I wandered for a while, then, thinking I’d take Petra’s advice and pick up a City Paper, circled back to the bookstore below Drea’s apartment. I sat on an iron bench outside and flipped open the newsprint magazine. Right away I saw what Petra meant—there was a section dubiously titled “The Weekly Wassup,” with lists of street fairs, outdoor concerts, poetry readings, a lot of them taking place right downtown or on the campus of Lennox University.
I’d circled a few that might be worth checking out, when three girls and a boy came out of the bookstore, smiling and laughing. They wore short-sleeved shirts and tank tops a little too early and reminded me of my classmates, even myself before Nan died, enjoying the final days of school. They sauntered down the street and, having already gone through most of the City Paper, I tucked it into my book bag and followed them.
“… not as good as The Dead Zone,” the boy was saying as I fell into step a few paces behind.
“Or Salem’s Lot. Or Carrie,” a girl with short dark hair, nearly a crew cut, added.
“I never liked Carrie,” a different girl, pretty with red hair, said.
“Maybe not the same caliber,” Crew Cut agreed. “But what about The Stand ?”
Yes, I thought. I wished I could join in. I’d add Cujo to the list. Maybe not the same caliber either, but I could never get the final scenes—the desperate mother, her dying child, the foaming dog—out of my mind.
“Anyway,” the boy said, leading us around the corner, “it wasn’t bad. Just not my fave.”
“Well, I’ll take it when you’re done,” the redhead said.
I followed them as they filed into a storefront coffee shop, its velvet drapes held back by thick brown ribbon. The rough wooden floor was covered with threadbare rugs in faded jewel tones. The smell inside, rich and spiced, was immediately calming, and without thinking, I breathed deeply, nearly closing my eyes.
“I love that coffee smell too.” I caught just a glimpse of the man on his way out—dark-rimmed glasses, floppy hair, older than me: twenty maybe. Cute. In a buttoned-down shirt kind of way.
I smiled back and made my way to the counter.
Fifteen minutes later, I was snuggled in a well-used chair near the window, steaming coffee by my side. I felt good, I realized, better than I had in weeks. “If you don’t like the view, change the scenery,” Nan used to say. It wasn’t that I thought I could escape the mark. I knew it would be back; it was only a matter of time. But if I saw it here, it would be on a stranger rather than someone I knew and cared about.
It wasn’t that I missed Nan any less either, but the pain of her being gone wouldn’t be as fresh if I didn’t have to walk past the closed door of a room that had always been open. So much about Bering seemed right: my space in Drea’s apartment, other kids debating my favorite books, and now my own little coffee shop.
I think then—before I’d even finished my first day in Bering—I decided it would be okay. Better than okay even: good for me. It was hard to imagine why Nan had sent me to live with Drea—a woman she hadn’t known very well, who didn’t seem that interested in me, and who lived hundreds of miles from my home. Then again, maybe that was the point. Maybe Nan didn’t really think I needed a caretaker as much as a place I could learn to take care of myself.
Chapter 10
“Three large mochas and an iced raspberry smoothie,” Doug called over the clatter of mugs and metal.
“Got it.” I reached for the cups, still holding the Café American for the last order steady under the machine.
It was a lot less relaxing on this side of the counter, but I loved working at Cuppa, amid the organic smells of coffee and teas and surrounded by a steady hum of conversation.
I’d been in town just under a week when I decided to apply, after I’d explored all Bering’s neighborhoods and lounged for hours, reading in the apartment and at Lennox—the U, everyone called it. There’s only so much of that you can do, though. I got bored and found myself thinking too much about stuff I didn’t want to. Plus, I didn’t have a whole lot of money, my allowance held by Drea, who’d spent less than two hours with me since I’d arrived. She was always in a rush, sprinting to the shower, kitchen, and out the door every morning. Sometimes I never even saw her, just found a scrawled note on the table: “Sorry, AM mtg!” or “Will be late tonight.” She hadn’t been kidding about being on my own, so I figured I’d better find something to do.
Doug, at the coffee shop, had been hesitant to hire me. His face fell as he scanned my application: the absence of previous employment, my temporary stay here.
“You’ve never worked before?” he asked.
“I’ve done volunteer work.”
“Like what?”
“Well, soup kitchens, taking food to shut-ins, umm …” I tried to remember all the places I’d tagged along with Nan. I felt guilty sitting there with him watching me skeptically.
Doug nodded, looking a little more encouraged, but then frowning at my address. “You just moved here?”
“Yes.”
“For … school?”
“No.”
“Family?”
“Sort of.”
He waited, but I didn’t feel like getting into it. “And you’re only staying for the summer.”
“Uh-huh.”
He nodded, his face grim. I could tell he was about to end our interview, and not the right way. I realized then how much I wanted the job. Not only for the money, but more so that I’d really have a place here. Belong. I took a quick breath and decided to go for it.
“Listen, I’ll give it to you straight. The truth is I was living with my grandmother in Pennsylvania and she died about a month ago. My parents are gone, so I’m living with my aunt for the summer. I know it’s not long, but maybe I can fill in for … I don’t know … some of the college kids who work here during the year?” It was a guess, but it must have been a good one, because Doug’s face relaxed a little. I pressed on. “I’ve come to this coffee shop every day I’ve been in Bering.”
He nodded. “I know.”
“I’d really like to work here. I’m a quick study and I won’t take off on you.”
Doug was young—early twenties at the oldest—with shaggy hair the color of a Kansas wheat field and deep brown eyes. He looked at me closely for a minute, just to make sure I wasn’t bullshitting him. “I’m sorry about your grandmother.”