CoffeeHouse Angel Read online

  Carmichael scowled. "The yearly consultation with the guidance counselor is an important part of your education, especially for those of you who are planning to go to a college or university." She adjusted the microphone. It shrieked like it always did.

  Elliott, the school's technical genius, ran out to fix it like he always did. No one yelled

  "Nerd!" Elliott was going to bring teleportation to the masses or invent liquid time or something and we all knew it.

  "Thank you, Elliott." Principal Carmichael adjusted her glasses. "And now Heidi Darling has an announcement, so please give her your undivided attention."

  Elizabeth and I groaned as Heidi strode to the microphone. It was the whole perky thing that made us cringe. Natural perkiness is digestible in small amounts. But she was too wide-eyed, too smiley, too bouncy. What kind of a carbon fingerprint does a person leave after maintaining that level of energy?

  "Listen up," Heidi said in her clipped way. "This year, my dad's coffeehouse, Java Heaven, is sponsoring the Winter Solstice Festival, so that means that it's going to be the biggest and best festival ever." She paused expectantly. No one applauded, but she kept on smiling. "So the thing is, we need help, people. The decorations don't get set up on their own." Groans filled the gym. Heidi planted her hands on her hips. "My dad said he'll give Java Heaven coupons to those who volunteer, good for a free sixteen-ounce Mocha Cloud Frappe, which is organic because we care about the environment."

  "Hey, Coffeehouse Girl." Aaron, the annoying turd, sat behind me. "You got anything free to give out? I'd like to taste your frappe."

  Elizabeth jabbed him in the shin with her pencil, then leaned close to me. "Maybe I should ask Face to go to the festival."

  "Go for it," I said encouragingly, even though I knew she would never ask him.

  Elizabeth could jab guys with pencils, she could intimidate them with her big boobs and her in-your-face attitude, but she had no idea how to ask one out. We were both pretty pathetic when it came to guys. Neither of us had ever been on an actual date.

  Heidi waved one of the Java Heaven coupons. "If we show our school spirit, we can make this the best Solstice ever. Gooooo Otters!"

  Heidi Darling was like a virus, the way she invaded everything--every school club, every committee and event. Last spring she had painted a mural on the cafeteria wall with the theme "school spirit." Why would a person want to do all that stuff? And who really cares about "school spirit"? What's the point?

  "I highly advise each of you to volunteer and help with the festival decorations,"

  Principal Carmichael said, taking the microphone from Heidi. "Volunteering will look good on your college applications."

  And there's the point.

  Our main focus as teenagers, according to just about everyone, is to jam-pack our lives with activities so that we can get into an Ivy League college and therefore succeed in life. Because that's the way it works. Weak application = crappy college.

  Crappy college = crappy job. Crappy job = crappy life. In other words, poverty, alcoholism, obesity, and depression. It's enough stress to make your hair fall out. By the time Heidi Darling graduated, her college application would be the size of an encyclopedia. She was on the fast track to Har-friggin'-vard.

  "Thank you, Heidi," Principal Carmichael said. Heidi speed-walked back to the bleachers. "So students, remember to see your guidance counselor before--" The principal stopped speaking as the gym's double doors slammed open.

  A strange guy entered. He wore a khaki kilt, a ragged sweater, and sandals with no socks. A satchel hung from his shoulder and his long brown hair was all messed up, as if he'd been sleeping in an alley.

  "May I help you?" the principal asked. "Young man, may I help you?"

  "I apologize for the intrusion, madame." He walked toward the bleachers. Maybe he was a new student, but that still didn't explain why he had been sleeping in our alley.

  "He's sooo cute," Elizabeth whispered. I usually ignored Elizabeth's declarations of

  "cute." With each boyfriendless month that passed, her standards lowered. She was dangerously close to substituting "cute" for "alive." However, the guy did look much better under the bright gym lights than that yellow alley light.

  "Excuse me," Principal Carmichael said. "You're not a student here. We have strict security codes."

  "I won't be but a wee moment." He stopped walking and scanned the bleachers. "I've come seeking a lassie. I mean, a young lady." A roar of student laughter broke the tension.

