She was exhausted, as her feet dragged step by step on the tiled floor. It was nearing around two a.m. and she'd been studying non-stop all day. "I just need a brief caffeine break and then I'll be good to go," she thought. Her sneakers squeaked and for a while were the only sounds in the nearly vacant campus center. As she approached the coffee shop on the second floor, she recognized the lyrics to "You Belong with Me" and wondered when the song list got so mainstream.
She, however, was no prepared to see the barista to be dancing with his broom. Emily was so shocked that she froze in place. Her sleep-deprived brain had finally shut down as the lean barista with prosthetic arm swayed from side to side. She decided to back away slowly-his back to her so maybe he wouldn't notice her?
He spun on beat but noticed her in the process, almost dropping his broom. He snatched the white remote from one of the nearby tables and aimed it at the ceiling, immediately silencing Taylor Swift.
He cleared his throat, seeming to look everywhere before meeting her gaze meekly. "So…never speak of this again?" he murmured.
She hurriedly nodded before he turned to the counter, broom in hand. "Agreed."
The long wooden stick turned horizontally before disappearing completely behind the door of an adjacent pantry. He seemed to look around a moment before turning his back to her to wash his hands in the company sink. Emily's ears were still a bright red from the uncomfortable encounter as she looked up to skim the menu. Maybe it was the sleep deprivation and the stress, but she was completely blanking on what she wanted to order. Tiredly, she rubbed her face with the back of her hand, a nasty habit that was sure to give her pimples in a few days.
"You okay?" the boy had turned around and now was bracing the counter with both hands.
"Huh? Yeah, sure. I'm fine. Just finals, you know?"
He nodded knowingly, from his place counting the cash in the register. "Unfortunately, yes. I take it you're not done then?"
She leaned on the counter with a sigh. "Unfortunately, no."
"Where is it?"
She pointed to the left before realizing there were at least two other colleges in that direction besides hers, even if this barista boy could follow her drift. She quickly put down her hand and mumbled her school's name.
The register closed with a deafening CaChing! "Is that the small liberal arts school?"
Emily nodded. "The very same."
"Huh. Why'd you take a class there?"
She smiled sheepishly. "It's kind of a requirement of going to school there, being enrolled and whatnot."
His light blue eyes widened. "Crap, I didn't mean-"
She waved him off with a hand. "No, you're right. It's preppy and annoying, all things I wish I had known before I applied and accepted. And well, if you weren't right, why would I be here, you know?"
Her eyes were back on the menu-board when he asked, "Why not just transfer?"
She shrugged. "I'm halfway through my junior year. Might as well just stick it out…Plus, my scholarship doesn't really transfer."
He looked down, pretending to busy himself with the trainee instruction cards. He had been working here ever since he lucked out as a freshman and interviewed when the everyone else in his class has been struck by a wave of flu shortly before Thanksgiving. Dr. Zola's serum had strengthened more than his immune system, which seemed to work in his favor since none of the other applicants showed up for their interviews and he got the job.
He looked up at the girl again. Her lips were lazily mouthing out the words on the menu and if he concentrated hard enough, he could make out what she was reading. From his guess, she was on the seasonal part of the menu, and he looked down before he could feel like a creeper.
Too late for that he thought, a flash of his impromptu Taylor Swift session bringing a flush to his cheeks. And of course, a pretty, rich girl had to see it. Well, no, maybe she wasn't rich. She mentioned a scholarship. That was a surprise. Her school's endowment alone could cover twenty times the tuition cost of his school's. But her being pretty wasn't much of a surprise. Most of them, the girls from Herst, were. He figured it was based on going to one of the three co-ed schools in the small Pioneer Valley region. There were a total of five schools, all within a twenty-mile radius of each other: two all-girls schools, a wacky open-learning college, a tiny liberal arts school, and a massive public university. They called themselves "The Five Colleges", how inspiring. The main bus line between the school was free for students, and each school had their own policies on how many classes students could take at the other schools for credit.
Despite the close proximity of his school to hers, there wasn't much co-mingling. When he heard this during freshmen orientation, he was surprised. The two all-girl schools had the most lesbians in the valley, and the other school was full of hipsters. It seemed to him that, not including the girls at his school, more communication with Herst would increase chances of heterosexual dating, but maybe it was just him.
