author's note: I own nothing you recognize, no matter how much I wish Adam were my love slave...I mean friend...yeah, friend in real life...
Here is a playlist of music I listened to while writing.

Playlist:

Hair- The Early November

Risqué- Cute is What We Aim For

Photobooth- Deathcab For Cutie

Chocolate- Snow Patrol

The clock ticked slowly as Delilah Johnson counted down the minutes until she was off of work. Well, hour and thirty minutes. Nobody had come into the little coffee shop for at least an hour, and since their last customer, she'd meticulously scrubbed all milk residue off of the steaming wands, cleaned out the grounds in the espresso bar, restocked all syrups and powders, and managed to decorate the Coffee of the Week board; there was only so much more she could do before it would all be done.

"Delilah?" a sickeningly sweet voice called from, followed by the appearance of her manager's sickeningly sweet face. "Sweetheart, can you do floors for me while Tim washes dishes back here?" Elaine asked with a condescending smile on her lips as she slipped into the café. The smile faded, somewhat, as she caught site of Delilah's feet. "You know, dear, those shoes aren't regulation," she politely reprimanded the redhead who had remained silent thus far.

"Yeah, Elaine, I know," Delilah began, trying her best to not clench her fists as she spoke. "It's just, the non-slip ones hurt my feet, you know?" The girl brushed a frizzy red curl behind her ear as she turned away from the uniform Nazi—she couldn't spend one more minute looking into those purple-lined eyes. Didn't the woman know it wasn't 1985 any more?

"I'm sorry sweetie, but if you slip because you're wearing those silly Taylor Chucks instead of the shoes you're supposed to wear, I'm going to have to file an injury report." Elaine had followed Delilah to the water spigot where the girl was filling up the mop bucket. The older woman leaned forward, her artificial smile looking much like that of a painted clown as she came face-to-face with Delilah. Her lipstick was smudged all over the corner of her mouth. It was pathetic, really. Elaine was forty-five, divorced and lonely, and the Koffey Haus was her life, literally. Her makeup was always smeared, her hair was always half-styled, and she spoke with such a soft and condescending voice, that you had to have super-sonic ears to understand her. Looking into the ridiculous face of a 10-year Koffey Haus employee, Delilah promised herself that she wouldn't have the same fate; she'd quit as soon as she graduated, before getting roped into full-time employment, and she was never going to wear make-up again—just as a precaution, you know.

"I'm sorry Elaine, I'll wear the non-slip shoes next time," Delilah conceded, knowing that sometimes the only way to get the woman off of her back was to give her her way. "We're not being very productive right now though," she continued, rinsing and squeezing the mop, "so why don't you go finish counting out the deposit and I'll mop the floor behind the bar like you said." Delilah hated mopping the floor, but it would get Elaine off of her back. "I'll be careful." Elaine gave her a condescending smile, her aubergine-rimmed eyes revealing that she was really rather annoyed.

"I appreciate you," she said with a meaningful nod of her head, squeezing the girl a little too tightly on the arm before turning to go back to her counting. "If you get busy, call me or Tim."

Appreciate me, my ass. Reluctantly, Delilah began to mop the tile flooring behind the café counter, scrubbing extra-hard at the coffee and milk stains off of the floor so that the Nazi wouldn't nag her about them later. Delilah gave a little laugh as she mused over the vow she'd made just moments before. Like she had time for make-up anyway: if she wasn't asleep, she was at school, if she wasn't at school, she was at work, and if she wasn't at work, she was asleep. She had little time for a social life, much less makeup to accentuate it. Not that she didn't want to wear makeup— in her opinion, her celery-green eyes looked far too small without mascara, her freckles were far too obvious, and her skin looked pale and dull. The girl was far from a beauty queen, true, but she wasn't as unfortunate as she had deemed herself.

Agonizingly bored, the girl's ears perked up as she heard the familiar trill of the door sensor. Surely, Saturday morning she'd be begging for customers to stop entering the store, but on a rainy Friday night like this, she was five minutes away from dragging people inside. Setting the mop into the bucket, she turned to welcome the much-needed customers. Just as quickly as her eyes set on them, she ducked behind the Espresso bar, pretending to calibrate the shots. Her face had blanched as she recognized her school's Varsity hockey team. Okay, maybe not the whole Varsity hockey team, but part of it. The important part anyway.

