Between You & Me (9 page)

Everyone else has left. Without exchanging a word we have both stayed behind, a silent agreement that only years of friendship can achieve. As the door swings shut behind the last person, we're quiet for a minute.

YOU

What's going on, Phy?

I realize now that there isn't much I can say without sounding stupid. I'm looking at my shoes so I don't see you getting something from your bag.

YOU

Here, I've been meaning to give you this. I've been carrying it around since we were at the bookstore on the first day of school.

With a sinking heart, I see the filmmaking book I noticed you buy.

You seemed to like the class, so I thought you might like this. I've been waiting for the right moment to give it to you …

You set it down on the seat in front of me, shoulder your bag, and start walking up the aisle toward the door. Anger would be easier to take from you than this. I pick up the book and run after you.

ME

Wait. I do like it. I love it. I know I don't deserve it, but it's perfect. Thank you.

There are still the lines of a frown etched in your forehead. I haven't said the right thing yet.

ME

You're right. I've been really caught up in everything. I'm sorry.

We lock eyes. When you shift your gaze, I move to be in your eye line again. After a moment, I see the beginning of a smile in your eyes that hasn't even started toward your mouth but I know you.

ME

We'll be okay, right?

You turn to me as we head out of the theater. A familiar feeling is emerging between us again.

YOU

Ehh … Think I might pick a shiny new friend.

ME

Totally! I know I would. Nice T-shirt by the way. Yellow. Cheerful!

YOU

Yeah, thought I'd try something new.

ME

With that and a new friend, you'll be golden.

YOU

I'm excited.

I laugh, feeling the relief of having you back wash over me. For the first time in a few days I feel almost normal again—everything the way it should be. And I know that now is not the time to tell you anything. In this second, I like things just the way they are.

The burnt-orange apron? Yes, mine! Peele's standard issue, which I wear with pride. The kind of pride you manufacture to hide embarrassment. The coffee cup: not mine but on its way to table 7 if I can remember which table is 7. It's only been a week since we were walking past and you pointed out the “Part-time help needed” sign in the window. I was running low on spending money, and with the theater trip and a few new movies I can't wait to see, the apron was a concession I needed to make.

We're back on track, you and me; at least I think so. It's taken a couple of weeks but with time and my efforts to act like a normal person, I think we're okay. We've never had a real fight before, so I hope so. I'm not sure I realized how uneasy it made me. I still feel relieved every time I see you smile at me each morning.

It's my first day so you've come in to surprise me, for moral support you say, settling into a window seat in the corner as the bell on the door dings. I don't look up, it dings every few minutes. The next moment,
guess who
is here, sitting down at the table next to yours! I knew there was a chance but I can't believe she's come in already! And she's alone; this is the perfect excuse. She's even more beautiful when she doesn't think anyone is looking. I start toward her table, reaching into my apron pocket for my pad. Another
ding
, and when I look up she's standing to hug the tall skinny girl who has just come through the door. Feeling my cheeks burn, I slip into the store cupboard and stare at the Sweet 'N Low for a second's reflection to pull myself together. When I reappear, smoothing down my apron self-consciously, you're gesturing helpfully to Mia from behind your menu in case I haven't noticed her. She's dressed more casually than in school—jeans and a silk scarf knotted loosely around her neck, with hoop earrings. It never occurred to me she would look so different on her own time. She's talking cheerfully to her friend now, an intimidatingly chic fashion type in a shirt with ruffles. Picking my moment, I swan toward them. My apron pocket catches on the corner of the counter and it stops me
short, sending the croissant I'm carrying flying off its plate. Fortunately the sound of a falling croissant hitting the floor is a mere rustle, and I carry on as though the plate has always been empty and the croissant has always been on the floor.

MIA

Phyre? I didn't know you worked here.

ME

Oh, hi. I didn't, till today. It's just for the apron. I think the amber brings out my eyes.

She laughs. Hear that? I made her laugh.
A beautiful sound!
Draw attention to the apron, I thought. Preemptively agree I look stupid in case they think I haven't realized.

MIA

Suze, this is a student of mine.

Suze
looks up at me and smiles, turning back to Mia almost immediately.

SUZE

Oh right! I can't get used to the fact that you're teaching already.

