About Last Night

SMILES

The weekend whizzed by in a blur of youth group meetings and a Sunday service. Mark 8:36 still echoed in my ears. Church was great, but sometimes it shocked me that dad was a full time pastor. Not that it was strange, but because it made him so happy. And that made us happy too.

Now it was Tuesday morning, and I was staring at the menu above Sara's head. She was the barista at O's. We both knew that I was just pretending to consider my drink options. Whether it was tea, smoothies, or even a regular cup of Joe—I always ordered the same thing: An XL matcha iced latte with soy milk.
The name sounded obnoxious.

"Matcha?" I heard a voice behind me say, "I'd've taken you for a hot-chocolate kind of girl,"

When I turned around, matcha in hand, I came face to face with a black t-shirt saying 'O-M-G R-N-G'. It was Shaun. Something about him was different. In his hands he held a half-drank cold brew and what could only be O's blueberry muffins to-go.

"I didn't take you for a blueberry muffin kind of guy either," I said, pointing to the take-away bag.

"Cause I'm not," he winked. "It's brownies,"

Of course it was. He was smiling at me again, that smile that made me wonder what was going on inside his head. The smile that made the corners of his mouth curl up, eyes glinting mischievously... It sucked me in like a vacuum.His hair.He had gotten a haircut. That  was the difference.
His hair was short. The soft brown curls were chopped off and slicked back, exposing his smooth forehead. If I was honest, I preferred him with longer hair. It made him seem more realistic, more human. Even though he was standing right in front of me, pointing towards a window booth, he appeared surreal. Almost as if he were a photo-shopped cutout from a magazine. His eyes were too green, and his teeth too white. He almost seemed...flawless...I just knew he would have been the center of attention if business hadn't been so slow this morning. 

"I can't stay for long, though," I said, now sitting opposite him. "My class starts in a few minutes."

"Class," he said, repeatedly, a steady rhythm akin to tasting the word.

"What," I asked, "Why are you being weird? Stop saying it like that."

He rolled his eyes, the whites fully exposed. "I've never been," he replied after a sip of coffee, "to school, I mean."

The thought didn't surprise me. "That explains a lot,"

He feigned surprise, "Excuse me, just because I didn't conform to society's social constructs doesn't mean I'm odd."

"I didn't say you were odd," I rapped my nails across the hardwood table, "you did,"

He snorted, fighting a smile. "Which portal of hell do you frequent?" he asked, eyes scanning the not so quiet streets outside.

"EPHS," I said, "A street away--"

"There's a high school one street away," he exclaimed, eyes wide.

"Yes?"

"Sorry," he said, clearing his throat. "If you hadn't noticed, I try to stay as far away as possible from any institution," he added with a smile. "Conformity might rub off on me."
Snarky, I thought. I loved it.

"Righht," I said, rolling my eyes. I wanted to clap back, but I couldn't. I needed to leave, like half an hour ago. "Well, if O's scares you," I said, gathering my bag, "You should try Caffe Vita on fourth, it's far enough from any school, and their brownies are the bomb," I checked my watch, "but I need to leave, Mr Non-Coformative, I'll see you 'round,"

On my way out, he winked at me from the window booth. When he saw me wink back, he chuckled and I waved goodbye. Somehow, after that idle conversation, my boring Tuesday morning didn't seem so boring after all.