Still, she seemed to be wearing a lot less makeup than most of the Herst girls did, more like none. She had some brown acne scars on the sides of her face and dark bags under her eyes. Her black hair was neatly pulled back into a bun at the nape of her neck, only a few flyaways escaping her brown hairband. The typical female Herst "uniform" seemed to consist of athletic leggings with Uggs or Nikes and a Northface jacket or a superflowery alternative of a curve-hugging, weather inappropriate outfit with heeled boots. She seemed to fit into neither schema: her dark blue coat was open to show a hooded gray sweater over a long-sleeved, blue baseball tee and dark blue jeans. From her neck hung, two small, silver pendants on two separate silver chains: a silver circle and a pink heart with tiny purple words that read "Big sis."
She rubbed her forehead again, seemingly distracted by something beyond the menu and sighed. "I'm sorry. I just need a second."
He nodded. "No problem. I mean, as long as you don't mind holding up the huge line behind you."
Sluggishly, she glanced over her shoulder and saw no one. When she turned back around, she gave him an embarrassed close-lipped smile before turning her head back up to the menu. "Um, caffeine-related, is there anything you recommend?"
He looked back at the menu. Finally, the blindfold- taste test game he played with Steve on breaks would come in handy. "It depends. If you're substituting this drink for a meal, then definitely chocolate chip mocha latte. If you get anything bigger than a small, you won't be able to move." He turned back to her, "Unless of course, you like moving?"
She pretended to think then said, "Only occasionally, and this happens to be one of those occasions."
He smiled back. "Then you may want the black whipped peppermint tea, without the whip."
She grimaced, "Do you have anything that doesn't sound like a hungover Candyland character?"
He commended himself for getting the reference after only a second then laughed. "Yes. Water. Two ninety-five. Trust me a small coffee is cheaper."
She sighed, then pulled out her plain black wallet from her purse. "In that case, I'll take the tea you mentioned, minus the whip?" She looked up, eyebrows raised. He nodded. She looked back down at her wallet, "How much is that again?"
"Depends on the size?"
"The biggest you have-" the tips of her ears turned red in horror at the innuendo she just implied. The ear thing was cute, but for the sake of her embarrassment, he pretended not to notice the euphemism and only replied, "Uh, that would be the venti." He held up an empty cup. "One seventy-five."
She nodded, digging into a small zippered pocket for change. She handed him the exact amount with tax.
He smiled and handed her a receipt then took out a cardboard cup. "You're the only one here so I technically don't even need your name."
She matched his smile with a cheeky one of her own. "You could always put Taylor Swift on there instead."
"Oh! She's a kidder." he laughed, scribbling on the side of the cup. "Well, missy, you've got another thing coming if you think that I won't."
She laughed, a genuine one that showed pretty, white straight teeth. He wasn't so sure about her not being rich.
He started up the water heater that had been put on standby during his break and put the cup next to it. "It'll just be a minute."
She nodded. "I'll just be over there." She jabbed a thumb over her shoulder. She took a seat at one of the many empty tables and pulled out a few folded pieces of paper and a pencil. Almost immediately, she bent her head over the papers, and began mouthing like she had when she read the menu-board. He got to work on the tea, in his quiet methodical way. He relished these times when AA&M was empty, and his orders were non-rushed; the customers were usually more polite too. After settling the tea mix into the water, he found the remote in his apron, and switched the player back to the company approved store tunes, bopping his way around the tiny setup to all the songs he heard too many times to count. He turned toward the front counter for the peppermint mix when he noticed the girl smiling at him, close-lipped again. He smiled back then turned his back, pausing his dancing and continuing his movements, before starting dancing once more for his own amusement. She'd already seen him once before; her impression of him couldn't get any worse than it already was. Plus, he would be lying if he said part of his dancing wasn't for her delight as well, for one of her genuine laughs again.
Sure enough, even with his back turned, he identified the tell-tale sign of the intake of breath of one holding in a chuckle. He didn't want to ruin it by turning around so he continued to shimmy around, making tea. He would later wish he had turned.
"Hey, Buck. Sorry I'm late." Steve clapped his tanned hand on Bucky's back.
Bucky almost jumped at the abrupt entrance of his friend. With short blonde, cropped hair the opposite of Bucky's long pulled back brunette ponytail, and an almost permanent, resting optimistic face, almost no one would believe he was really Captain America, super soldier but, with a particular soft spot for tired toddler siblings and equally exhausted single moms, perhaps on account of his own only-child upbringing.
Bucky greeted Steve with a head nod, conveying that he was finishing up.