MIA

Crazy, I know!

I stand here like a lemon, thinking how much younger Mia seems in her own life, separate from us. They're smiling politely now, waiting for me to continue. I start, enthusiastically, then realize I'm being too cheerful—they might think I really like working in a coffee shop and have no life—so I bring it down a notch. I prop my hand against the redbrick wall beside them, which makes me feel like the guy who rests his arm on the back of your seat in a movie theater, so I remove it almost as fast, focusing on my pad. Small talk over, I forget to ask Ruffles if she wants a small or a large raspberry rooibos and, pretty sure I talked too loudly, stroll back to the counter with nothing on my pad but the doodle of a house.
Phyre! Crap.
I can't remember what Mia asked for.
Get it together!
I look at the corner of my pad, feathered into something like a flower, as if that will help. This is ridiculous. I'm too preoccupied with being engaging to perform the simplest task? I panic inwardly, poring over the menu to look for something that sparks my memory. Could be anything! Twirling my pen—I drop my pen, pick up the pen—I glide through the shop to you. You know me well enough to recognize a little panic. I pretend to engage you in polite conversation:

ME

(Quietly)

Help! I can't remember what Mia asked for—it's gone right out of my head.

Puzzled, you peer at my pad and, seeing my useless origami, you bite your lip.

YOU

At least your pad looks nice.

ME

Thanks!

I glare.
Be helpful.

Did you hear?

You gaze thoughtfully in recollection but I know that face! I know you heard and you're leading me on. You
hmm
uncertainly and I threaten you with a pinch. I have a killer pinch that you've learned to fear.

ME

Tell me …

YOU

All right, all right!

You grin and push away my hand.

Jasmine tea.

ME

That's it! I love you!

I give you a rushed hug.

You're the best.

When I straighten up, Mia is looking, and I laugh, embarrassed, saying something about friendly service, and flow busily but serenely back to my station.

I'm frothing milk—still not something I'm good at; it deflates in front of my eyes by the time I reach people's tables—and Mia comes up to the counter as they're leaving. Seeing her approach, I turn off the milk frother to be casually available.

MIA

Thanks, bye.

ME

Oh, bye.

Heart fluttering, I twirl the sprig of mint sitting on a saucer I cleared earlier. She is still there:

MIA

Hey, I'm glad to see you so engaged in class. Can you meet me after school tomorrow? There's something I want to talk to you about, if you're interested.

Me. Interested!
Don't say okeydoke!

ME

Sure!

MIA

And I'll see you on the theater trip tonight?

ME

You certainly will.

She begins to turn away, and I swallow. Here's my chance to find the courage to speak, to show her I'm thoughtful:

Mia?

The first time I've said her name to her face.

I heard that things didn't work out with your boyfriend and I'm sorry.

She turns back to me and smiles.

MIA

Thanks for saying so, but plenty of good has come of it. Right?

She means me? Probably not; why would she? But my heart skips three and a half beats before my body shouts at it in protest. I smile out loud.

She walks away and I resist the urge to dance. I was a veritable genius compared to last time. I absentmindedly nibble the corner of the mint leaf. Then I remember that it's someone else's and I spit it into the palm of my hand.

I breathe in the fresh sweet air. Evening hours spent with Mia—Mia, who wants to speak to me tomorrow! If we were watching a shoe for two hours I would go if it meant being with her. It's a gorgeous crisp night. The temperature has dropped and everyone's shivering. Right now, I like shivering.
It makes me feel alive. Elle looks silly in a short skirt. She's squeezing her knees together to generate warmth. I've knotted my scarf and buttoned it in against my chest but I've forgotten my gloves so I fold my arms and tuck in my hands and chin. Ryan takes it as a hostile pose and calls across the grass:

RYAN

Blah-blah-blah-blah-blah.

Today, everything bounces off. Mia wants to meet with me and it is a secret joy that fills me with importance and expectation. Looking at people grouped on the steps I think with a pang of excitement that I have reason to feel special, and I imagine, with a new sense of entitlement, the evening ahead. I went to all Mia's lunchtime scene-study classes so I have some knowledge of the play we're going to even though my intention to dazzle her with bright remarks was compromised by the thoughts that take over when I'm in her presence.