Eruption

Em

Jake was fascinated with coffee. That first week on Bainbridge, he drank coffee and drank coffee and drank—and didn’t sleep. On Saturday morning—it was just 10 am, a balmy late summer morning, just three days after school had started—he walked into his third coffee shop of the day.
    A girl turned from the cash register and smiled. “What can I get started for you?”
    Dark, straight bangs swung slightly, just brushing the dark eyebrows, while a long pony tail swung across her back. Dark brown eyes twinkled, catching Jake’s breath. And then she smiled, a siren’s smile meant just for him. Jake knew, without a doubt, that his life had just changed.
    He managed to say, “Triple-shot venti.”
    The girl turned away to the espresso machine, and got it started. She slipped her phone from her back pocket and glanced at it, then looked over at him, as if curious.
    This was Jake’s fourth triple-shot since 8 am, when he set out to try every place in town that served coffee. His senses were tingling, and he watched her hands move as if in slow-motion.
    “You want an Earth muffin to go with that?”
    “What’s an Earth muffin?” Jake asked.
    The girl handed him a brochure and pointed to a listing. The Earth muffins had carrots, zucchini, pumpkin seeds, flax and other stuff that Jake was pretty sure didn’t usually go into a muffin, which was just a piece of bread. But he wasn’t sure why it would be called an Earth mifflin.
    “We’ve got special coffee mugs on sale, too, if you’re interested.” She pointed to a line of mugs on top of the counter. They were works of art, each hand-painted with a skyline of Seattle.
    “Who did these? They’re interesting.” Maybe he’d buy one for his Mom sometime.
    “It’s my side-business,” she said with a grin. “If I’m not selling coffee, I’m selling coffee mugs.”
    “Just the coffee. Thanks,” Jake said.
    She set a cup with his drink on the counter, and put her phone beside the cash register.  “You new in town?” she said.
    Jake could barely nod, he was so intent on watching her pink-painted fingernails tap the cash register.
    “I’m Em. Emmeline Isabella Tullis. And don’t you dare call me Bella like that silly girl in the vampire book.” She glanced at her phone, frowned, tapped something—pink flashing up and down—then looked up again.
    Em. He liked that name. “Jake,” he squeaked.
    “You new in town?” she repeated.
    “Living with my grandparents.”
    She raised an eyebrow.
    So he continued, “Sir and Easter Rose.”
    “He’s the dentist in Seattle?”
    Jake nodded, then paid for his coffee. When Em took his money, their hands brushed; Jake jerked his eyes up, surprised by—what? Something. Her touch—well, it reached inside him inside somehow. Her eyes widened slightly, too, he was sure of it.
    He backed away and sat in a booth where he had a good view of the counter and Em. He sipped his coffee, not even tasting it, just watching her with other customers. She glanced at him once, twice—but it was a casual glance, sweeping the shop to see if any customers needed anything. When there was a lull, she went around collecting coffee cups and offering refills. And always, she was fiddling with her phone. Addicted to it, he thought. It was a Earth habit that he hadn’t picked up yet. Maybe he should.
    The string of bells on the door jangled, and Jake glanced over. Startled, he realized the man who had just walked in was that soldier, the Captain, from Gulf Shores. Jake twisted away from the door so his back was toward the man.
    What was the Captain doing here on Bainbridge Island? Was he tracking Jake? An older man beside him had the same walk and swagger; it was Jake’s science and civics teacher. From their resemblance, Jake guessed it might be the Captain’s father.
    Jake shrank further into the depths of his booth.
    “Morning, Coach,” Em said from behind the counter. “The usual?”
    Mr. Blevins taught science and history. Why was she calling him Coach? So far in science, they had only been given seat assignments, lectures on Blevins’s grading system, received textbooks, and talked about lab safety. In civics, it was the same, except instead of lab safety, they had a long lecture about their major project of the first semester, a research paper. Jake knew almost nothing about this particular teacher.
    “Sure,” Coach Blevins said. “But my son here—have you ever met Cy?  He’s Homeland Security Special Forces.” Blevins paused to let Em fully appreciate the comment. “He’s just been posted in the area for a special assignment. He likes triple-shot ventis.” This man was proud of his son. “And throw in a couple of those Earth muffins, too.”
    “Got it,” Em said. “We’ve got special coffee mugs on sale, too, if you’re interested.”
    Coach Blevins smiled and said, “You’re great at sales. I’ll get mugs for Christmas presents, I promise.
    She nodded and turned to the espresso machine.
    Jake gulped. The Homeland Security Special Forces had some assignment for this captain here in the Seattle area? Did Homeland know who Jake was?
    While at the beach house, Mom and Dad had drilled it into Jake: “No one must know you are the son of the Risonian ambassador. No one must know that you’re half-human and half-Risonian. No one knows that’s even possible.” Mom’s voice had been the most passionate in the discussion. “I am working day and night to win a refuge for Rison here. And back home, Swann is working to calm down the Risonians who just want to attack Earth. We don’t want a war; we just need a place to evacuate our people before the Rison’s core implodes.”