"How are you guys doing today?" she called over the Espresso bar as was custom, hoping to regain composure. Smiling and nodding as they answered, she looked back up at the group. Both of the team's female players, the captain, and two other players, along with a girl in their grade and a boy who had graduated the year before were standing in the shop. Oh, who was she kidding—she knew who they all were. She knew them by name and jersey number, because much to her dismay she had a freakishly good memory for names, and was always the one that looked like a creepy idiot when being re-introduced to someone because she knew who they were, but they didn't know her. She was clearly an unremarkable loser. "What can I get started for you guy?" She asked, fake smile settling onto her lips as her cheeks flushed hot. Why, oh why, oh why did he have to see her like this?

"Hi," the captain greeted Delilah with a friendly smile as he took a step closer to the counter, tugging at Linda's hand as he did. "I'm going to get a Venti Americano, and whatever she's having." He motioned for the dark-haired to come forward and order.

"Can I get your name for that?" she asked, concentrating very hard on writing on the paper cup, and not looking at the boy standing behind Charlie Conway.

"Charlie," he replied, smirking. "C-h-a-r-l-," he was cut off mid sentence,

"She can spell, Charlie," Linda cut in, giving Delilah a wink. "Hey Delilah," she greeted the girl with a polite smile. "I need a Tall White Mocha."

Delilah took orders, two at a time, working through Charlie and Linda, Connie and Guy, Scooter and Julie, making their drinks as quick as she could, processing their orders while steaming milk. Finally, when she thought she was done, she looked up to see none other than Adam Banks waiting for someone to take his order. Her cheeks instantly flushed as her eyes met his, and she had to look away; this was ridiculous!

"What-What can I get started for you?" Delilah asked a point on the wall just above Adam's shoulder, just knowing her cheeks were the same color as her hair, an uneasy smile on her lips. Why hadn't she put on any mascara today?

"I'm not much of a coffee drinker," he replied with a friendly smile, clearly unbeknownst to or uncaring towards Delilah's uneasiness. "What's good?" His blue eyes practically sparkled as he asked the question, and yes, Delilah felt her knees wobble a little bit.

"Well, do you want something cold or hot?" Okay, the smile was a little less forced now—she was actually talking to Adam Banks!

"Hot. Definitely hot on a day like today. Have you been outside lately?" Delilah couldn't help but think that Adam was always hot, no matter what the weather was like.

"Yeah, it's terrible. The humidity is making my hair crazy." Oh, God. If Delilah could have banged her head into a wall at that very moment, she would have. Why, oh why did I bring attention to the hair?

"I think your hair looks fine," Adam assured her with a smile. "What's your favorite drink? Maybe I'll try it."

Rather than process his question immediately, her mind flooded with the realization that HE JUST SAID HE LIKED MY HAIR! Well, maybe in not so many words, but he didn't agree when she said it looked crazy. That was good, right? Oh, yeah, the question. "Well, my favorite drink is a Caramel Mocha Macchiato," she began, relaxing slightly. Coffee was her element, she could do this. Coffee would keep her from making a total ass of herself, right? "It's Vanilla and Mocha syrup, with steamed milk, then the shots are poured on top, over the foam, because Macchiato means 'marked foam,' but that's probably more than you want to know, and then there is caramel on top of that." The boy looked a little unsure about what she described, so she added: "I can make you something else if you don't like it."

"You know what, that sounds great," he replied, smiling that smile that made her brain turn to goo. "I'm just not sure what size to get."

"Grande is safe," she said quickly, beginning to steam milk at the Espresso machine. "Not too much, not too little – just enough."

"Grande it is, then," he agreed.

"Adam, right?" she asked, playing dumb as she marked the cup, a false look of uncertainty on her face. Adam Banks, number 99, forward, Junior Goodwill Games Champion, only freshman to make Varsity before the school switched over to the Ducks.

"Yeah, that's me," he confirmed, clearly wondering how she knew his name. "Do you go to Eden Hall?"

"Yeah," Delilah answered, a little hurt that he didn't know who she was, but why should he? "I'm in your Art History class." And I was in your English class last year, and your chemistry class sophomore year, and your Geometry class freshman year… "I'm Delilah."

