The Espressologist (9 page)

“Nothing?” I offer.

“No, I heard you guys. You said Jane is ‘a great Espressologist.' What did you mean? What is an Espressologist?” I look down at the floor, shaking my head slightly, indicating to Em that I want her to keep her mouth shut. Em glances at me and then looks back at Derek.

“I'll tell you but you can't get mad at Jane. Because it's totally a cool thing.”

“Em!” I warn.

“What's the big deal, Jane? It is so cool,” she says.

“Now you are making me nervous. Start talking,” Derek says.

“Well, like I said, it's really awesome,” Em begins, and I sigh heavily, trying to prepare for another verbal lashing from Derek. “Jane has been keeping this notebook for a really long time. She records all the drinks people order and what type of person they are. It's kind of like she's typecasting people based on their coffee preference or something.”

I inwardly recoil, closing my eyes and remembering how I had lied and told Derek my notebook was for my notes on drinks for the “Assistant Manager's Specialty Drink of the Week.” I open one eye, turn my head, and glance at Derek. He's staring at me, obviously remembering our conversation. Crap, crap, crap.

“Now wait,” Em says, seeing Derek starting to look huffy, “don't get mad yet. Here's the cool part. Jane calls it Espressology and she's been matchmaking people based on it!”

“Matchmaking people? Matchmaking whom?” Derek demands.

“Well, customers and staff mostly,” Em says, now slowing down the story as she realizes Derek is less than pleased with the information.

“You are matchmaking now? While you're working?” Derek asks, looking at me.

“Well, yeah, a little,” I mumble.

“But she's amazing, Derek, I swear,” Em interrupts. “She's dead-on each time. It's totally crazy. Simone and Gavin, Sarah and the cop, Cam and me . . . it's really cool.”

Derek is still staring at me and I can't tell what he is thinking. Em knows that she is getting me in trouble and can't stop talking.

“Derek, seriously, you can't bloody well get mad at Jane. It has no negative effect on the store. I mean, if anything, it is improving business,” she continues, waving her hands in the air. “Everyone wants to be in love and she's making it happen. She's making people totally happy and they love her for it. They are coming in even more for coffee. It's a good thing! Really . . .” She trails off, and there is dead silence as we wait for Derek to say something.

Derek slumps against the sink with his arms crossed. His face is scrunched up like he's thinking hard, and he stares straight ahead at nothing in particular. I have no idea what he's going to do next. He wouldn't fire me over this, would he? Well, he could. He's caught me lying, oh, I don't know, how many times now? Em is giving me a worried look. She mouths, “I'm sorry.” We both wait for Derek's tirade to begin. About twenty of the longest seconds on earth pass and then the corners of Derek's lips turn up a bit.

“I'll be right back,” he says, walking away from us.

“Em!” I scream when I'm sure he is out of the room. “How could you do that to me?”

“I know, I know, I'm so sorry. I was just happy. And talking too much. And I really didn't think he'd get mad. I mean, c'mon, what's the big deal?”

I shake my head and frown. “What do you think he's doing back there?”

“I don't know. I'm really, really sorry, Jane.”

“Do you think he's going to fire me on the spot? Maybe he's getting my last check?” I ask.

“No, he'd be so screwed if he fired you. It's Black Friday and we're about to open.”

“Still,” I say.

“Jane, if he fires you, then I walk, too, and he's MAJORLY screwed. Let him serve the crazed Elmo 5000 seekers all by himself,” she declares.

“Really?”

“Yeah, it's totally my fault. I'm positive he won't fire you.”

Just then Derek rejoins us up front with a piece of paper in his hands. Oh god, I think, this is it. He's giving me some kind of termination paper. He hands me the piece of paper. I take a deep breath and look down.

“What's this?” It says
THE ESPRESSOLOGIST IS IN
. “I don't get it.”

“You are our holiday promotion,” he says enthusiastically.

“I don't get it,” I repeat.

“It's simple. Corporate says I need to do a promotion to
bring in more customers over the holiday season, and you, my little Espressologist, are it.” I glance back and forth from Derek to Em trying to take in what he just told me. Derek walks over to the front glass door and unlocks it, letting the ten or so waiting customers in to start screaming drink orders at us.

Ho, ho, freakin' ho to me.

Class, settle down
, settle down,” Professor Monroe says as she stands up and walks to the front of her desk. “I'm going to pass out your biographies from last week and then we are going to talk about your final papers.” She begins to walk around the room, returning papers, as Cam bolts through the door and slips into his seat behind me.

“Hey, Cam!” I turn around in my seat and grin at him. “I was wondering if you were going to make it.”

“Did she notice I'm late?” Cam asks, nodding at Professor Monroe.

“Not at all. She's just handing back last week's paper. Which you are of course going to let me read, right?”

“Hmm, I don't know,” he teases. “Maybe on the last day of class. Then you can't get mad at me, decide you are never talking
to me again, and act all awkward each time you see me in class.”

“Cam! What the heck did you write that would make me never talk to you again? Now you have to let me see it.”

“Nope. Last day.”

I pout a little. “Well, you can't read yours either, then,” I say.

“All right.”

“What, don't you want to read it? Aren't you curious?”

“No, not really.”

Guys suck so bad sometimes. Cam turns to his left, reaches down, and rifles through his bag looking for something. As he is doing this, Professor Monroe slips his paper onto his desk from his right. I try to read it upside down as fast as I can. Cam glances up, sees what I am doing, and snaps back upright, covering the paper with his hand.