  "You're not seeking anyone until you check in at the office," the principal said. "Mr.

  Rubens will show you the way. Mr. Rubens?"

  Mr. Rubens put his hand on the guy's shoulder. "Come with me, young man."

  The guy calmly slid from Mr. Rubens's grasp and walked right up to the first row. "I must reward her good deed." Then he pointed. "There she is."

  Oh God.

  Three

  Is it ever a good thing to have the entire population of your school turn and stare at you? If you've just scored the winning touchdown--yes. If you've just broken a swimming record--yes. If a weird guy in a skirt starts yelling your name in the middle of an assembly-- never.

  He cupped his hands around his mouth. His voice echoed off the walls as he aimed his words at the eighth row--my row. "Katrina, could you come down? I've a delivery to make, so if you'd just come down, I can reward your good deed and be on my way."

  I don't know what laws of physics are involved, but if you fill a gym with teenagers and tell them to stare at one object, heat is actually produced. I half expected to spontaneously combust.

  Stuck between a snickering freshman and a wide-eyed Elizabeth, I couldn't escape. I wanted to slide between the bleacher benches. Pull my sweater up over my head.

  Evaporate.

  Mr. Rubens grabbed the guy's arm. "It's time for you to leave."

  The guy cocked his head. A puzzled expression spread across his face. "There's no need for violence. You have my word that I am a pacifist. I just need a bit of time with Katrina."

  I sank as low as I could without giving myself a spinal injury. I focused on Elizabeth's patent-leather boots. How did she keep them so shiny? Why had she chosen red laces?

  Why was that guy making a scene and how did he know my name?

  "You'll have to wait until three o'clock when school has ended. Then you can speak to Katrina," Principal Carmichael said. "Perhaps that's not the rule at your school, but it's our rule."

  A long pause followed, during which I kept my head down. "I'm not supposed to break any more rules," the guy said thoughtfully. "I shall wait for her at three o'clock." Footsteps faded and the gym doors slammed shut.

  Elizabeth elbowed me. "He's gone."

  Everyone started talking. Principal Carmichael excused us to our classes. "Who was that?" Vincent asked as we left the gym.

  "That was the guy who was sleeping in the alley." I kept my voice low as students streamed past, smirking at me. "See, I didn't imagine him."

  Elizabeth pushed between us. "Huh? What are you talking about?"

  "I didn't have time to tell you--"

  "He's our age," Vincent interrupted. "I thought he was an old homeless guy. Why did he come to the assembly? Is he going to go to school here? What did he mean when he said he wanted to reward your good deed?"

  "He's gorgeous," Elizabeth said. "I wish he'd reward me."

  Principal Carmichael sped toward us. Though she could only manage small steps in her high heels, she picked up momentum like a crazed tap dancer. "Katrina," she called, motioning me aside. Vincent looked at his watch, shrugged apologetically, then continued to class.

  "I'll tell you everything at lunch," I assured Elizabeth.

  "You'd better." She wandered off.

  The principal smoothed her short hair and caught her breath. "Katrina, please explain to your friend that this is not an open campus and that in the future he must check in at the office. We can't have that kind of disruption ag
ain. In our post--9/11 world, we must be steadfast and firm with our procedures."

  "He's not my friend." I turned my back on some eavesdroppers.

  "There's no need to lie." She sighed. "You're not in trouble. He's very handsome and I can see why you'd want to go out with him." She fiddled with her blouse. "Just make certain it doesn't happen again."

  "I don't want it to happen again," I said. "I don't even know him."

  "Well, he obviously knows you."

  I made it to World Mythology just before the bell rang, taking my seat behind Vincent, next to the windows. Whispers buzzed around the room. I looked out the window to avoid the curious stares. A row of naked cherry trees lined the parking lot.

  The winter sky was thick with clouds, turning our little corner of the world gray.

  I must reward her good deed.

  I didn't expect to be rewarded for the pastries and coffee. And those chocolate-covered coffee beans had been an afterthought. I didn't even expect a thank you, but not making a spectacle would have been nice.

  He'd be waiting for me at three o'clock.

  "Vincent, do you still have that shelter address?"

