🍌🍌🍌Think Netflix's SEX EDUCATION, but without the accents, and instead of pictures and sound, I put the words on the screen, and you paint the pictures with your mind.🥒🥒🥒
***
Some guys are showers. Some guys are growers. Then there's Peter. He...
Ups! Gambar ini tidak mengikuti Pedoman Konten kami. Untuk melanjutkan publikasi, hapuslah gambar ini atau unggah gambar lain.
Back to the story!👇
Despite being a few blocks from campus, Coffee Fix isn't one of the usual hangouts for students at John Wayne High School. Back in New York, lots of kids drank coffee, or at least they hung out in coffeehouses, pretending to be hipsters. But this is Texas. If you don't have a beer in one hand and a football in the other, people look at you funny.
Except inside Coffee Fix, nobody looks at me funny. Nobody comments on my ill-fitting jeans or my faded Star Wars t-shirt, even though there's an unfortunate mustard stain on Han's face - a result of my rush to eat the hot dog and get out of the cafeteria as soon as possible. Nobody cares that the Texas humidity has made my hair frizzy and unruly, like a wookie. Best of all, nobody recognizes me from the internet.
I make a mental note to come here more often, because this looks like a nice place to hideout. But then I remember that I'm supposed to meet the author of the note. Whoever told me to meet them here goes to my school. So maybe Coffee Fix isn't a safe place after all. Instantly, I feel my body tense up. I am on guard.
"What'll it be?" the barista asks.
The barista looks like she's about two years older than me. Her hair is short, almost like a buzzcut, and it's bleached white with dots of black, like a leopard. She wears a t-shirt for a punk band I've never heard of and a pair of baggy trousers held up by red suspenders.
"Um..." I say, looking at the menu.
Back home, I'd order a coffee with extra room for cream and sugar, but that choice seems unworthy of a barista who as cool as the one standing in front of me. Also, I can't quite seem to find the word coffee at the moment. Which is just as well, because I know that my voice would probably betray me with a terrible squeak. This is what happens whenever an attractive girl talks to me, which to be honest, hasn't happened a lot in my life. And to be brutally honest, it hasn't happened at all since "the incident."
"Two cappuccinos, Audrey."
I turn around to see a boy from my grade. His name is a Elroy Nash. We have history and English together, but Elroy is one of those math and science geniuses who took courses with the seniors when he was a freshman, and now takes math and science at a nearby university.
"Put them on my tab," Elroy says.
"You have a tab?" I ask.
Elroy nods with a friendly smile. Then he points me toward a table in the back, near an old poster for a French movie I've never heard of called Breathless.
"Jean-Luc Godard," Elroy says in reference to the poster. "His recent work is hardly worth discussing, but his early films are a revelation. In fact, he basically invented the jump cut."
