Seven: Teacup.
“A simple cup of tea is far from a simple matter.”
-Mary Lou Heiss
A project for gov, a speech paper for English, and three tests (in math, science, and Spanish) to study for: that was the weekend ahead of me, and it wasn't looking pretty. Everyone said that senior year was going to be so easy. Liars, all of them.
I dragged my feet walking into the teashop, and my tennis shoes left soggy, slurred footprints in the doorway. It wasn't too crowded, which was weird, but good, because it meant there was no line for drinks.
The barista on duty was Jenny. She's small, and has a nose ring and big brown eyes and a shock of purple hair on top of her head. Jenny chews gum loudly and sticks it on the bottom of tables as she cleans them, but Krystal keeps her around because of a debt she owes to Jenny's mother, or something like that. I don't know the whole story, or if it's even true; Krystal is prone to making up those kinds of things.
“Sam, my man!” Jenny called as I shuffled up to the counter. She was always so out there, a constant beacon for attention.
I winced at her loud voice. “Hey, Jenny.”
“You want the usual?”
The usual, at least for the wintertime, was peppermint tea. It was my favorite, and sounded like the perfect thing to help relieve some stress. But then I thought of you, and the very first drink I ever heard you order: vanilla bubble tea. I didn't know anything about it, really, but I found myself telling Jenny to please get me one order of that in a small mug.
She looked at me kind of funny.
I tapped my foot as I waited for my drink. There was water sloshing around in my shoes. Everything was dim and homey, and instrumental Christmas tracks were humming out of the speakers. I figured that starting on my workload would probably be a good idea, but it was sounding more appealing to just sit and think for a while, and I figured that was probably what I'd end up doing, anyway.
“One vanilla bubble tea for Sam-u-el.” That was a moment later, when Jenny came out of the tiny kitchen with green-and-blue striped teacup on her palm. She was smiling; she smiled a lot. Except when she was sad, and it seemed like she was sad a lot, too.
I take back what I said about it being uncrowded. That's a lie. It was crowded, actually, it was just quiet. I saw a boy writing music, a girl sketching, a cluster of kids huddled on the couch with textbooks strewn across their legs.
But I didn't see you.
That is, not at first. Because when I was about to check the other room for a seat, I heard a psst wander into the air. It was so quiet, maybe I imagined it. Maybe it was just fate that I looked up and saw you sitting alone at a table for two, your legs crossed and a book spread under your fingertips.
I didn't think this time, didn't hesitate, and when I look back on the moment I'm proud because I didn't let my shyness get in my way. With a purpose and my backpack and a teacup in my hand, I strode over to your table and slid into the empty seat.
You didn't look up. I guess I didn't expect you to, because I wasn't surprised. I just set down my cup, pulled out the Spanish book that we were being tested on, and pretended to read. It was boring; not nearly as amazing as the book that Carolina had tried to take my head off with, which I had stayed up late into the night in order to finish. Really, I was just passing time, waiting for one of us to speak. It ended up being you.
