CoffeeHouse Angel

by Suzanne Selfors

  But I wasn't happy. Something else had caught my attention, something even more annoying than Malcolm and his delusions. The Java Heaven billboard stood across the street. A new message had been painted across the top: Stop in and try a Vincent Mocha, in honor of our hometown hero. How had Mr. Darling managed to do that so fast? Did he have a legion of little elves working for him, running around painting things here and there, printing up flyers and coupons at elf speed?

  Only one thing to do. Anna's Old World Scandinavian Coffeehouse needed a special Vincent drink. So what if we didn't have a billboard? We couldn't just sit back and let Mr. Darling turn Vincent into a commodity. He was my friend. If anyone was going to turn him into a commodity, it would be me!

  "Katrina? You've got to listen."

  "I gotta go. Bye!" I pulled the scarf over my face and ran down the hill, my backpack lunging with each step. We'd make a special Vincent drink and sell it at the Solstice Festival. Better yet, Vincent could help us sell it. That would bring in tons of customers. We'd have so many customers that they'd line up and block Mr. Darling's door. Sweet revenge. Vincent could autograph the cups. What would we call our drink? What's the Viking word for hero? Probably something unpronounceable--

  something that sounded like you were trying to clear a wad of phlegm from your throat. Forget that.

  I rushed into the coffeehouse. The chairs were empty-- no real surprise since The Boys didn't come in on Tuesdays.

  "What an exciting day," Grandma Anna said, giving me an extra-tight hug. "We heard all about Vincent saving that man's life. Some of those news station vans pulled up. I got to meet Brad Stone. You know, the anchor from channel seven. He came into the shop with his crew."

  "Really?" I unwound my scarf and took off my coat. "What did they order?"

  My grandmother stared at her sensible shoes. Silence filled the space between us like poison gas.

  "Grandma?"

  "They didn't order anything. They thought this was the entrance to Java Heaven. They had some coupons."

  Coulda put money on that one.

  "Okay, we've got a situation." I leaned on the counter. Irmgaard stopped stirring her carrot soup. "Remember last Solstice, how Mr. Darling gave out those heavenly cloud cookies and all those people lined up?" Irmgaard and Grandma nodded. "This year it could be even worse."

  "What do you mean?"

  "I mean, this year Mr. Darling will be selling coffee named after Vincent. Our Vincent."

  "Oh dear." Grandma Anna rubbed the back of her neck.

  "So, I think we should create a Vincent drink of our own. Only, it's got to be better than Mr. Darling's. And we'll have the real Vincent here, in the shop, handing out the coffee."

  "We will?"

  "Of course. I haven't asked him yet, but he'll do it. He loves us."

  "He's a good boy."

  "But someone has to go next door and buy one of those drinks so we can see what it tastes like. We need to know what we're up against." It would be difficult enough to try to outbrew Mr. Darling, but we first had to get our hands on the drink itself, and we lived by the law of never setting foot inside Java Heaven. "What about one of The Boys?" I asked.

  "Oh no." Grandma Anna cleaned carrot peelings from the counter. "They're my friends. I won't send them into that horrid place. I'll call Officer Larsen. Tell him it's an emergency."

  "But it's not an emergency." I drummed my fingers on the counter. I wouldn't ask my friends to go in there either. My two friends. It was a matter of pride, but I also secretly feared that they might never emerge, once they had tasted the dark side.

  "We could just ask a stranger. Someone walking down the street," I suggested.

  "And what if that stranger told Mr. Darling that it was one of us who wanted the drink? Over my dead body. I won't give him the satisfaction." Grandma Anna tightened her apron. "Not a drop of his coffee will ever touch my lips!"

  "I'll be the one to taste the Vincent Mocha," I said, a martyr to the cause. "But we've got to figure out how to get one."

  I peered out the front picture window. A Java Heaven employee strolled the sidewalk, handing out tiny sample cups to passersby. His apron, with its cloud logo, was as crisp and white as a brand-new bedsheet--quite blinding beneath the somber late-afternoon sky. He called out to someone, then walked right past our windows. I cracked open the door to eavesdrop.