Adam nodded in acknowledgement, smiling as if he'd just figured some big secret out all on his own. "I knew I knew you from somewhere."

Okay, so she was having a practically normal conversation with the boy she'd been lusting after for three years, and everything was going great. The milk was steamed and poured, the shots were pulling, and she'd used the right amount of syrup for a perfect drink. Good. Once the shots had finished pulling, Delilah quickly poured them over the foam, and then, because he couldn't see, instead of drawing the traditional grid pattern on top of the foam with the caramel, she opted for a more meaningful symbol—he wasn't going to see it after she put the lid on anyway, right? Methodically, she etched a caramel heart into the brown and white foam at the top of the cup, making sure there was enough caramel to sweeten the beverage. Quickly, she pushed a lid on the cup and took care to slosh it just slightly, so in the off chance he did take the lid off, it wouldn't be a recognizable shape anymore.

"Okay, Adam, your Grande Caramel Mocha Macchiato is ready," she said cheerily, in an almost robotic manner as she handed him his drink. Working at the Koffey Haus made it almost automatic, like a second nature. "You want to taste that for me and make sure you like it?" she asked, brushing a stray curl back behind her ear. Adam lifted the cup to his lips and took a long sip, then smiled in her direction.

"It's great. How much do I owe you?" he asked, reaching for his wallet.

"Nothing, it's on me today." Delilah offered the boy what she hoped was an alluring smile, and not completely frightening, then began to clean her dirtied utensils.

"Thanks," Adam offered, his brow quirked quizzically. Charlie called for 'Banksie' to leave, they were ready to go, so he waved goodbye to the little red-haired girl before walking out the door. Sighing, Delilah watched as he followed his friends out.

"Bye, Delilah, I'll see you in Statistics," Linda called to her as she left.

"Bye."

Slumping against the bar after they had left, the girl replayed the scene in her mind twice, as all the stupid things she said and the promising comments he made were magnified. Halfway through the third replay, the ever-sweet, ever-cheerful voice of Elaine called to her.

"Delilah, you've got fifteen minutes left in your shift. Are those floors done?"

"Almost," she replied with a sigh, wringing the broom out once more.

"Thanks, Sweetie. I really need you to clock out on time today, okay?"

"Alrighty, Elaine," Delilah sighed, dragging the soapy mop head over the tile.

"Thank you, Delilah. I appreciate you."

"Yeah, right," Delilah grumbled before taking a step onto the wet floor to rinse the broom. As she did, she lost her footing and ended up smack on her bottom in the center of the floor. Lord, she hated it when Elaine was right.

Sipping on his Caramel Mocha Something-something, Adam Banks walked along with his friends, not giving a second thought to the girl in the café. He'd felt a little bad at first, not recognizing her from class, but it was a big school with lots of students. Almost everyone knew the team simply because of their exploits Freshman year, and it was pretty impossible for Adam Banks to personally recognize everyone.

"Adam, I can't believe you didn't know who Delilah was!" Linda exclaimed, coming up behind him. "That was so rude!" the petite brunette girl proceeded to smack the blonde boy in the arm. "We've had classes with her since Freshman year. Freshman Year, Adam." Linda was clearly one for politeness.

"I'm sorry?" What did the girl want to hear? He was sorry for not knowing everyone? "It's a big school."

"Adam," she began, pausing to sip on her drink. "She's got curly red hair. Red heads are a dying breed—there's only a few of them left."

Adam shook his head in exasperation as they continued down the sidewalk, his friends snickering at Linda's reprimand. "We don't do much talking in Art History—it's a lecture class." Adam let out a little sigh as Linda rolled her eyes. "Can't you put a muzzle on her or something?" he called to Charlie, ruffling Linda's hair to reinforce his jest.

"Banksie, I'm going to have to agree with the lady here," Charlie laughed. "Even if you don't recognize her from class, you have to have seen her at the games—she comes to every single one."

"What?" Adam asked, clearly confused.

"Banks, she sits right behind our bench," Connie interjected.

"Really?" the group nodded to answer Adam's question.

"She's a heartbeat away from tattooing your name on her butt." Connie elbowed Guy in the stomach just as soon as the comment left his mouth. He gave her a hurt look and uttered an apology; she looked quite content. Linda sent a sharp look in Guy's direction, and then turned her attention back to the blushing Adam Banks.

