the only places to sit, though, as tables adorned with small glass vases filled with flowers seated two people each in front of the large, wide windows that overlooked the street. Familiar scents of coffee beans and cinnamon filled the warm air, which was a bit hotter than it should be considering the season just entered autumn. To finish off the ultimate affect of comfort, sunlight streamed in delicately, the only things to be touched with shine being the vases.

        Welcome to Calor Cafe. I was told that 'calor' was supposed to mean 'warmth,' but it just sounds like a heavily accented way to say 'color.' So, as an ongoing joke for the irony, all of my friends and I call it the Color Cafe, even though color is what the place lacks. It's so ironic I bet if we poured water on that statement then left it out in the oxygen, it'd rust.