  Vincent reached into his sweatshirt pocket and handed over the torn piece of notebook paper. "I'm guessing he's not homeless," he said. "I bet he just got messed up at a party and ended up passing out."

  "Yeah, that makes sense. But just in case."

  If I ran into him, I'd say "You're welcome, but don't worry about rewarding me," and he'd go away, never again to walk into the middle of an assembly and point at me.

  Soon the incident would disappear from the collective conscience, replaced by someone else's embarrassing moment-- maybe a tumble in the cafeteria or a fart during study hall. But the World Mythology teacher, Mr. Williams, was not ready to let my embarrassing moment evaporate.

  "Katrina," he said as he plunked some books onto his desk. "Your visitor this morning, what was that he said?"

  My cheeks heated up. "He wasn't my visitor. I don't even know him." I pretended that I had something to erase.

  "But didn't he say he wanted to reward your good deed?"

  Some of the other kids laughed and repeated, "Good deed."

  "I bet it was goooood," Aaron said, wiggling his eyebrows at me.

  Great. Give a stranger a free cup of coffee and suddenly everyone thinks you're a slut.

  "Well, this is quite a coincidence because today we begin a chapter about good deeds." Mr. Williams picked up a text and sat at the edge of his desk. His thighs spread out like corduroy logs. "The good deed is a common theme in mythology.

  Sometimes the doer is rewarded with fortune, fame, or power. But sometimes the good deed leads to the doer's downfall."

  Winter air seeped under the classroom windows. I shivered. I was too young for a downfall, wasn't I?

  "We begin this section with a fable called 'Androcles and the Lion.' "

  I only half listened as Mr. Williams read the story about the escaped slave who finds a lion in the jungle and removes a thorn from the lion's paw. As a reward for the good deed, the lion spares the slave's life when they later encounter each other in the Coliseum. I fiddled with a yellow reminder slip that someone had stuffed into my locker: Guidance counselor appointment, Wednesday, 8:00 a.m. My vision blurred across Vincent's sweatshirt, which was damp around the collar from his wet swim-practice hair. Vincent didn't need a guidance counselor. He knew exactly what he wanted and where he was headed. Likewise, Elizabeth's dream to open an art gallery in New York City guided her every move. They knew.

  I didn't know.

  Mr. Williams closed the book. "One of the major themes in these good deed stories is that we should never underestimate those who appear to be inferior, like when a lowly slave helps the King of the Jungle. Sometimes the small, meek creature surprises us.

  Your assignment this week is to write your own good deed story, three to five pages, based on personal experience, and bring it to class on Friday." He smiled at me. "We shall await yours, Katrina, with bated breath." The bell rang. "Oh, and read the next story for tomorrow."

  For the rest of the morning I endured the questions. What did you do? Where did you do it? No one cared about truth. Rumors were set free to roam the hallways like hairy tarantulas.

  Elizabeth and I ate lunch in her car, hidden behind tinted windows. I pulled my lunch bag from my backpack and told her everything. "That's it? Coffee and some pastries?"

  She unwrapped a hummus sandwich.

  "And some chocolate-covered coffee beans."

  "Again, that's it?"

  "Sorry to disappoint you." I peeled back my yogurt's foil cover. Grandma Anna had shoved one of her Old World sandwiches into my bag--a pickled herring and onion creation. Try eating that for lunch and maintaining a position in the mundane middle.

  "Hey, maybe you can ask him to Solstice. And I'll ask Face and we can double-date."

  "What? I don't even know him." How many times would I have to repeat that?

  "So? He's cute."

  "Cute? Yeah, he's cute," I admitted. "But he wears that stupid kilt."

  "What's wrong with a kilt? At least it's different. Nordby guys wear sweatshirts and jeans. Boring!"

  "But he was sleeping in our alley. Don't you think that's weird?"

  Elizabeth peeled the crust off her sandwich. "There's probably a good explanation."

  Elizabeth had been my best girl friend since seventh grade, when we had each started our periods for the very first time on the exact same day and had ended up in the nurse's office, crying and confused. Well, I had been the one doing most of the crying, while she had simply been pissed off. "It's not fair!" she had screamed when the nurse handed us each a pad with wings. "How am I supposed to wear this thing with jeans?

