Kristina Springer: The Espressologist

"Oh, well, I generally don't do the blind date thing ..."

she starts.

"You wouldn't really have to. Just let me introduce you. Come into Wired Joe's the next time I work." I quickly go over my schedule in my mind. "Monday afternoon around sixish. His name is Gavin and he's so awesome; he comes in and gets a drink about that time every day. You can get a look at him first and decide if you want to meet him. Then I can just casually introduce you. I swear you guys are PERFECT for each other," I repeat.

"Okay. Why not? I can at least come in and get a drink, right?" she says.

"Cool!" I'm jazzed that my first Espressology test is about to take place. "I'll see you then." I smile and head off to find Em.

"My classes are so, so hard." Em sets her elbows on the small wooden table and rubs her eyes with the back of her hands. We're sitting at a table next to the bathroom at Wired Joe's, waiting for our shift to start. There is an inch-long string sticking off the seam of Em's black fake-leather shoe and it is driving me crazy. I must get her away from SuperMart shoes and into a decent shoe store. "I was up until three a.m. working on a paper for my lit class."

"I know what you mean. I'm tired, too," I say with a yawn, stretching my arms over my head. Though I'm not tired from school, but rather from catching up on last week's TiVo HD All My Children episodes last night.

"How are your classes going?" Em asks. How are they going? Good question.

"I just got off the phone with my mom and she asked the same thing," I say, attempting to avert the question.

"And what did you say?" she persists.

Well, shoot. That didn't work. "Um ... okay. I guess."

"What's wrong? Is that chemistry class at the college getting you down? I heard that it's hard."

"No ... not really." It can't get me down if I'm not there, right? Em looks up at me quizzically and props her head on her right fist.

"Why haven't you been talking about school lately?"

She studies my face. I hate when she does this.

"It just isn't that exciting," I lie, trying to look innocent. Em's eyes narrow and she rubs her chin with her index finger. "You're the one with all the interesting classes.

You know how boring my schedule is," I add. My classes are on the other side of the school from Em's, so even when I do go I rarely see her.

"Really? Just nothing exciting to talk about? What are you studying in your classes?" She continues to look at me.

Uh-oh. Her stares are relentless–I'm doomed.

"What?" I ask, shifting uncomfortably in my chair for a few seconds. "Oh fine, fine! I haven't gone to classes in a couple of weeks. Happy?"

"Jane!" she says, exaggerating the "a."

"Why haven't you been going to classes?"

"Because," I whine, "they're boring! When will I ever need to know how to make a cheese soufflé? And I suck in ceramics. Even my grandma wouldn't want one of my spun pots. Seriously. None of this stuff will matter when I'm designing red-carpet gowns in fashion school."

"You can't skip classes, though. You'll get kicked out of school."

"I haven't gotten in trouble yet."

"Yet is the key word here," Em says, and frowns. "And what about your college credit courses?"

"I don't like the college either."

"Why not?" she asks.

"It's ... not what I expected. I want to go to school to study fashion, not stupid English and chemistry. And the people are weird. It's all like, people who couldn't make it into real colleges and old people returning to school. I just don't like it," I say, pouting now.

"So what are you going to do? Just not go? You have to go."

"Why?"

Em sighs and I feel a lecture looming. "Jane, I know you think senior year is just a blow-off year, but it isn't.

What if the School of the Art Institute asks to see your grades from this year? What are you going to do then?"

"They wouldn't do that. Would they?"

"They might. Do you really want to take the chance?"

she asks. Hmph. We're both silent for a moment. "Just try.

Will you go to classes tomorrow?"

"Fine, whatever. Can we talk about something else now?"

"Only if you promise to go to school tomorrow," she retorts.

"Omigod, Mom, I promise, I promise! Jesus!" I say, annoyed.

"Okay, fine, I'll drop it then." She looks victorious.

"How much time do we have left?"

"About five minutes," I answer, alternately tapping my left index and middle fingers on the table. "Ooh, did I tell you what is going down tonight?" I suddenly cheer up.

"No, what?"

"Sarah's friend Simone is coming in. I'm going to introduce her to Gavin. He doesn't know it, though, so I'm crossing my fingers that it goes well."

"I hope it does." A slow smile spreads across her face.

She's looking at the door.

"What?" I ask, and turn around to see what or whom she is looking at. My frat boys are walking into the store, with Will in the lead.

"Hey, guys!" I call. "You're early today. Gimme a minute and I'll come help you." I race into the break room and throw down my purse and coat, tie on my apron, and get back up front in fifteen seconds flat. Daisy, my thirtysomething too-tight-clothes-wearing floozy co-worker is flirting with my boys, and I want to take a rolled-up paper and smack her in the nose. Heel, Daisy! Heel! "I got it, Dais. Take a break," I tell her. Her mouth opens in protest and I give her my best raised-eyebrow, "I'm the assistant manager, do what I say" look and it actually works! Power is so cool. Daisy doesn't say a word and slips away. "Okay, guys, the usual?" I take my place behind the register.

"Absolutely," Will replies with a killer smile. Man, he is hot. All three of the guys are good-looking, but he is just amazing. He's wearing a dark blue button-down shirt open at the neck, jeans faded so perfectly they could only be bought that way, and dark brown sneakers. His broad chest and shoulders make his loose-fitting brown corduroy jacket hang perfectly on him.

"So, you guys on your way to a fraternity meeting?" I ask in my flirty voice. At least I hope it sounds flirty.

"Not tonight," he answers, flashing his perfectly straight white teeth. "We're actually on our way to an engagement party for one of the senior brothers at a restaurant a few blocks down."

"That sounds fun!" I say. I make the shots of espresso and pour them into each waiting cup.

"Eh." He shrugs and bats his big beautiful midnight-blue eyes at me. "It'd be more fun if you were there."

What? Be still my beating-out-of-my-chest heart, did he just ask me out? Or is he just being cute and funny?

"Oh ... um ... well..." I stammer. Cute boy flirts and I turn into a moron. I must regain a grip on the situation.

They don't know I'm not as cool as I seem. Think, Jane, think. Must respond with something clever. "You'll have to try to get along without me–I'm making espressos all night," I return. That sounded okay, didn't it? Not great, but not totally lame. I hear a giggle from back by the display of fifteen-dollar seasonal stuffed bears. Em's laughing at me sounding like a dork. Mental note: must kill her later. The other guys are smiling at me now, too. It's hard to think in the face of such cuteness!

"Maybe some other time?" Will suggests, taking his drink and handing Grant and Adam theirs.

"Sure," I say with a smile, and watch them walk out the door and disappear on the busy sidewalk.

Shoot, I forgot to charge them again.

"Why do you keep checking your watch?" Em asks as we walk around the store wiping down the tables. It's strangely slow for six at night.

"I'm waiting for Simone to show up. I hope she doesn't chicken out. She said she'd come in tonight around six so I can casually introduce her to Gavin."