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I stopped in front of the metal door, staring at the smooth blue paint. My heart fluttered strangely in my chest, wondering—hoping—that something would be waiting for me.
With a slow hand, I spiraled through my combination, easing the door open. A piece of paper fluttered to the ground. It was a ripped-out piece of notebook paper, edges frayed, with handwriting that I knew as well as my own by this point.
My grandma needs help with something after practice, so can we meet later tonight instead? Around seven? There’s a coffee shop in Jefferson called Expresso where we could meet?
-C
I read the message once, and then twice, before crumpling the paper into my fist. By the time I started back down the hallway, practically sprinting before the bell, my mind already raced along with me with possible excuses to give Alex.
I’d been expecting a quaint little café when I walked into Expresso’s, but was instead greeted with an almost warehouse-like space, more industrial than cozy. The exposed ductwork along the ceiling paired with brick walls was aesthetically interesting, and did a great job at holding my interest as I waited for Connor. The smooth jazz leaking from the speakers was top quality, a quiet soundtrack as I flipped absently through the Algebra II textbook.
This time, Connor’s lateness didn’t bother me. I could’ve sat there all night, inhaling the scent of crushed coffee beans, the sweetness of the sugar.
The doors chimed a few times as new customers walked in and waded out, and some stuck around to work on homework themselves. I recognized a guy in the corner—or, really, I recognized his varsity jacket, which was the red and black colors of Jefferson High. He was sipping from his disposable coffee cup, scrolling through something on his phone.
Each time the door chimed, he looked up as if he were expecting someone too.
My awareness of him disappeared as the coffeehouse’s doors swung inward once more. “Sorry I’m late,” Connor said in a rushed voice, hair blown a bit to the side by the wind, clutching his backpack bag in front of him. “I’ll buy your coffee to make up for it.”
“I don’t drink coffee,” I said, watching as he deposited everything into one of the chairs across from me. “But I do drink hot chocolate.”
Conner knocked his knuckles against the table’s surface, eyes softening on me. “One hot chocolate coming up. Don’t go anywhere.”
I snorted a little at the prospect, reaching across the table for his duffle bag. Might as well unload his book while he got our things. We were starting the second to last chapter tonight, all about descriptive statistics, which is one of the harder elements of Algebra II. I brought out Connor’s notebook, flipping it open to a random page.
My name greeted me on the paper, mixed in with equations and number lines. My first thought was that it must’ve been from the day that I wrote my name down for him, but my cell number was nowhere in sight. And my name wasn’t in my handwriting. It was in Connor’s.
I’ll have to write it down,he’d said.I won’t remember it unless I write it down.
I turned the page to the next blank one and dropped it onto the table, tenderness tugging at my heart.
“Large hot chocolate for the math queen,” Connor announced as he set the to-go cup down in front of me, a red lightning bolt printed on the side of the cup. “And one for me. It’s late for coffee, anyway.”
“Thanks,” I said softly as he eased into the metal chair across from me. The last time I’d seen him had been at the football game on Friday, and the once easy atmosphere seemed stiff now. “We should dive right in. This is one of the last sections, and it’s a confusing one.”
Connor took a drink from his hot chocolate before setting it aside, digging a pencil out of his duffle bag. “Aye, aye, tutor.”
He worked diligently, with the smooth jazz keeping pace. As he copied down the instructions, following the new routine we’d established, I tried to picture him scrawling my name in his notebook, but it felt too bizarre. Bizarre, but the image made me smile. Just a little.
I brought out the note he’d slid into my locker earlier today, flattening out and tearing off an edge until it was a square. “How was your weekend?” I found myself asking. Even though such a casual question was weird to ask, there was no way tonotask it. Not when my pestering curiosity was going to eat me alive.
“Uneventful,” he responded without elaboration. “How was yours?”
I thought about my phone call with Jozie and our topic of conversation, and brought one corner of the paper across itself. “Uneventful.”
“How was your date with Alex?”
The question settled over my skin thickly, one that had a straightforward answer and an answer that felt more truthful. “I think you were right.”
Connor’s pencil halted in its transcribing, and he looked up with only his eyes. The warm glow of the café made the hazel in his gaze appear golden. “About which part?”
I traced a finger along my origami in progress, but I didn’t feel happy on the inside. Instead, I was a ball of confliction. “You said that you didn’t think people could fall in love in high school. I…I think you’re right about that.”
“What happened?”
“Nothing happened. Nothing at all. I’ve been thinking. About me, about us—I mean, Alex and me.” I paused in my folding to grab my hot chocolate cup, bringing it to my lips. “I mean, I’m only seventeen. What do I know about love?”
The hot chocolate scorched my mouth as I took a drink, burning a trail of fire down my throat. Connor did nothing but study me.
