The Thing About Flip Flops

Chapter Thirteen: Mutual Free-Insult Passes

The night after the fair, I decide to paint something.

I'm surprised that I've been forgetting to do it more and more often, since I absolutely love art. I mean, I still do a quick sketch or warm-up almost every day, but it's been almost a month since I actually did a final piece. So I dedicate this Sunday to art and only art.

My boots make footprints in the snow that cover up hundreds of other peoples'. I decide to go to Rascal's Cafe, the place I used to come so often as a little kid.

Whenever Dad was working he assigned my sister Genevieve to watch me after school, and we always went there. Genevieve could always get discounts since she was friends with the owner's daughter, and it helped a lot when she eventually started working there herself.

I haven't been back since she left for college, but I couldn't think of a better place to go at the moment.

Rascal's Cafe isn't popular. No one really knows about it, and it's never crowded. You'd be lucky if you saw more than three people in there at a time.

I used to ask Genevieve why it hadn't closed down after such bad business.

She'd just shrugged and answered, "I don't know, Aud. Maybe the owner just can't let go of it."

I think about this as I climb up the rickety little stairwell to the cafe on the second floor. I reach the top of the stairway, shifting my bag of art supplies over my shoulder to grip the door. I shoulder the door open and the bells tinkle, announcing my arrival.

The inside of the cafe is cozy and compact, with plants, tables, armchairs, and bookcases everywhere. It looks more like a cluttered grandma's house than a cafe.

Since the place is so empty all the time, it's easy for me to sit in there for hours on a few cups of tea with no one to bother me, painting my life away. I'm glad I've decided to come back.

On second thought...

"Hey," a familiar voice greets.

I spin around to see who has spoken and find a tall dark haired boy wearing dark jeans and a black zip-up hoodie open over a white Rascal's Cafe t-shirt.

Jack.

"Hi," I say awkwardly. "Since when do you work here?"

He folds his arms. "What's it to you?" Then in a sarcastically chirpy voice, he says,
"Take a seat. I'll have to menu with you in no time."

I adjust my grip on my bag and find a table near the window. Jack follows me and plops the menu in front of me.

I don't take it. "You don't work here."

He makes himself comfortable, sitting on the table, and gestures to his shirt. "Really? I don't? Damn, I must be in the wrong café." He says sarcastically.

"Sorry. It's not really your scene."

"And how would you know that?"

I glare at him, ignoring the question, and say, "I'd like plain tea. Strongest you've got. And a lot of sugar cubes."

He grins. "Sure thing, A."

"Don't-" I call after him as he walks towards the kitchen, but he's gone before I can finish my sentence. I don't even know what I was going to say.

I take out my sketchbook and pencils and begin to thumbnail out ideas. I want to paint some flowers.

Jack appears next to me a few minutes later, holding my teapot and cup. He sets them down in front of me.

They are patterned with roses. Huh. I could paint those.

"What are you drawing?" Jack asks, sitting next to me and leaning to see what I'm doing.