A few days later, on my way to the nursing home, I stopped by the coffee shop. Correction: I had actually stopped by the coffee shop every day for the past four days, but each time I popped in, Mercedes wasn't working. I should have just called her, but as I've said before, I'm not that brave. Today, she stood behind the counter, mixing up some frothy-looking drink in one of the stainless steel machines. She smiled in my direction, but didn't say anything until she finished serving the customer in front of me.

"Hey, Samuel." She sniffed the air. "You smell like soap. You took a shower just to see me?" Yes. No. Maybe. I don't know. I shrugged.

"I played a game of hoops with Finn. I won. I showered."

"And for a second, I thought I was special." She winked. "So what can I get you?" I looked at the menu, even though I knew exactly what I wanted.

"Do you have any of that coffee you made last week? The light stuff?"

"Sorry, that was just a special for that day." She looked around quickly, then leaned over the counter. "But wait about ten minutes. I'll brew you a cup after Yvonne's left." With the way Mercedes leaned over, I was glad she wasn't wearing one of those low-cut tank tops.

"I don't want to get you into any trouble…."

"It's no trouble." She patted my hand; her fingers sported a thick, shiny new coat of nail polish. "I'm glad you came by. I was starting to miss you."

I smiled, but quickly forced myself to stop thinking about her like that, forced myself to stop reading into her words. No matter how much she smiled at me, she was just a friend. We were just friends. She couldn't have been clearer if she had carved it into a stone tablet. We chatted for a few minutes, but then the coffee shop got busy. I moved to a nearby table and picked up a discarded copy of the newspaper, but I found myself staring at Mercedes more than the paper. She greeted every customer with a smile. She danced behind the counter like it was a stage, and she was the center of attention. As much as I watched Mercedes, I also watched the customers, especially the male ones. It was impossible not to notice how their gazes floated a little to the south as they placed their orders. How the men in navy blue power suits and dark red ties seemed to always find a way to make contact with Mercedes's hand as they handed her their money. How all the college-aged guys, in their wrinkled T-shirts, black horn-rimmed glasses, and leather sandals, would rave about being in some local band I had never heard of, and would invite Mercedes to drop by to check out one of their sets. Mercedes just smiled through every transaction. Her tip jar looked like it wanted to explode. Once the rush died down, Mercedes waved me over to the counter, and like a puppy, I happily trotted back to her.

"Here's your coffee," she said. "I even added sugar and cream, just like you like it." I took a sip of my drink. I could really get used to this stuff.

"So when do you get off?"

"In about five minutes." She dumped a few plates into the sink. "Aunt Gwen is coming to pick me up after she gets off from work." I readjusted my grip on my cup.

"Why don't you let me take you home?" Mercedes paused, her back to me. I could see the outline of her bra strap against her shirt.

"You sure you don't mind?" she asked. Of course I didn't mind. I'd kill to have Mercedes all to myself, even if we were separated by thousands of years of experience. "I'd be happy to take you home, as long as you're okay with me making a quick stop first."

"Not a problem. I just need to be home in enough time to change and scarf down dinner before Frank picks me up." Frank. Her nonfriend who she did nonfriend things with.

"Another night on the town?" My words were bitterer than the coffee.

"I wish. I'm going to hang out with Frank and his crew at the bowling alley. I hate it—all the smoke and all the noise—but it's what Frank loves to do. He plays in a league twice a week." I placed my cup on the counter.

"Can't you suggest something better to do? Something you both like?"

"Like I said before, we don't have that much in common." I crossed my arms and pinched my sides hard enough to leave a bruise. Mercedes disappeared into the back and emerged a few minutes later with her book bag slung over her shoulder. "So where do you have to stop before you drop me off at home? Just don't tell me it's church, because—"

"It's not Mount Calvary." I grinned at her; it was finally my turn to be a little mysterious. "Don't worry, you'll like it. Trust me." Mercedes arched an eyebrow.

"Samuel, what exactly do you have in mind?" I smiled even more.

"How do you feel about old people?"

"I can't believe I let you talk me into this," Mercedes said as we pulled up to the nursing home.

"What's wrong with going to a nursing home? I really like hanging out here." I grabbed a plastic bag filled with old magazines from the backseat, and caught a whiff of Mercedes's vanilla-and-coffee-bean scent. She laughed.

"No one your age should ever say something like that."

"We don't have to stay long," I said as we entered the building. "I just need to check in on some of the guys, to make sure they're okay. I'll have you home in plenty of time to get ready for your big night at the bowling alley."

"Not funny." After signing in at the front desk, we headed to the rec room. As usual, Leonard and Mr. Rollins were engaged in a chess game. I didn't have to ask who was winning; I could tell by the grimace on Mr. Rollins's face.

"Whatcha got in the bag, Samuel?" Leonard asked as we approached their table.

"Just some magazines. I figured you guys could use some good reading material."

"Forget the magazines," Mr. Rollins said. "Who's the little lady you brought with you?" Mercedes extended her hand to Mr. Rollins.

"Mercedes Jones. Nice to meet you." Mr. Rollins yanked his hat from his head before shaking Mercedes's hand.

"Carl Rollins." He nodded toward Leonard. "This is my cousin, Leonard King." Mercedes and I sat down at the table.

"How have you guys been doing?" I asked.

"Not so well," Leonard said. "Rollins has been coughing an awful lot lately."

"Speak for yourself." Mr. Rollins winked at Mercedes. "I feel great." Mr. Rollins may have felt great, but he didn't sound like it. His voice sounded like he had smoked a thousand cigarettes in a single afternoon.

"This is the first time Carl's been out of his room all week," Ms. Beatrice said as she waddled over to us. She stopped when she reached the table. "Cedes Jones?" Mercedes squinted at the woman before smiling.

"Ms. Beatrice?"

"Girl, I remember you when you could barely reach up to my waist. Now look at you." She pulled Mercedes from her seat. "Hmm, you sho' did turn out okay."

"You can say that again," Mr. Rollins mumbled. Ms. Beatrice swatted Mr. Rollins's arm.

"Shut up, you old fool. I used to be Cedes's nanny. She was the smartest girl I ever raised. Could read before most other children could even talk." She looked Mercedes up and down. "She was just the sweetest little thing I'd ever set my eyes on." Mercedes looked down at her feet.

"Thank you." Ms. Beatrice pulled Mercedes into her chest.

"Girl, I am so proud of you."

"Stop embarrassing the girl," Leonard said. "You got her turning colors and everything." Sure enough, Mercedes's face had taken on a reddish purple hue. If it had been a little darker, it would have perfectly matched her lips.

Once we were back in the car, and once Mercedes's face had regained its normal brown color, she said, "It was good seeing Ms. Beatrice. She hasn't changed a bit."

"She seems very fond of you." Mercedes shook her head.

"I don't know why she said all that stuff. She doesn't even know me anymore."

"To some people, you're always going to be sweet, innocent Cedes Jones." Mercedes shrugged.

"Yeah. To some people."