Maya's favourite part of being a Starbucks barista was getting to spell people's names wrong.
She just didn't know what inclined her to make his cup any different. The usual pattern was switching up a letter or two (Ashley to Ashlyn, Alex to Alice, Mike to Mick, etcetera, etcetera); a fun little pastime during her awful shift that lasted from the ass crack of dawn to creep o' clock. It's the little things, she reminded herself each time a prissy little student from the university pouted after picking up her double shot low cal soy frap explosion before her afternoon class, but this particular order was paired with a title that wasn't derived just to earn a snicker from the tiny barista.
She wondered if it was his flannel clad with his hideous pointy boots that made him stand out or his absurd accent that he possessed for a customer at a Starbucks on the outskirts of the city or maybe even the Southern charm he practically oozed- she would probably never be sure. All that she knew was that when she snatched the sleeve for his hot chocolate, instead of Linus or Lou or any other similar name she could scribe out from the top of her head, she signed Huckleberry in smooth cursive with her bottom lip between her teeth and a flutter in her heartbeat.
She didn't find the switch up anything but harmless at the time. She thought he'd read it, roll his eyes at the joke, and walk out without ever returning considering that's what her customers usually did. (It's not like her particular Starbucks was going to take a hint losing a few bottle blondes a week, anyways. What's one guy to add to her usual list of sorority sisters?) She thought he'd get annoyed with her childish source of entertainment and abandon her location to bring the one around the corner more service. She thought that when she filled his order, slipped the sleeve on, and handed it to him with a slick smirk on her lips, he would ask her why she wrote such a thing and demand a new sleeve even.
She had never been so wrong in her life.
He didn't even notice the name written and walked out with a satisfied smile. He sipped his scolding drink without second thought, and he returned the next day for another around the same time.
She couldn't stand it.
In turn, Maya wrote Sundance on the side of his cup in a thicker marker the second encounter she had with him. She even turned it so that the word would face her customer when he grabbed it from her- but again, he was completely oblivious to her game and it infuriated her.
It became a challenge.
Hopalong covered nearly the entire sleeve in the largest cursive that she could muster up on his third day in. (She had ink on her palm as a reminder of her failure for hours from handing it to him before it had dried.)
She underlined Cowboy on his fourth. (She used her own silver Sharpie from her personal collection for a greater contrast against the cardboard background.)
Fuck, Maya was to the point of drawing a cowboy on the fifth. (She named his steed Tombstone and his own sheriff badge read Ranger Rick, yet her obvious dedication to the craft earned no response.)
The sixth day was her lowest attempt at earning a rise from the mysterious Lucas that haunted her at work. She spit out some bullshit line about the machine needing a minute to reset and a minor wait of fifteen minutes, which he was perfectly fine with, and she sketched out an entire Wild West gunman showdown scene- tumbleweed and detailed saloon background included. (She opposed HeeHaw in cartoon form with her gun drawn towards his frustratingly smug head because he had to be seeing these.) But no.
She used colored pencils and created a masterpiece that he didn't even glance at for absolutely nothing. He stupidly drank his stupid hot chocolate with his stupid smile and he stupidly walked his stupid body out of her stupid Starbucks with his stupidly etched scene under his stupid palm.
"Stupid, stupid, stupid", Maya grumbled as the bell above the exit rang.
On the day that marked a week from his first exchange, Maya was tired of dealing with Lucas. Not only emotionally, but she was physically tired of looking at him and all his glory of his untouchable dipshit existence. She was throwing in her towel. Giving up. Declaring her defeat.
He ordered his usual drink, and she'd had it. She bitterly snatched up the sleeve and wrote out Lucas with a pout. He'd wrecked her. She'd never thought she could get more wrecked than working in a college Starbucks at twenty-three because her art career wasn't doing fantastic, Riley was only paying half of her rent so she had to make money somehow, and this was the only place that would hire her short notice post-holiday season- yet, here she was.
She had a six year old threaten to report her to headquarters because her soy milk didn't taste 'soy-ey enough' the weekend before, and this had wrecked her.
Some stupid, smug little cowboy had wrecked her.
She practically felt sick to her stomach slamming his drink on the counter.
She couldn't believe it. She'd officially hit rock bottom. This asshole had just ruined her only fun in this god forsaken caffeinated prison in a span of a week. She hoped she would never see that heathen's face in the rest of her existence, but she wasn't so lucky.
He returned, though not as expected.
Almost immediately after exiting, he spun right around and marched up to her counter with a frown engraved into his features.
"What's this?" He extended his drink to the tip of her nose.
"Your name, dumbass?" She was above politely answering his questions and taking his order and even acknowledging him at all. She was ready to escort him out until he spoke again.
"No," he insisted, "Why does this say Lucas?"
He was irritated.
"I know my name, but what I don't know is why this is so boring. I only came here because my friends told me that the cute barista fucked up their names and it's far more fun than a usual coffee run. I don't even drink coffee, hence never ordering it."
He was very irritated, and she had a reputation.
"Yesterday, I got some masterpiece that was way too well drawn to even cost $4.95, and today I get this?"
Maya was beaming.
"Not satisfied with my service?" she asked with a shiteating grin spreading across her lips. She'd finally found out how to win. She withdrew her white flag as soon as she saw his eyebrows bunch in annoyance.
"I'm not! I'll just say it. I'm not. I'm sorry to be so harsh, but I'll be back tomorrow, and I'm expecting a damn good cup holder thing to not burn me with something worth my money. Please."
He spoke it very confidently for someone that didn't know what a fucking coffee sleeve was called, she thought. He stormed out, making a scene of throwing his drink away like it would affect her. Maya snickered before she snatched out her Sharpie to prepare his beverage in advance-
Lucas underlined boldly in four colors for his impending purchase.
For the first time in nearly two years of working in that damn hellhole, Maya couldn't wait to wake up at the ass crack of dawn to set up shop.