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But it wasn’t the apartment I had a problem with. It was the fact that my home was two thousand five hundred fifty-six miles away, because my home was Cricket.
My alarm clock started beeping, indicating it was five-thirty in the morning and I did, indeed, have to start my first day of work at the campus coffee shop.
My summer semester wouldn’t start for a few more weeks, but I had to do something to pay bills. I was basically miserable without Cricket, so why not tack on the added bonus of smelling like I’d been marinating in a coffee bean bag for twelve hours a day, right?
You can do it, I told myself. Just take it a day at a time. I sat up. Okay, maybe a minute at a time.
Since I’d gotten back, I’d seen a doctor several times and I was recovering well. He’d given me a clean bill of health to return to work. I called and talked to Bridge every day. She was getting bigger, staying healthy, things were going strong with Jonah, which I was glad to hear. When she tried to talk to me about Cricket, I would stop her before she could continue.
“No sense in torturing myself,” I’d tell her.
I’d also written a very detailed apologetic letter to Peter Knight and his wife for my part in my dad’s scandal. I explained everything to him and his wife but hadn’t gotten a response, not that I expected one. I was just glad I told him the truth. I wasn’t sure if it would help the man, but I hoped it gave him the evidence he needed to prove his innocence to his wife if my dad did the unthinkable.
I stood and took a shower in my three-by-three-foot bathroom, brushed my teeth before dressing in my uniform of jeans and a t-shirt. I grabbed my starched apron and keys and left, locking the door behind me.
I left my truck with my mom and Bridge, but got a place close enough to campus that I could walk without any issues. I passed a guy I remembered from my freshman year and waved. He looked surprised I’d done so but waved back. It made me think of the impression I gave off when I was here as the “other” Spencer.
The little coffee shop had an outside kiosk during the warmer months, so I was assigned to it since it didn’t get quite as busy as the shop inside the campus. I was greeted by a senior named Jason. He showed me the ropes, taught me how to make the more difficult drinks, where the supplies could be found and everything else. I could run the kiosk by myself just with an hour’s worth of training.
After he showed me the entire kiosk and their procedures, he leaned against the counter.
“Is there nothing else to do?” I asked him.
“Nothing, man, just chill and wait for people is all.”
Coming from the grueling day-to-day of the ranch made it feel like I was being lazy just setting back.
“Wait a minute,” he said, snapping his fingers. “I know you.”
“You do?”
“Hell yeah, you’re that rich bastard who takes all the girls.” He narrowed his gaze at me. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“I’m, uh, I’m not rich,” I laughed.
“Bullshit. You’re filthy rich, dude. I saw the cars you drove around here.”
I held up my hands. “I need to clarify. I was just using my dad’s money and he cut me off.”
“Oh, shit! Got in deep with daddy, huh?” he ribbed. “What? He made you slum it with us lowlies to teach you a lesson?”
“Nah,” I said, ignoring his attempt at getting a rise out of me. “It’s a little more complicated.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah,” I told him and relayed everything that had happened to me during the past six months, since we had the time.
When I was done, the guy’s mouth gaped wide open.
“What?” I asked, uncomfortable.
“That’s harsh, dude. What he did to you is messed up.”
“Nah, I helped a lot of people and changed myself in the process.”
“That’s pretty righteous.”
“Thanks.”
