Chapter Two

Coffee

"Garcon! Coffee!" – Tim Roth, Pulp Fiction (1994)

I never did like coffee very much. But hey, I was 15. I was an adult. I needed to act like one. So I used lots and lots of sugar. Basically the coffee I drank was 70 sugar, 30 coffee. My brother calls me The Fantastic Insulin Woman. He thinks he's so funny.

"How's the coffee? Good? Did you like your cake?"

This Jake guy, he was kinda cute. Weird, but cute. He had one of those uncool haircuts that I totally liked. He dressed good. The only problem was that he talked a little too much. I guess he was nervous. It was, like, our first date ever.

"I can't believe there's so little people here. I mean, it's like the place received a bomb threat. I never understood why so many people go to Starbucks for their coffee. This place blows Starbucks out of the water."

This was, like, our second conversation ever, and he talked about a coffee company. We'd met yesterday. He'd come up to me in the school cafeteria during lunch. Smiling. Said he'd seen me at gymnastics. He said he thought I was "kinda cute". Said he'd wanted to go out with me sometime. I suggested the coffee shop. Don't know why. Like I said, I've never liked coffee. It was just something I said.

"So, uh, what do you do? I mean, not what to you do for a living, I know you go to school and stuff, but I mean, what do you do in your free time?"

I told him I liked to watch movies. Romantic ones. Painting. Riding. Shopping. I mean, that's like, the usual stuff, right? That's what teenagers do.

"So how about you, do you, like, play football or something?" I asked.

"I used to play basket. I ran for the school team once, didn't make it. So now I'm doing charity work for this organization, The Sharing. Ever heard of it?"

"I think so. They feed the homeless, right? And gather money to save rare animals?"

"Yes, but The Sharing is way more than that. We want to make the world a better place, you know? But we need help. We need as many members as possible. Two heads think better than one."

He had this weird look in his eyes when he talked about The Sharing. Maybe I was just imagining it. I wanted to change the subject.

"So, uh, how long have you gone to -------- High? I don't think I've seen you very often."

"I just moved into town. Our last home was destroyed in a fire, so my dad figured we should start over, get a new place, you know."

"Do you get to see your old friends much?"

"Well, you know, we talk once in a while. We call each other. Sometimes we hang out if my dad gets a business assignment in our old city."

We sat there, chatting for at least an hour. We discussed what concerts we didn't have the money to attend. We talked about which celebrity was in the closet. We discussed what we wanted to do with our lives when we grew up. It was nice. Nice talking to someone who didn't think about sex all the time. And like I said, this Jake guy was kinda cute.

Then the, like, weirdest thing of my whole life happened. Jake was just about to say what his brother, Tom, did, when his face was contorted by spasms. His jaw hung loose, saliva slowly running down his chin. Gross.

Jake's dark eyes twitched. He blinked once, twice. His arm flung up on the table.

"Jake?"

Maybe he was, like, epileptic? Oh my god. I had no idea what to do. Hadn't our teacher told us something about epileptic seizures? You were supposed to pur something in the victim's mouth so he didn't swallow his tongue… or was that wrong? I couldn't remember. Oh my God!

Jake was slipping now, slowly sliding down his chair. He shrunk in his seat, looking more and more like a dwarf. Then, as quickly as it'd started, his seizure stopped. His eyes stopped twitching. His stare was clear and focused. His mouth closed. He pulled himself up in his chair and reached for a napkin to wipe away the drool from his face.

I just stared dumbly at him. I'd spilled some coffee on my "I'm blond, what's your excuse" T-shirt, but I didn't care. I didn't know what to say.

"Are you alright?", was the only thing I could think of. Lame, I know. Even I could tell he wasn't alright.

"I'm fine-" Jake started saying.

Then his left hand flew up and he slapped himself across the nose. It was scary. One second, he was, like, totally in control. The next, he was insane!

He rose from his chair, breathing quickly. It was easy to see that he was scared. His face pale, sweat running down his zit-less forehead.

He tried to walk away, but his left leg wouldn't move. His hands were tightly clutched into fists. He fell hard on his face, his arms unwilling to help him. There was a gross cracking sound as his nose smashed against the floor. Blood. Oh my God!

"Jake! Jake! What's the matter with you!" I shouted, aware that I was making a scene, indifferent. There was something seriously wrong with this guy.

"I'm f-", Jake tried to repeat. Then an arm flew up and he punched himself in the face. Twice. Blood squirted from his crushed nose. I stared in horror, unable to move from my seat. It was the ultimate horrible car accident sequence. I couldn't do anything, and I couldn't look away. Jake was like two totally different persons, fighting over the same body. Totally psycho.

He groaned, then seemed to gain control of himself again. He clutched a table and pulled himself to his knees. Then to his feet. He spat something onto the floor in a stream of dark red blood. It was a tooth.

I gasped.

"It happens sometimes," he slurred. "It happens. But it's cool. I'm fine now. I'm cool."

He took another napkin and wiped some of the blood from his face. His nose ran with a disgusting mix of mucus and blood. His well-ironed shirt was a mess. Dark stains all across it. He'd totally ruined his good looks. His hair was a mess.

"Are you sure you're alright?" I asked lamely.

"Yeah. It's totally cool now. No problem." He ran the hand he'd just punched himself with through his brown hair, greasing it with blood.

There were only three people in the entire cafeteria. Me, Jake and the owner, Mr. Bashki. He was passive. He didn't stare in horror, didn't scream, didn't even look surprised. He just looked at Jake from under his dark eyebrows. It was a look full of hate and disgust. Somehow he was scarier than Jake's maimed looks. The hate in Mr. Bashki's eyes wasn't human.

I finally got up from my seat, not sure what to do. What if Jake had another attack? Another case of… whatever-it-was? I put my hands on his shoulders.

"Should you take, like, some medicine or something?" I asked worriedly.

"No. It's nothing. It just happens sometimes. It's… it's hard to explain. A syndrome," he muttered. His mind was somewhere else. He wanted to get out of here.

"I'll see you tomorrow in school."

He left, leaving a steady trail of bloody footprints behind him, before I could say anything else. This had by far been the weirdest date of my life.

I never did see him the next day. He was gone. Swept off the face of the earth. Gone with the wind. Jake, The Invisible Man. The ghost that haunted me in my subconscious. Jake, my Weirdest Date Ever.

But I did see Mr. Bashki following Jake out the door. I just barely saw him flash something before he put it in the pocket of his coat.

It was a confusing day. I went home, ate some cookies to calm down. Sat down with my two-year old little brother to watch Barney.

My name is Shelley.