"Didn't you think she was at least kind of pretty?"

"I guess," Adam conceded, obviously feeling a bit uncomfortable. "I mean, she isn't gorgeous or anything. She's actually kind of plain looking."

"Plain?" Julie asked incredulously. "Bright red hair, green eyes, and freckles are plain to you?" The blonde girl gave her head a shake. Simultaneously, the three females sighed, as if communicating telepathically.

"I know she's not a super-model-in-training, like you're used to dating," Linda started, rolling her eyes as Charlie let out a here-she-goes-again type sigh. "But she's pretty, and she's nice, and she's smart, and she clearly likes you." Adam looked away from the group as they walked, not comfortable discussing his social life and romantic possibilities in open forum. "Just say hello to her next time you guys have class together. It would make her day." Adam nodded quietly, appeasing the ever-verbal Linda.

They walked and talked for some time longer, Adam remaining mostly silent as they wound their way through the park and back to the school's campus. He wasn't thinking about the coffee shop, or Delilah, or Art History as they made their trek; he'd been thinking about the last girlfriend—more specifically how their relationship had ended. Amber had been the love of this month: thin, legs for days, cheerleader; Adam's type to a T. He'd slept with her on their first date, and things had gone great for about three weeks. It had been another one of those whirl-wind relationships: everything happens so fast, and when it's finally done, you feel like you've been run over by an eighteen wheeler.

As it turned out, Amber not only liked to sleep with Adam, but she liked to sleep with a few of the Varsity Soccer players as well. He didn't hold it against her—they never said they were exclusive, but it's always a little alarming to find out that you aren't the only one whose been dipping your quill in the ink well.

"Guys, I'm going to keep walking for a while," he called out ahead to his friends as they walked toward the Student Union. Taking his leave, he turned the corner and headed toward a thicket of trees behind the baseball fields. Amber hadn't broken his heart of course—he'd seen the other face of the coin, he'd been the cheater. He wasn't promiscuous, but he certainly wasn't exclusive. He was smart, and never did anything he didn't want to or didn't mean to do. Sophomore year, his theory had been that why, when there were so many beautiful young women, should he limit himself to just one? Of course, he'd changed a bit since then—grown up and realized that there was more to life than girls.

Stopping at the thicket finally, the boy gave a sigh of relief as he realized that it was still a relatively secret place, well, unless you were a squirrel or a sparrow. Adam reached up into the tree and found two good branches to hold onto. Pulling tightly with his arms, he worked his feet up the side of the tall tree. High in its branches, the boy nestled himself comfortably in his thinking spot. Cool blue eyes focusing on the school flag that flew in the distance, Adam slipped into the world of grown-up thought. Perhaps the reason Amber's infidelity had bothered him so much was because he too had committed the crime. Maybe it was because he knew he was taking after his father, hot on the trail to mistresses and split living arrangements. Like father, like son, right? Mostly though, it was because he had actually cared about Amber more than she cared about him. He had given more of himself to her than she had to him for the first time, ever.

But, c'est la vie, no? This is growing up, realizing your mistakes and righting them? Had he really been so rude to Delilah by no knowing who she was? He would have noticed if the girl from the café were flirting with him, wouldn't he? He wasn't the type to overtly miss that sort of attention. But from the way the other's had talked, it sounded like she was shy. Maybe he would say hello to Delilah the Latte Girl.

Sliding down from the tree, he dusted bark from his clothes and began to make his way towards the boy's dormitory. Hands stuffed into pockets he looked up to the hazy sky just in time for the rain to begin again, wetting his handsome face. A slight grin broke out onto the boy's lips as he walked in the rain, the large water droplets penetrating the fabric of his clothes with every step he took. Water was running from his hair into his eyes, and he could honestly say that it didn't bother him. In fact, he sort of enjoyed it.

Meandering slowly across campus, he stopped in front of the girls' dormitory, wondering if she was in there; if they were in there. Amber, he knew, lived in that particular dormitory—he'd snuck in trough the window many a time, but this Delilah, he knew nothing of. Maybe she didn't even leave on campus. Shaking his head, water flying from his hair as he did, he continued on his way to the boys' dorm.