Chapter 3
Rushing to my first class—chemistry, I grab the syllabus, as instructed to do so on the board, and find my seat in the front, always the front. The cool kids sit in the back. I am not included in that definition, nor do I ever want to be.
I’m lost in my work when a note drops onto my papers. When I look up, I see Everett walking to the back. He looks over his shoulder and flashes that stupidly perfect dimpled grin at me. My little hummingbird heart-wings start fluttering once again, waking to his sweet nectar.
A little origami heart-shaped note is staring at me. How did his giant hands even fold this thing?
Releasing the note from its constriction, his handwriting makes my little heart excited.
You know, my shoulder might actually be a little sore.
Let me take you out to dinner to make it up to me?
—Ev
I turn my head back to him so fast, I think I might have given myself whiplash.
Did he just ask me on a date? He sits in the very back, surrounded by his friends, but his eyes are on me.
He runs a hand through his wavy golden hair.
It's cut short on the sides and hangs messily above his dark, full eyebrows.
His strong jaw tenses when he glances to my lips, and then he rubs at his shoulder and feigns a grimace.
What a faker. I curl my lips in, trying to fight a smile, but I fail miserably.
No, Leora. No smiling at Everett Rowan!
I flip the note over to write my reply, but Mr. Roby begins class.
Plus side, this gives me all class to think about my response to Everett.
Downside, this gives me all class to think about my response to Everett.
I cannot, under any circumstances, go on a date with him.
One, I’m pretty sure he recently broke up with Natasha.
I do not want to be on her shit list. And two, I need to remain detached.
I have a plan. Get a scholarship, graduate, get out of here.
Nowhere in that plan do I have Everett Rowan penciled in.
Class drags on, but I don’t even hear Mr. Roby’s voice.
I’m too lost replaying this morning over and over in my head.
He takes over my mind as I get lost in the events of this morning and all the noises in the classroom fade.
There is the clock ticking, the pencils tapping on old wooden desks, and Mr. Roby’s nasally voice.
It all becomes white noise compared to him.
The bell rings, tearing me from my thoughts, and I quickly scribble out a reply.
I recommend ice and rest.
-Leo
I’m not sure what compels me to sign the note with my nickname, the name that no one calls me but myself, but I do. He shortened his, so I guess it just feels right.
I leave the note on my desk and walk away. He can come and get it if he wants my answer that badly. No way am I walking up to him, in front of all his friends, and giving him a secret note. Nope. You would have to hold a gun to my head, and still, I would consider that death may be easier.
I make my way to my next class without bumping into anyone.
I am still racking my brain over how I managed to run into him.
I have been walking these halls with my head down for three years.
I am an expert at this. My peripheral vision is impeccable.
But his stupid large, muscular body got in my way on purpose.
Wasn’t that what he said? This was all his doing.
The day continues without any more exciting accidents.
I eat my cup of noodles in the library. Ms. Judy always lets me hide out there, at the secret back table no one but she and I know about.
It's between two aisles and hidden from the front door and main desk.
So, you have to search through the aisles to see it.
It's my safe space in this hazardous high school.
I don’t speak with Everett again, thankfully.
I see him though. Dominating the hallways.
The students are all drawn to him, moths to a flame.
The girls gaze hungrily, the boys with envy but admiration.
They embrace him in bro-hugs and give him fist bumps.
Everett is magnetic. I watch him, hidden in the crowd, wondering and longing for something and someone who will never be mine.
When the last bell rings, it releases me from this hell and into my heaven. After school, I head to Mill’s Coffee to begin my shift. I work here Monday through Friday evenings and mostly on the weekends too. Honestly, anytime Ski, the owner, has his shop open, I’m there. Better there than my house.
The little bell dings as I walk in, and Ski greets me with a smile.
His real name is Henry, but he was in the Marine Corps, where everyone calls you by your last name.
His is some Polish name I can’t spell or pronounce, but it ends with -ski, so they took to calling him Ski, and now everyone does.
He and I are cut from the same cloth. He is quiet and kind.
A little on the grumpy side but with good reason.
Keeps to himself and stays out of the town's drama.
In a small town, where drama seems to be everyone's favorite dessert, he stays out of it.
He always tells me, “I only care about coffee and you.”
He has created a haven for me here at Mill’s. He knows that I sometimes have unexplainable bruises, but he doesn’t push me to talk about it. Even though I know he wants to do something, he respects my decision in keeping all this quiet.
He doesn’t pity me. He prepares me. Because of him, I now have a skill that I can use to bring in money when I leave. Being a barista won't make me millions. But it gives me the ability to support myself, and that is worth more than any amount of money.
I asked him once why he named his coffee shop Mill’s instead of Ski’s, and he said it was after his late wife.
Her name was Millie, and she is the reason he loves coffee so much.
I love hearing him talk about their love.
How he would wake early each morning and bring her coffee in bed.
How despite trying, they were never able to conceive.
When she got cancer, he took care of her every day till the Lord called her home.
And now, he says that he feels her in the morning sunbeams that stream through the shop's windows.
He tastes her in the sweet hazelnut that he adds to his coffee.
He smells her in the roasts as they grind and brew each morning.
I want a love like theirs. But who could love me like that?
I always think that Millie must have been special to have found Ski. She was his sun, and he her moon.
“Good afternoon, old man. How was your day?”
He lets out a rough grunt. “Oh, you know, just the usual. How was your first day of school? One more year left.”
I walk around the counter to put on my black half apron with my tea towel hanging from my side. Then I make myself my favorite drink: a black coffee with frothed heavy cream and cinnamon.
“It was fine.” I say as I take a sip of my coffee.
He raises his brow at me and crosses his sun-leathered, tattooed arms over his broad chest. “Fine?”
I keep my eyes down, looking into the beautiful swirl of brown and white.
They mix to make a golden caramel color.
I love to watch coffee mix like this. The beauty of it reminds me that I am beautiful too.
My dad was black, my mom white, leaving my skin a golden caramel color.
But that makes me different. My dark ringlet curls that fall past my shoulders are from my dad, but my bright-blue eyes I got from my mother.
I once looked in the mirror many, many years ago and thought I was pretty.
My hair, skin, and eyes contrasted. But, once I hit middle school, being different was no longer pretty.
So now, I watch the coffee mix as a reminder.
“Earth to Leora…”
“Huh? Sorry. I got a little lost.”
Ski is staring at me with concern in his eyes. “Did the bullying start up again?”
Right before seventh grade, my mom moved us here from Washington and the bullying started, but he didn't tolerate it. I was here every day after school to do homework. Coming here was the only way I could get anything done. One day, he noticed some girls picking on me and kicked them out. I vividly remember him telling them they couldn’t come back until they found some manners.
It was the first time anyone had ever defended me.
Eventually people got bored of me. I never fought back, so what’s the fun in poking a lion if it never roars?
“No, nothing like that. I, huh, was asked on a date?" I say it like a question because, well, I'm still not sure if that really happened.
His eyebrows shoot up in shock then morph into a frown. Happiness and protectiveness fighting inside his irises. “By whom?”
“It doesn’t matter. I said no. Well, technically I ignored the question. But same thing, right? I can’t get attached. Stick to the plan.”
“Smart girl.” He remarks as he heads to the back.
Am I, though? I think about Everett and the way he made me feel today. My heart-wings start beating, and I feel like I'm soaring.
Stupid, stupid girl.