“Uh-uh,” he says, shaking his head and smiling at me. “Not today.”

I glare at him and turn around quickly in my seat. I didn't see much, but I did catch a few words of the paper. Something about me being “weak” and “timid.” How dare he!

Professor Monroe spends the rest of the class period going over our final assignment, but I don't really pay attention. The words
weak
and
timid
keep going through my mind. Is that what Cam really thinks of me? I thought he was my friend. I thought he was such a good guy. Maybe he isn't right for Em after all. Maybe I was totally wrong about him.

The class ends and I gather my stuff and head for the door.

“Jane, wait,” Cam calls.

“Later. I have to get to work.” I put on my gloves and pull my coat tight around me. I walk out the double doors of Anthony Carter Community College and start the short three-block walk to work in the freezing cold.

A few minutes later I walk into Wired Joe's. I am instantly bummed to see that none of the people I like are working today. Though I should have already known that, since Derek showed me the schedule earlier in the week. Ever since this whole Espressologist thing came up I haven't been able to think straight.

Daisy and Brenda are standing behind the counter taking orders and making drinks. Brenda gives me a fake smile but Daisy only glares. Great, fun afternoon ahead, I think. Daisy is pissy with me because a) she didn't get me in trouble with Derek last week and b) she's been getting really comfy with the smell of toilet bowl cleaner since I've designated her the spinner for whenever we are working together. This means every fifteen minutes or so Daisy has to check the bathrooms, bus the tables, clean and stock the condiment bar, and make sure everything looks good throughout the store.

On the other hand, Brenda, our store's official chalkboard artist, is a little annoyed because Derek asked her to come up
with a fantastic sign to post on Fridays to advertise my talents.

I quickly put my things away, tie on my apron, and join the girls up front.

“Oh good, you're ready,” Brenda says. “Now you can take over up here so I can go sit and work on
your
sign.” She practically snarls the words at me like I've done something wrong. I'm no happier about this than she is. In fact, worrying about it all week is giving me an ulcer, I think. Brenda disappears to get her supplies and returns to the front in moments. She stops momentarily by me at the register. “So what is this”—she points at the board—“all about, anyway?”

I sigh. “Well,” I begin, “long story short, I'm the new Friday night attraction. From six to ten on Friday nights I will be taking down drink orders and matchmaking. It's called Espressology.”

“Does it work?” she asks.

“Yeah.” I can see Daisy out of the corner of my eye looking at me like I'm full of it.

“Why haven't we ever heard of this before?” Daisy asks with an attitude.

“Because I haven't told you about it,” I snap. I'm so not in the mood for any crap from Daisy today. “Have you checked the bathrooms recently?” Daisy makes a face and leaves the counter to go on toilet duty.

While I'm busily glaring at Daisy's retreating back, the door swings open and my dad walks in. I quickly look at
Brenda and shake my head a little as I eye the chalkboard. I do NOT want my parents to find out about this Espressology stuff. Not yet, at least. We have a fairly easy, stress-free child-parent relationship going on these days and I don't want to rock it.

“How's my favorite barista?” he says, approaching the counter.

“Good, Dad.” I love it when my dad comes in. Not only is he a friendly face, but he always leaves a ten-dollar bill in the tip jar. “Small cappuccino?”

“Is she good or what?” he asks Brenda.

Brenda laughs. “She's good.” She retreats to a nearby table with her supplies, still close enough to overhear our conversation.

I ring up his order and make his drink. When I turn around I see a ten in the tip jar. Dad is so dependable.

He takes a sip of his drink. “Mmm, tastes great,” he says loudly to the store. Like I need extra help selling this stuff. “See you at home, sweetie,” he says, just to me.

“Bye, Dad.” I watch him leave.

“Your dad is so cute,” Brenda says.

“Yeah.” I pause. “You know, my mom and dad fell in love over coffee, so maybe it was my destiny to bring others together through my Espressology.”

“Deep.” Brenda giggles.

I give her a wounded look.

“No really, it does actually sound kind of cool,” Brenda
says. “I don't work Friday night, but I might have to come in and check it out.”

“Sure,” I say, grateful for the small bit of kindness. I want her to think I have everything under control, but inside I'm totally freaking out. Friday is only two days away. What if I look like a gigantic moron? What if I can't in fact really do this? So what if I matched three couples? It could be a total fluke. Nevertheless, I've been studying my notebook every night since Derek told me I'd have to start playing Espressologist this Friday. I even skipped studying for my chemistry quiz to study my Espressology. Derek said that each Friday he's going to set up the huge chalkboard outside, with the words:

 

The Espressologist is In
Fridays 6–10 p.m.
Come in for a little latte and love

 

The plan is that from six to ten I'll sit at a small table in the front of the store near where the drink orders are taken. People who want to participate will give me their phone numbers or e-mail addresses and I'll jot down notes on them and their drink orders into a spreadsheet on my laptop. They can hang around and see if I match them sometime during the four hours, or I can have their coffee match call or e-mail them. The service is free; well, after the customers buy a drink, that
is. I'm totally freaking out because I've never had to do this on demand before. I mean, it has all just been for fun so far. And what if my matches are just a huge coincidence and I am in fact 100 percent full of crap with my coffee theory? Ugh. I just have to stop thinking about it.