Steve replied, "I can finish that, if you wanna take your break now? I think you've missed one by now…or two?"
Two Bucky confirmed in his head, not that he minded really. Bucky was usually the one late for these late-night, end-of-semester shifts because of his other um activities running long, so it was nice being able to make it up to Steve by covering for him. Steve was rarely late unless he had a mission or an art assignment that ran over. Bucky knew this and understood.
Emily couldn't help but overhear the two boys' conversation, and for some reason, hoped the barista-the dancing one, for lack of a better moniker-would stay. Some reason. You know what reason she couldn't help but think, trying so hard to focus on the unit circle and not some boy she thought was cute. You have a final exam in she checked her watch-3:43am-in less than ten hours. And you can barely tell the difference between a derivative and an integral. Focus. She stared at her practice exam: The anti-derivative of 2x raised to the third power minus 3x squared divided by 5x to the I got this. Really. Wait what? She read back then realized she was hearing the boy's conversation again.
Rather, more than just their conversation.
"Are you sure, Bucky?" the new boy asked.
She found herself silently hoping for Bucky to protest again, now only pretending to read her math sheet. The blonde boy continued, "I feel really bad about being late. Go on, man." She couldn't help it. Her curiosity was peaked, and she felt herself growing more alert, delving into Bucky's mind. She could sense his hesitation, exhaustion, and longing all at once. Apparently, this was his third double shift today.
Bucky hesitated, and even though Emily's head was down, she could feel him look over his shoulder before saying, "Yeah, okay. I will," there was a faintly perceptible drop of Emily's head, "Just after I finish this order, okay?"
Emily bit her lip to keep from smiling as Steve agreed before murmuring something about changing in the back. The blonde boy had gotten the impression of Bucky's fondness for her, and decided to give them a moment of privacy. Emily was still getting a feel around his mind-his long friendship with Bucky, his hopes that his friend would adjust to the world and find someone the way he'd found Sharon, someone who could help Bucky remember the light that had been buried during his time as the Winter-Emily heard some door swing on its hinges before Bucky placed a plastic cap over the cup he had been working on. "Order for…"
She let her head raise a fraction of an inch, but let her eyes linger on the page. She practically heard the smile in his voice, "Miss Swift."
She smiled, folding her papers and stuffing it into her bag along with her pencil. "Thank you," she said softly.
"You're welcome," he replied, as she took the cup from his metal hand.
Feeling the warmth in her fingertips, she tried not to read his mind. She could still feel his reluctance in letting her go. So she lingered, adjusting her bag across her body, "Uh, have fun."
He laughed. "Yeah, you too."
She groaned, a reminder of how much studying she still had to do. He laughed harder, "Or rather, good luck."
She nodded, turning to leave. "Thanks." She wanted him to stop her, but he was already resigned to letting her go. She wasn't entirely awake, meaning her telepathic powers were limiting to sensing emotions unless she was really concentrating. Part of her was wondering why Bucky changed his mind, but her fear of rejection kept her from checking. She didn't need to add a specific reason to the mental list of rejections already in her head. She waited until she left the building before making herself more alert and able to read minds. By that point though, there was only the bus driver's mind to read who was more concerned about refinancing his home in time to pick up his kids' Christmas presents. She was ready to study, trying to forget the boy, but even she wasn't that powerful.
Once he could no longer hear her soft, rubber-soled footsteps (Chuck Taylor sneakers) walking away, there was only silence in the shop-the low hum of the coffeemakers, the whirring of the water heater for the tea, and the high frequency-passed song of the most catchy indie song the coffee shop company could buy. He wiped up his station then the girl's unoccupied table, even though he knew they were clean. He turned off the water heater and switched the player back to the Taylor Swift playlist Tony must've snuck onto his iPod the last time he was at the Tower. The Bluetooth picked up the signal instantly and after "Fifteen" finished playing, the song titled "Enchanted" (he would learn from the chorus) played quietly through the store's speakers. He hummed along, busing himself once more with wiping, this time to the beat, when Steve came out in matching black apron and gray t-shirt, only short-sleeved instead of long.
He headed to the register, to punch in his identification, then paused and looked up at the ceiling in confusion, then he turned to Bucky, who was still wiping and asked, "Who is that? Is this corporate's idea of consumerism?" Bucky only gave a non-committal shrug, but offered no help when Steve began to look for the remote that was still in Bucky's apron pocket.