I poke my index finger in her direction. “I think that’s more about swapping lives.”
“And this triangulation involves a more he-said-she-said type of deception?”
“I don’t know,” I answer honestly with a shrug. “I’m pretty sure I saw it in a movie once.”
“Okay, I think we’re getting off topic here,” Sylvia points out as more people filter back into the room. Chair legs scrape along the linoleum floor and hushed tones of chatter linger before the last minutes of our break is up. “Just think about it. Maybe hecan help you find a coffee place since you’ve been craving those chai lattes you can only seem to find in Tacoma.”
I scoff. “You act like I’m some snob because I like a good chai latte.”
She subtly shrugs a shoulder, a sort of “if the shoe fits” gesture. “You said it.”
Principal Morrow reappears and we’re all shushed into obedience. Much like how we’d like our students to behave. The last hours of the meeting go by in a flash. Turns out, Principal Morrow likes to throw in a few wry jokes when the opportunity arises, making the time go by faster. When we’re done, Sylvia goes back to her classroom to collect some supplies she left behind over the summer and I walk back to my car.
I’m hooking my bag over my shoulder with my phone in my hand when I notice a new alert. It’s a text message from an unknown number I don’t recognize at all. I assume it’s a wrong number or even some spam sent by a bot, but when I thumb through my alerts and read through the message, I see it’s no wrong number at all. Far from it.
Unknown Number
Hi. It’s James.
That’s all there is, and I start to wonder if that’s the end. Whether he simply texted me to hand me the advantage or if this is his usual MO. A maladroit introduction that’s as out of place as it is awkward. But then a second message comes through.
James
Sylvia mentioned you wanted to ask me about chai lattes?
Typical triangulation.
When did she find the time to talk to him? Maybe during our meeting while she covertly hid her phone under the table to tap out a sneaky text message. Or maybe she mapped all this out last week after her party. It was all part of her master plan.
Me
It seems we’ve both fallen into Sylvia’s manipulation scheme.
James
So no chai lattes?
I consider answering with a clear-cut no. Leave nothing to ambiguity and let him know we’ve both been bamboozled. But then I remember our stolen cupcake and his hand covering mine. How he appeared equally confident and intrigued with our shared interest in sugary frosting and who would be the eminent victor. And I bend.
Me
Chai lattes don’t sound too bad actually. Do you know a place? Or are we talking black market-level classification?
I pause before adding another text. Something to kick up the banter.
Me
Which I’m actually okay with because I don’t judge people’s lifestyle choices. As long as it’s not kombucha masquerading as chai lattes.
A sharp knock clangs against my window, and I clutch my chest with a sharp gasp.
“Holy shit!” I shout. I look outside to see Sylvia crouched over at the driver’s side, her hand hovering over her brow to block out the late afternoon sun.
“What are you doing?”
I roll down the window, and Sylvia ducks her head closer inside. I realize I’m just sitting in my car with the engine running and I’ve been grinning like a fool at my phone screen. The same phone that has now tumbled down to my toes resting against the brake pedal.
“Nothing,” I answer, still trying to catch my breath. “Why are you skulking around the parking lot like some cat burglar?”