  "Hey buddy. Would you like to try our new drink? It's called the Vincent Mocha, named after our local hero."

  "I'll give it a wee taste."

  Oh, I knew that voice.

  Nine

  I shoved my head out the door and peered up the sidewalk. There he stood in his kilt-wearing glory. The Java Heaven employee handed him a sample. "Hope you like it."

  "Thank you," Malcolm said. "I'm quite fond of coffee. There was a particular blend in Egypt that was only picked by moonlight and only served to the pharaohs. I wasn't around then, but I've been told that the moon's reflection could be seen in the brew."

  "Wild. Well, have a nice day."

  I pretended to clean the window as the employee returned to Java Heaven. Then I hurried up the sidewalk. "Um, hello again. Malcolm, right? Um, what's that? It looks like coffee. Yep, that looks like a sample cup of coffee. Is that what it is?"

  Smoooooooth. Throw acting into the Closet of Failure.

  He held the tiny cup. Chocolate shavings adorned a miniature dollop of whipped cream. A peppermint stick stuck out the top. It looked like a candy straw. Would those evil Java Heaven elves stop at nothing? Who in their right mind could resist such a concoction? Malcolm cleared his throat, breaking my hungry stare.

  "You seem to be wanting this." He balanced the cup in his palm.

  "Oh, careful." I tried to snatch it, but he moved out of reach.

  "You want this, that's for sure." He frowned. "Why should I give it to you? You wouldn't listen to me."

  I looked over my shoulder, to make certain that no one from Java Heaven was eavesdropping. Irmgaard and Grandma Anna, however, pressed their faces against the picture window. "If you give that to me, then you'll have given me what I most desire." Excellent answer. "That's what you want, right? That's the law, right?"

  He shifted his weight. The cup wobbled precariously. "You told me that fortune was what you most desired."

  "I was confused. I didn't know. But now I know. What I actually desire is that cup of coffee." My fingers twitched. I just wanted to grab it. Would the coffee be flavored with something exotic like organic Ecuadorian free-trade rainforest-saving cinnamon?

  "A wee cup of coffee is what you most desire? But you work in a coffeehouse. Why would you want this particular cup? Is it special in some way?"

  "Just give it to me," I said between clenched teeth. "Please."

  "I suspect you're trying to trick me, just like you did with the pencil." His expression remained serious.

  "I'm not."

  "I'll give it to you under one condition."

  "What?"

  "That after I complete my delivery, you will tell me what you most desire. No deceptions."

  "Fine. Whatever." I took the cup.

  "I'll be back." He switched his satchel to the other shoulder, then walked up the sidewalk, his kilt sashaying with each long step. His calf muscles bulged. Messengers probably needed strong legs. And his legs had just the right amount of hair. Probably soft hair, not prickly like Vincent's legs when the hair started to grow back after a swim meet.

  "Oh my God, did you see him?"

  "He's so cute."

  "Who is he?"

  Heidi Darling rounded the corner, arm in arm with a couple of girlfriends. Matching lime sherbet earmuffs clung to their bobbing heads. Honest to God, if Heidi Darling wore a grocery bag on her head, then a bunch of other people would start wearing grocery bags on their heads. Elizabeth once made a vest out of grocery bags for a recycling project. She wore it a few times but it never caught on.

  Standing there, red-handed, my brain kind of froze. But Heidi'
s legs didn't freeze. She sped down that sidewalk, a smirk taking up half her face. "So, Katrina, I see you're drinking our coffee now. I don't blame you. The Vincent Mocha is the best."

  "I'm not drinking it."

  "Why are you holding it, then?"

  "I'm not holding it." I marched over to the garbage can and tossed the sample cup and its contents. What else could I do? It was one of the most embarrassing moments of my life. Like when a vegetarian gets caught with a hunk of prime rib.

  Heidi followed me. So did her clones. "Well, it's sure to be a hit. Vincent's famous.

  We're such good friends."