  Everyone will see it." I had assured her that no one could see it, and she had assured me that no one could see it. Best friends, just like that.

  "How come Heidi's in charge of the decorations for the festival?" Elizabeth complained. "I should do it. She's not an artist."

  "Heidi's in charge because she wants to be in charge."

  "Right. Well, I should volunteer this year. It would look good on my college applications."

  "Yeah, it probably would."

  Elizabeth opened a bag of potato chips. As I reached in for a handful, Vincent and Heidi walked past. Why was he walking with her? Sure, they were both on the swim team, but he didn't usually hang out with the girl swimmers. And Vincent knew that I didn't like Heidi Darling. He knew that her father's coffeehouse had stolen most of our business. He knew how much I despised Mr. Darling. Heidi laughed at something, tossing her ponytail from side to side. Vincent smiled at her.

  "Did you see how she was fake laughing?" Elizabeth asked, stuffing chips into her mouth. "What's up with that? I bet she likes him. I bet she'll ask him to the festival."

  "No way. Really? You think she likes him?"

  "Why not? What's not to like? Why don't you like him?"

  "Because he's my friend." And because I knew everything about him. I knew that he sometimes got a little pimple on his earlobe. I knew that he got really bad gas if he drank milk. And I knew that he sometimes had nightmares about drowning. Our relationship was way beyond liking. We knew each other.

  But if Heidi liked him, then that would be a total nightmare. If my best friend was dating my enemy's daughter, then I'd have to listen to him tell me how wonderful she was and I'd have to act nice because that's what best friends do. I'd have to hang out with them. I'd become the third wheel.

  Heidi and Vincent walked into the science building. Just before the door closed, he touched her arm. A fire alarm went off in my head.

  In the grand scheme of things, touching someone's arm is nothing. An arm is just an arm. But I didn't go around touching people's arms. Touching someone's arm is definitely a gesture of fondness. Fondness can lead to all sorts of things.

  No way. Never. Not in a million years would I hang out with Heidi Darling.
Forget it.

  Vincent would have to choose between us. And he would choose me because we had been best friends since the fourth grade.

  Wouldn't he?

  Four

  Three o'clock arrived, right on schedule. No way was I was going out the front school doors. Weird kilt-wearing guy might be waiting.

  So, after grabbing homework from my locker and creeping out the art room's back door, I hurried past the tennis court and onto the sidewalk, completely avoiding the front of the school. No sign of him. Phew.

  I didn't like to ride the school bus home because its designated Main Street stop was right in front of Java Heaven. The students who piled out always headed straight into Mr. Darling's coffeehouse. Never did they walk the dozen extra steps to Anna's Old World Scandinavian Coffeehouse. Only I walked those steps, and that always made me feel like the only kid not invited to a birthday party. Mr. Prince, our school guidance counselor, once gave a speech at an assembly about how everyone secretly feels like an outcast, even popular people. How could Heidi Darling feel like an outcast with so many people crowding into her father's shop?

  Sometimes I caught a ride with Elizabeth, but on Mondays she had to stay after for math tutoring. Even though I was sixteen I didn't have my own car. Unlike Elizabeth, I didn't have rich parents, or any parents, for that matter. Fortunately, Nordby was small enough to get around on foot or bike.

  Nordby is an odd sort of place. The bay is home to a small fishing fleet and a marina.

  At the water's edge, two seafood restaurants balance on pilings. Main Street, which is crowded with little shops, runs parallel to the water. The buildings are brightly painted and sweetened with gingerbread trim and folklife murals. A sign at each end of the street reads: VELKOMMEN, which is "welcome" in Norwegian.

  In its early years, Nordby was all about Norway--hence the grand Sons of Norway Hall that sits at the north end of Main Street. But over time things got mixed up.

  Someone built a Swiss cuckoo clock tower next to the bakery. Someone erected a Dutch windmill on top of the shoe shop. Someone else installed a bronze statue of a little boy in Bavarian lederhosen. I guess the city planners just wanted Nordby to look like a fairy-tale town. And so it does.