But first, Starbucks,I decided, locking the Subaru and proceeding to the garage’s stairwell. I didn’t like coffee, but from time to time I tolerated it, and you didn’t even need to look at Waze to know there’d be one on my route. It was like an unspoken city regulation that there needed to be a Starbucks on every other street corner.
But halfway to the elevator, something caught my eye—something that made me do a double-take. I took a few steps backward to stare at a hulking black Escalade. “Okay, chill,” I muttered. “It’s not hers, it can’t be hers….”
For a moment, I thought I might be sick. Not Grace-sick, but truly sick.
Isa’s custom license plate might’ve made her Mini Cooper the flashiest car at school, but this one was the most infamous. Principal Unger’s titanic of an SUV with its tinted windows. I saw it every day, the villainous vehicle parked in the school lot’s front row. Only a couple hours ago had she climbed into it and driven away for her private and personal business.
Which, to be real with you, I just assumed was an appointment with her gynecologist. Yeah, I get that thinking about my principal’s gynecologist was pretty messed up, but don’t the words “private” and “personal” kind of insinuate something like that? Her phrasing did not allude to “an afternoon adventure in the city.”
Instead of taking the elevator, I played it safe and spiraled down the concrete staircase before bursting through the door onto the sidewalk.Starbucks,I remembered.Start walking and find a Starbucks.
Maybe that car actually hadn’t been Unger’s secret service vehicle. Maybe it was just a mirage. I was tired, after all. Hallucinations could happen.
Two blocks later, Starbucks welcomed me with wide-open doors and a long-ass line. I admit, though, that I was totally and completely confused when it was my turn to order. Starbucks’ menu had a lot more going on than Dunkin’ Donuts’ did, which was precisely why I preferred our local Dunkin’. “What can I get you?” my barista asked.Chloë,according to her name tag.
“Uh…,” I said. “Vanilla latte, please.”
Mrs.Flamporis’s drink of choice. I owed it to her to at least try one, right?
Chloë gave me a blank look, like she was waiting for more information.
“Size large,” I added.
“A Venti?” she said.
I nodded. “Sure.”
“Hot or iced?”
My brows furrowed. The place was so packed that it was hard to hear. “Repeat that?”
Chloë sighed. I was clearly ruining her rhythm. “Hot or iced?” she said. “Do you want your lattehot? Or would you like it poured overice?”
“Hmm, that’s atoughquestion.” I pretended to ponder. I knew what iced coffee was! Who didn’t? “Iced sounds interesting.”
She made a note on my cup, then asked for my name.
Do you also want my number?I considered saying.
“Okay, James.” Chloë scribbled it on my cup before ringing me up and pointing me toward the pickup area. “It’ll be a few minutes.”
“Thank you,” I said, giving her a cheeky smirk. “It’s been a pleasure, Chloë.”
She rolled her eyes, but then looked away and smiled.
I tended to have that effect on girls. It meant nothing, though. The only one who made me smile back was Isa.
While waiting, I monitored Find My Friends. The threeoverlapping dots were getting closer to Center City’s Rittenhouse Square.Well, well, well,I thought, rolling my shoulders back with satisfaction.How well I still know you, Grace…
This pit stop wasn’t going to make or break things. Technically I was a step ahead—
“Yes, I’ll have a triple, Trenta, half-sweet, nonfat caramel macchiato!” someone shouted obnoxiously over the coffeeshop chatter, and if I hadn’t recognized the voice, I would’ve thought,That drink is a crime against humanity in a cup.
But no, I felt melting ice slowly seep into my veins.
Principal Unger,the sirens in my head sounded as I closed my eyes.Principal Unger is here, in Philly, breathing the same espresso-engulfed air as you.
And, okay, sidenote:Thatwas her go-to coffee order?
