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1.
Zerena
Growing up I thought I’d end up being a professional swimmer. Spend my days practicing for the Olympics and keep my head under water from morning to night. Depth. Silence. Peacefulness.
And here...I don’t really get that!Instead people yell at me to bring them things, babies are crying, students are having heated discussions and teenage girls giggle over hot douches on TikTok.
I’m way out of my comfort zone, but that’s life, right? When I told everyone back home in Utah that I’d be spreading my wings and moving to the UK, nobody took me seriously.
They expected me to stay, marry the local bad boy who deep down has a heart of gold, settle down on a farm and have fifty children, all of them ruddy and robust from sunshine and organic butter.
They said I was way too attached to my family and our Sunday nights when we play board games and eat jello with shredded carrots (I know it sounds super disgusting, but I swear it’s a delicacy).
They told me I’d be back in two weeks.
It’s been six months now. Six months in rainy, dreary Newcastle and it doesn’t look like I’ll be going home anytime soon.
I’ve already made a somewhat decent life for myself here. In my spare time, I work with my passion project which is saving the planet. And during the other hours I bring people their coffee and pastries.
Unfortunately, I’m the worst waitress in the country. I forget peoples orders or mix them up and pesky things like that. Once, I spilled hot cocoa on a customer’s hand and we needed to give him access to the kitchen so that he could rinse his hand under cold water.
He demanded that I get fired, until I opened my mouth and started talking. He got so sick of me that he gave up and left. Sometimes I just don’t know when to stop talking, and either it lures people in or repels them. Sadly it’s usually the latter.
Walking out of the warm, rowdy kitchen, my eyes take in the pastel colored yellow and blue interior of the café and I get assaulted by all the sugary sweet smells. And there’s not an empty seat in sight.
“Brownies incoming,” I say, carrying a tray full of brownies to the counter when Dimitra grabs me and spins me around. Her black, short bangs are fashionably stringy and her tongue swipes over the piercing in her lower lip.
“You were supposed to bring strawberry scones,” she says in her heavy Greek accent and I look down at the tray.
“Oh.” I pinch my lips and give her a sheepish smile. “Oops.”
“Yeah oops,” she sighs, blowing up her cheeks until she looks like a chipmunk. She takes the tray away from me. “Forget it, I forgive you because guess who’s here?”
“A guy dressed as a merman?” I gasp, but Dimitra shakes her head, throwing me a quick, strange look but I don’t care what anyone says. Mermenaresexy. Think about it, naked oiled torso, flippers, a seashell in front of their package and not to mention tridents...
H...hot.
I squirm when I get a little drizzly. Note to self, do not think of mermen at the workplace.
“Better up,” Dimitra says with a smile. “Salty Suit.”
I tense and stop blinking because I’m not ready for this. I mean sure we agreed that the next time Salty Suit comes to the coffee shop, I would do it but I had hoped that I would have some more time.
I’m not prepared. I feel like a gladiator about to be thrown into a ring without weapons, armor or shield. From the corner of my eye, I catch a glimpse of Roger’s red mop of hair and his freckly face.
“This is our chance,” he hisses in my ear and starts rubbing his hands up and down my arms, giving me goosebumps. “This is our chance, our chance, our chance...”
The three of us met once I first came to Newcastle when signing up to be volunteers for an environmental organization. We all hit it off and Dimitra who’s the manager at the coffee shop offered me a job and the rest is history.
Every week, we volunteers need to recruit at least one donor. But if I manage to recruit someone like Salty Suit, it’ll be like recruiting twenty. And with more money, the easier it’ll be to fight against the polluters or as we like to call them:Ursula.
“All right!” I whisper in annoyance as my stomach drops. “But are you sure you don’t want to do it? Both of you are better at this than me.”
“Positive,” they say in unison and I scowl, crossing my arms.
“I just know I’m going to make such a fool out of myself, I mean look at him...”
Salty Suit is dressed like 007, sitting in the corner together with a plump man he’s usually accompanied by. He has been here a couple of times before and everyone at the coffee shop, dread serving him.