    “How long before that happens? What’s the current prediction?” Dad asked.
    “Two or three years. Maybe less. Time is short,” Mom warned. Dad laid an arm protectively over her shoulder and they turned as one to glare at Jake. “You must be invisible.”
    And now, the Captain who led the search for mom at the beach was here on Bainbridge Island. Surely it wasn’t an accident.
    Jake sat immobile, trying to be invisible.
    The two men of them sat at the table next to Jake, but thankfully, with their backs to him.
    And Jake shamelessly eavesdropped.
    “How was Gulf Shores?” the father asked.
    “Fine.”
    “Did your assignment go well?”
    “No. We missed our target.”
    Silence. They must be eating their Earth muffins and drinking their coffee.
    Then: “ Dad, you know I’m here on a special assignment?”
    “Yes.”
    “I need to go through our old photos.”
    “For what?”
    Silence.
    The old man cleared his throat. “Look, I know you’re working on something about Rison, and you think bringing that up will upset me, will bring back old memories. It’s OK. Just ask. What do you need?”
    “OK. I’m looking for photos of the Ambassador’s son,” said the Captain. “The Quad-de’s have kept him out of the news, and the most recent picture we have is five years old. You know they have software now that will age up a person, and I just wondered if you had anything better than the fuzzy photos I can find online.”
    Jake’s mind swirled. They were looking for pictures of HIM. But why would Coach Blevins have pictures of Jake? Old pictures. This was crazy.
    The Coach answered, “All the pictures are in the garage. After your mother died, I almost threw them away. Instead, I just put them in the garage, that storage room in the back. You’re welcome to look.”
    “OK. I hope we get lucky. Homeland convinced the National Enquirer and other newspapers like that to put out the word to its paparazzi, offering $10,000 for a photo of the kid. Maybe we’ll get it.”
    “He was a nice kid—”
    Their conversation was interrupted by a sudden crash.
    Spinning around, Jake took in the scene. Em’s phone was in one hand, and the empty tray in another. She’d apparently come around to gather empty cups, and either stumbled or was concentrating on her phone too much, and the whole tray of dirty cups had spilled into the Captain’s lap.
    Maybe she shouldn’t text and work at the same time, he thought.
    Dark coffee ran down the Captain’s jeans and one thick white mug lay at Em’s feet with the handle broken off.
    “Oh!” Em cried. “I am so sorry.” She jammed the phone into her back pocket and—
    The Captain surged to his feet, shoving the coffee cups and napkins from his pants and knocking Em backward. He glared at her.
    He reminded Jake of a tightly wound coil that could release with considerable force. Without thinking, Jake rose and shoved the Captain’s back. “Leave her alone. She didn’t mean to do it.”
    The Captain whirled around, fists ready to strike. Coach Blevins grabbed his arm, stopping the swing.
    The Captain froze anyway and hissed, “You!”
    Now, Jake wanted to back away, but Em was saying, “It’s OK, Jake.”
    The other cashier, an older man who must be the store owner, was there, too, saying, “Everyone calm down, now. Just a clumsy waiter. No need to fight.”
    Jake sat heavily, but the Captain was in his face. “What are you doing here on Bainbridge Island?”
    “My grandparents live here. The Roses.”
    The Coach tugged at his son. “The Roses have lived on Bainbridge for twenty years or more. He’s a dentist. Leave the boy alone.”
    “Where’s your Dad?” the Captain demanded. 
    “On assignment.”
    “Where?”
    Jake shrugged. By now, he was regaining some of his composure and certainly wasn’t going to answer this jerk’s questions. “No idea. Dad doesn’t exactly tell me all about his assignments.”
    Anger blazed across the Captain’s face. He jabbed a finger at Jake’s face, almost yelling now. “He’s negotiating with that SHARK ambassador, isn’t he? Where are they?”
    The Coach jerked his son’s arm, forcing him to turn. “Leave it.”
    Father and son stared at each other for a moment, before the Captain squared his jaw and nodded. Through clenched teeth, he told Jake, “Don’t worry, we’re looking for the ambassador’s son. When we find him, we’ll find her.”
     The Captain straightened ram-rod straight, like he was at attention. He ran a hand through his curly hair, and backed up a step. “OK. OK.” He reached in his pocket, pulled out a five-dollar bill, and threw it on the table. To the store owner, he said, “No problems here. We’re leaving.” He glared at Em, but said nothing more to her. He stalked out. His father shrugged a quick apology at Em and the owner, then followed the Captain.
    Jake sat stunned. The Homeland Captain who had tried to capture his mom was here on Bainbridge. And Homeland was trying to get a current photograph of Jake. It couldn’t be a coincidence. But what did it mean? Why would his science teacher have old photographs of Jake? Had he been on Rison? When? Why? And why would Homeland send the Captain here? What was his assignment?
    Em touched his shoulder, and he startled.
    “Sorry,” Em said. “I just wanted to say thanks for sticking up for me.”