“Well if I were as engrossed in Emily Parker’s novel as you seem to be, I’d miss everything around me too,” she replies with a hint of a grin.
I try to hide my surprise behind a mask of indifference. She’s got good taste in literature, I’ll give her that.
“So what can I get for you, Hoot?” I ask casually, rolling up my sleeves.
“Hoot?” She tilts her head in confusion.
“Like an owl. Would you prefer a field mouse?” I tease.
Her hair catches the sunlight peering in through the side windows as she shrugs, making it look like liquid gold pouring over her shoulders. “I don’t see myself as the mousy type but I’ll let you be the judge of that. So, can I get a drink?”
“Yes,” I say with a chuckle. “What would you like?”
Please don’t be the same as sugar-high Barbie.
“May I please have an Earl Grey tea with two milk and two sugars?”
Definitely not what I expected, but glad for it.
“You may,” I say with a smirk. “Although I didn’t peg you for the tea type,” I admit, taking a swig of my own black coffee.
“Well you’d have to make me something a lot more interesting than tea to peg me.”
I choke on my coffee and begin hacking while looking at the woman that robbed me of oxygen. Her top teeth sink into her full bottom lip, a teasing grin tugging the edges of her mouth. Finallymanaging a full breath, I turn to make her tea. “Take a seat, I’ll bring it to you when it’s ready,” I call out over my shoulder. I can’t face her after my mortifying coughing fit, so I stay facing the back wall. I hear her soft chuckle as she walks away.
Oh my God.
I take a steadying breath and refocus on my task. I haven’t been that surprised in a long time. I smirk at my own expense; it’s rare someone has the witty upper hand in conversations, and to be so bold.Well, Hoot, you’ve hooked me. I’m intrigued.
I lift my marker to write her name on a napkin for her order when it dawns on me that I don’t actually know her real name…yet. I hold her steaming cup of granny juice in my hand and scan the cafe area for her golden hair. I frown when I don’t immediately see her. Where could she be…Oh no.
Head tilted downward in concentration she sits across from none other than Espresso Barbie. Before I lose faith in Hoot, I realize she’s instructing her, pointing out red marks on what looks like a test.
Of course she’s tutoring her.
To be totally fair, Espresso Barbie may look like a stereotypical bimbo but the textbook in front of her reads organic chemistry. That is not something I’d willingly pick up to skim through. The two of them are hunched over the textbook when I set the cup down on a napkin with “Hoot” scribbled on it. I place it strategically away from loose papers and as quietly as possible, so as not to interrupt. Hopefully I can get through my book without any more interruptions. I turn on my heel to walk back to the counter counter.
“Thanks, Peggy.”
I stop mid-stride and slowly turn to face the two women. Barbie is still buried in balancing equations but Hoot has such a feline grin on her face I swear I practically see a tail swish backand forth, daring me to call her out on it. I run my tongue over my teeth and chuckle.
Game on, Hoot.
THREE
Latte
Celeste
As often asDelaney’s theatre arts friends tend to over exaggerate, they were right about one thing. Biblio & Brew was a great new spot. While tutoring Angelica at the cafe about a week ago, I tried to keep an eye out for the foot traffic in the cafe. Foot traffic of the male variety. It wasn’t a lot, that’s for sure given it’s not very well known and summer break. However, seeing as most of the varsity teams stayed on campus for training, there were an adequate number of prospects. Some athletes popped in, along with a few finance guys that were working internships over the summer, and a few others like me, who just lived close to campus.
I stare at my organized desk in my tidy room, the soft pink walls making me just as happy as the day I picked it when I was around five. Pulling myself from my pastel memories, I focus myattention on the matter at hand and open my laptop to formulate a plan. I’ll go in during my limited time off and see if I can pick up a guy based on the various areas of interest. There is sports for the jocks, business and economics for the finance guys, art and architecture for the creative types, and self help for…well, maybe I’ll steer clear of that category. There is nothing wrong with getting help, but it isn’t appropriate for this experiment. It offers too many variables that I don’t want to account for. I’m also in a time crunch as med school applications are due in the fall and I’ll have to have all my application questions answered, written, revised, and submitted by then. It’s a bit of a tight timeline and strict schedule but really, that’s nothing new to me.
Checking over my calendar for the next little while, I spy a couple hours open every morning before my tutoring begins. I jot down in my available time slot to stop by a different section each day. Was I interested in finance? No. But they didn’t need to know that. I’ve watched enough rom-com movies and read enough swoon-worthy bodice rippers to know that men like saving the girl in need. It’s not hard to envision taking on this persona, it’s one I’ve mastered over the years. Pretend to know less than I do, keep then at arms length, bat my eyelashes, and not word vomit my life’s history and scare them away. Biblio & Brew is a great location for my experiment as well, offering such a variety of suitors. It helps that the tea was pretty good and the barista was fairly easy on the eyes too. I didn’t catch his name, but his lightly stubbled jaw line seems to be living rent free in my head. Not to mention his steel blue eyes, corded tattooed forearms, and tousled dark locks that effortlessly hung over his forehead. He was someone’s fantasy but no, not mine. Nope. His moody demeanour and general snarkiness is clearly an indication I should stay away. Plus, our interaction already writes him off as a candidate for my experiment.Ineed to setup the meet-cute.Ineed to be in control, so as not to skew the results.
I sigh and close my computer, hearing Mom tinker away making tea in the kitchen. Our home is modest, to say the least, but it’s all I’ve known. I glance around my room again, noting that barely a thing changed over the decades, only a few things here and there added. A few band posters decorate one wall from middle school, a skull and crossbones tapestry from my high school goth phase adorns another, and my most recent addition, a stack of medical school applications piled neatly on my desk.
Getting the application packages in the mail was more than exciting. It was like grabbing the handle of an entirely new door to walk through in life, and with just a little push, a whole new world. The idea of working ina hospital has my stomach churning with excitement and anxiety. A flicker of fluorescent lights and the sterile smells of my childhood flash through my mind but I tame it. History is just that, in the past. A research lab is where I’m headed anyway, and I need medical school to get there.
