My cheeks heat at the reminder that my gaze may have lingered a little longer than it should have before he rushed out of my room. I appreciate when Mateo makes light of our interaction as Megan chuckles along; she’d already heard me profess my apologies in our Intro to Folklore class this morning as the rest of the students discussed the prevalence of the bogeyman in high society circles during the turn of the century. And I thought the internet is what fucked us all up. The lack of caffeine made the entire class unbearable, but I deserve an award for the fact that I didn’t lose my shit. I won’t lie—I was close.
“Back to it daydreamer,” Megan titters, waving her hand in front of my face as she gestures to the inspiration piece Mr Crane had handed out to the entire class last period. Megan continues chopping squiggly lines out of the edges of a piece of paper to entertain herself, already done with herKandinsky-inspired piece where she used her coffee cup lid to trace circles on the page. Simple yet effective, I guess. “I want out of here as soon as possible. It’s free shots till eight at Camp Curiosities.”
And the wildest student bar name goes to...
“I need coffee,” I whine with wide puppy dog eyes, wishing one would magically appear so I could get through this without pulling my hair out at the root. I had woken up late this morning, had my awkward interaction with Mateo, and hadn’t had time to pop by Glorie’s for my fix. Three for three of the shit things to happen on a trifecta scale. I guess I should be happy I got them ticked offbefore my day even had a chance to get started. Lingering bad luck sucked more than a prostitute when rent was due.
“Coffee as an apology—I’ll remember that for next time,” Mateo remarks, planting a kiss on Megan’s lips, enjoying what remains of her slice of the strawberry dessert and sighing agreeably as he pulls away and licks the taste of her from his lips.
Art, Ebony—we were concentrating on the art.
It was okay to want a slice of happiness for yourself, right?
The unfurling heaviness that coils in my belly protests its needs, but I refuse to listen. As tired as I am, I’ll make sure to add some one-on-one time with my vibrator later. That should settle me some and stop all these wild thoughts about cowboys stealing me away in the dead of night.
Megan holds out her paper cup of cafeteria coffee to me, and my lip curls up in disgust. Even growing up destitute, I still hold the belief that there is no excuse for a shitty cup of coffee.
“No thanks.”
Considering I acquire most of my meals from the leftovers at Glorie’s at the end of my shift, you would think I’d be a little less picky.
Screw that.
For the sake of my guts, the abysmal offering of caffeine here has me stoic on my choice to accept the exhaustion that has my eyelids heavy and my brain tired.
I swipe the sharpened pencil between my fingers across my drawing pad, charcoal heavy in the darkest parts of mydesign on the thinning paper. Three more minutes of debating whether I can even draw, and I’m finally done with what I hope will get me the extra points I need to pass this portion of the course.
CHAPTER SEVEN
EBONY
Megan reaches over and straightens the collar of my grey tye-dye shirt with the donut insignia and company name across the breast pocket. Food money had dried up almost immediately; the living wage stipend attached to my scholarship was barely enough to buy a coffee and a pastry each morning.
Megan had vehemently warned me off applying for the part time position in Glorie’s Donut Holes, a popular cafe on the outskirts of campus, something about upkeep of my reputation. I cackled uncontrollably at that. She was ready and willing to become my sugar mamma to fund me, but I quite liked the idea of making my own money. Although I appreciated her offer, the glint of mischief in her big blue eyes told me I didn’t want to know exactly what she had in mind to secure such a position. A bunny costume and the creative use of a carrot were both mentioned, but I shut the idea down before it could fully form in her head.
I had spent the thirty-minute walk to my first interview on the brink of premature death by dehydration as the midday heat shone down on me, deciding that if I got the job, I’d be investing in a bike with my first pay check. The poppy print summer dress that hugged my curves was acutie classicas Megan liked to call them. It was incredibly short, not remotely my style, and the opposite vibe to my usualdon’t-breathe-in-my-spacesullen mood - where impending peopling was to be a significant part of my day. In my classes I found I could skulk away at the back of the room and lose myself in whatever project the teacher had set us.
The borrowed clothes, the plastic smile, the patchwork resume bolstered with big words, and the angelic school-girl braids I had allowed Megan to coax my unruly waves into—I was as ready as I was ever going to be. The promise of free coffees and pastries were a great incentive.
“What time does your shift start?” Megan asks and I groan. Even with the second hand bike, the ride into work was still torture for my thighs.
“4:30. I’ve transferred the class notes into my voice app so at least I can still revise while on cleanup duty.” We’re not even a third of the way through our first semester, and I am already lagging behind.
“Hey, Ebony, right?” My bid for patience doesn’t extend to the guy leaning on the edge of the table with his foot perched on the seat beside me. Sleezy—that is how I would describe Bobby Masters. One big ball of sleaze prettied up with old family money. The navy blazer pushed up to his elbows paired with the pristine white shirt beneath screams affluence; the tan shorts that show off his stubbyknees, however, tell me Mummy likely still packs his suitcase.
“Correct,” I reply tersely, trying to find a glimmer of kindness in his soulless brown eyes, but all I find is darkness. There is something about this guy that has my skin crawling, but I can’t quite decipher what it is. Determined not to appear weak as he towers over me, I keep our gazes locked. Hoping he will feel uncomfortable and scurry away when he realises that I’m not like the other girls fawning over him for a crumb of his attention.
Wrong girl, buddy.
“You look like you could use some company.” He grins wide, running his palm over his slicked black hair, apparently oblivious to the other two people at my table as I share my confused expression between him, Megan, and Mateo.
“And you look like you struggle with basic maths,”
“Don’t be like that. We could be firm friends. I was reeled in by those mesmerising eyes from all the way over there.” he gestures over to the far end of the cafeteria where a table of football players jeer and hollar, like a scene ripped from every highschool flick you’ve ever seen.
I’ve met enough guys like Bobby in my time to know what the warning signs look like. I don’t need a new friend, especially not one who tries chatting up women when he already has a girlfriend. “I have enough friends. But feel free to broaden your search net. Preferably anywhere but here,” I snap back with a saccharine smile that doesn’t reach the eyes he is apparently so transfixed with.
“Cute and feisty. Let me buy you a drink, and you can drop this whole pretending you’re not interested act.”
