Be Thou my Vision

My Short Life as a Barista

Chapter 7

The cool Baltimore air threads through my hair, tangling it even more than it already is as I trot down the street, trying not to be late for my job. 

One of my flats comes off, and I stop and huff loudly. As if anything could go worse this morning. At least there's no dirty subways I have to ride like in New York.

"I think you dropped this, ma'am."

"I'm not Cinderella," I snap, turning around and snatching my shoe back from the stranger, glaring until I see his face. He smiles nervously, and I bite my lip, pink creeping up into my cheeks. 

"Sorry," I mumble. "I'm having a bad morning."

"Perhaps I can help make it better," the man says, not in a weird or seductive way, and he offers me his arm. I slide my flat back on and take his arm, and we walk the next few blocks to the coffee shop where I work. (And no, before anyone asks, it's not Starbucks. There's too many 'white girls' and annoying people there. I work at a local place. Much better.)

The man introduces himself as Andy, and as he tells me a little bit about himself, I admire his good looks. I do seem to have good luck with men. He has short, curly, dark brown hair and a little stubble on the bottom of his chin. Dark brown eyes made his cocoa colored skin look.... I really should become a professional at staring at guys, shouldn't I?

"This is my stop," I tell him when we reach the small coffee shop. "Hopefully the manager won't be too mad that I'm..." I check my phone, "thirteen minutes late. It was really nice to meet you, and again, I'm sorry I snapped at you earlier."

Andy smiles and leans down a little to kiss my cheek lightly. "It's okay. It's not every day that I meet a girl as pretty as you."

I blush again, but notice that, just like earlier, he says his little flirtations in such a nice and genuine way that I can't take it in a gross way. If only more men were like him.

I pull a pen out of my purse, and (in such a cliche way, I must add) I write my number on his hand. 

"For later, if you feel like you can put up with me again," I say, patting his hand. 

"Definitely," he says, and I grin as I walk around the back of the coffee shop to where employees are supposed to enter. 

"You're almost fifteen minutes late, El," the manager says as I walk in and put on my apron.

"I know. I'm sorry, it's been a rough morning, and then I met this guy..."

Cass smiles and punches my arm gently. "You're fine. Good luck with your guy."

I became best friends with my manager when my clock broke and I got to work forty five minutes early. Cass was my age, and we were into the same stuff. She helped me get used to life in Baltimore.  

The day flies by, and before I know it, I'm walking home along the harbor with Cass. We planned to finish our Game of Thrones marathon that we'd started last weekend, and we were stopping at this really good popcorn place that was a few blocks from my apartment. We settle in on the couch, complete with blankets and food. 

Just as we were about to witness someone get killed (surprise, surprise), there was a thud on the roof. Cass and I both jumped, wrapping our blankets tighter around us. 

I could feel the Tesseract energy sizzling beneath my skin. Yep, it's still there. And any time I get scared or really angry, I feel like everyone knows it's there. 

"It was probably nothing," I say, turning the volume up, knowing full well that whatever it is, I can protect us, even if it means revealing my power.