Chapter 2:
It was the middle of the day and Java Jones was bustling with people. Maia felt her mouth drying up as she repeated her words, again and again like a chant.
"Hello, welcome to Java Jones. What can I get you?"
"Sorry ma'am, we don't have soy milk—no I'm not lying—yes, I care deeply for your body but there's still no soy milk."
"Can you give me another name besides 'I Love To Fuck Sluts'?"
"I'm sorry, but this is not a Star Wars themed cafe."
Working in the service industry gave Maia endless patience and the inability to be surprised anymore. If a mafia boss stormed in and threatened her at gun point Maia would just calmly hand the money over and asked him to come again. That was why Maia didn't bat an eye when her manager introduced her new coworker, a girl who obviously spent her time in a tent near the highway and pushed a shopping cart around. When Clary showed up in her clothes obviously from the lost and found, Maia pretended nothing was wrong and made small talk. Even when she could see Clary's ribs poking out of her shirt, Maia turned away and minded her own business.
Today, Clary was obviously not focused since her brows were permanently furrowed and she messed up more than her usual five.
"Katie Johnson!" Maia called out for the third time. An irritated brunette came for her caramel frappuccino.
"Did she get it right this time?" Katie grumped.
"Yep. I'm sorry for wasting your time."
Katie rolled her eyes and sneered as she stalked away. No doubt a new video would be posted on YouTube titled I was POISONED at a cafe THREE TIMES.
Since this was the seventh mistake Clary made in one hour, Maia decided to find out what was wrong.
"So, umm, how's the weather?" Maia asked stupidly. Conversation starters weren't her best skills.
Clary looked up from the blender.
"Umm, I don't know. I've been next to you the whole day," Clary replied, not knowing where the snark came from.
To her relief, Maia chuckled. The conversation between them flowed naturally as they jumped from topic to topic. Maia was thrilled by Clary's snark and deadpan humor while Clary was just happy to find someone nice and warm with no hidden ill feeling towards her. Although Maia's talk with Clary couldn't improve the newbie's coffee making skills —Clary actually made more mistakes— it did break the ice between them.
"Maia aren't you dressier than usual?" Clary asked one day when they were closing the cafe.
Her new friend had worn a skirt with a small handbag instead of pants and a backpack slung over her shoulders.
"Oh, well I have a blind date tonight and since it's been a long time since I dated, I decided to dress better. Does it look bad?" Maia asked worriedly.
"Nope," Clary replied quickly, "not at all. You look hella Gucci."
Maia smiled at Clary's adorable attempt at being up to date.
"Aww, really? Thanks. Well, I'll go first. Don't wanna be late y'know." With a wave, Maia dashed out giddily.
Clary continued to clean the counter. She remembered a time when someone was as antsy as Maia.
"So, how'd it go?" Simon asked. He and Clary were walking down the streets of the poorer side of Bronx also known as Alicante ironically since Alicante meant 'white point', the opposite of the graffitied walls and littered alleys.
"Ohh it was wonderful," Clary drawled, "absolutely everything went wrong."
"How?" Simon asked, eyeing Clary over the edge of his over his glasses.
"Well, my student is a super hot, drop-dead gorgeous kid—I'm not kidding you should see her mom—with a heck a lot of attitude and refuses to learn or cooperate. She has a brother who is a golden god—literally—with the personality of a jerk/asshole. Oh yeah, they also have this weird 'private' designer who comes by everyday, dressed in leopard prints and so much glitter in his hair, he is a living, walking disco ball."
The two friends howled with laughter.
"Damn, the rich never change, huh."
Making fun of the rich was the only way they could vent their anger at America's crashing economy. While the pair were walking down the street, a boy barreled into Simon, nearly knocking him over.
"Simon!" The boy screamed, "we're gonna perform at the Pandemonium! The one in Manhattan!"
Simon had to yank the boy off him.
"Whoa. Eric. Dude. You crushed my ribs," Simon wheezed.
Eric backed off but did not lose his enthusiasm.
"Listen, Simon. It's two weeks from now at 9:00 pm, capiche?"
Simon could only nod his head, still recovering from his broken ribs. Eric dashed off the tell their band mates the news.
"Clary, am I dreaming?"
Clary turned to her friend who was still doubled over in pain. She grinned, reached over, and jabbed her finger into his side, getting a groan from Simon.
"Hahaha, nope!"
Clary shook her head. These flashbacks were appearing more and more often, she ought to stop them. Sighing, Clary grabbed her backpack and headed back to her makeshift home.
A purring sound came below her. The same midnight cat with yellow eyes was rubbing her ankle again. It had appeared at the trash cans behind the library a few days ago and Clary wanted to befriend. She reached down to pet it but the little rascal ran away.
The teen jumped over a highway fence fearlessly and sat down at the edge of a cliff, overlooking the beach. The sunset was a myriad of colors. Navy, rose gold, fire, lavender, and canary. Clary longed to get out her sketchbook and paint the scene, but it was sitting on a table in a small apartment all the way across the country. She could only watch the fleeting sun with no release from the heart wrenching nostalgia inside her .
California was so different from New York. It could never replace her hometown, but it held a place in Clary's romantic heart. Azure skies with marshmallow clouds or midnight blue inset with thousands of diamonds. Rolling, golden hills that seemed alive under the wind. The sea quietly lapping at the white beach or crashing into the jagged rocks. New York could never compare.
When Clary saw the map at the train station, she just wanted to go to the farthest place from New York. Who knew she would pick such a beautiful place? It was an artist's dream landscape.
But, despite Clary's running, she could never escape an unfinished past.