  That really got me. I wanted to say, "He's not your friend, he's my friend." Imagine if we all went around telling people exactly what we were thinking--we'd all sound like a bunch of third graders. MY Vincent drink will be so much better than YOUR Vincent drink.

  Instead, I pretended not to care. "Whatever," I mumbled, hurrying back to the safety of Anna's, right into my grandmother's overly curious gaze.

  "Do you know that boy?" Grandma Anna asked.

  "What boy?"

  "The one who gave you the coffee?"

  "No. I don't know him."

  "Oh. That's too bad. I thought maybe he was a new friend." She limped toward her desk. Her legs always stiffened at the end of the day. "I don't know how they expect people to buy such small cups of coffee. Who would buy such a tiny cup? Maybe someone with anorexia."

  "Those are sample cups," I explained. "They're free."

  "Free?" Grandma Anna shuffled through the mail pile. "How can they afford to give away so many samples? Organic coffee is expensive." She shook her head as she examined each envelope. "Oh dear."

  "What?"

  "Never you mind."

  "Grandma?" Maybe she'd finally talk to me about our finances. Maybe she'd let me help. "Grandma, I know we're having troubles. I've heard you talking to the bank."

  "That's none of your concern. I can manage." She pursed her lips as she opened one of the envelopes. A cold breeze passed through the room, rustling the mail. "Irmgaard?"

  Grandma Anna called. "Close that door. It's cold out." The mail rustled again.

  "Irmgaard?"

  I went back to the kitchen. The coffeehouse's front door stood wide open. Irmgaard was outside, looking up the sidewalk.

  "Irmgaard?" She wore a dazed, unblinking expression and fiddled with a cross that hung from a long chain, the only piece of jewelry she ever wore. "Irmgaard?" I tapped her on the arm. She blinked, then ran back into the shop. "Irmgaard?" I said, following. "What's the matter?" She shook her head, then grabbed her coat and purse, nearly knocking over Mr. Darling on her way out.

  "Why won't somebody close that door?" Grandma Anna complained, limping into the kitchen. "What do you want?" she snarled.

  Mr. Darling leaned against the door's frame. "Just checking to see if you've given my offer any more thought. I'm anxious to get started on the remodel before tourist season begins."

  "Well, good for you." She tried to close the door, but his big head was in the way.

  "Here's what I'm willing to pay. It's a generous sum." He held out a piece of paper.

  "I'm not interested."

  He continued to hold out the paper, but she just folded her arms and glared at him, her neck straining for height. I folded my arms and glared at him too--a unified front against his invasion. He raised his eyebrows, then tucked the paper into his pocket.

  "You'll change your mind, one way or another."

  After he had left, Grandma Anna deflated back to her soft self, but she was in no mood to talk. "Go upstairs and do your homework. I'll finish up down here."

  "You sure?"

  "Yes." She headed back to the office. "I can't imagine what got into Irmgaard. She never leaves without hugging me good-bye."

  I grabbed my backpack and headed upstairs, cursing Heidi Darling with each step.

  One more second and I could have escaped with the sample cup. At least I knew some of the ingredients. I still needed to call Vincent, to ask if he'd come and sign cups for the Solstice Festival. And I needed to call Elizabeth. She'd design a great logo for our version of the Vincent Mocha. We'd use double the whipped cream and buy peppermint straws the size of walrus tusks!

  No one answered the phone at Vincent's house. I left a message. "Hey, congratulations. I didn't get to talk to you today. You're so famous. Can I have your autograph?" I laughed self-consciously. "I'm really, really happy for you. You've got it made. A full scholarship. That's great. Really, really great. Um, I've got this idea and I'm hoping you can help. So call me."

  No one answered at Elizabeth's either. I dumped the contents of my backpack onto the bed. I did a page of geometry, memorized the parts of a cell for Biology, then stared at a blank piece of paper. Mr. Williams wanted us to write a good deed story, three to five pages, for Friday. If I wrote about giving Malcolm some day-old pastries I risked coming off as a braggart. Oh, look at me, I help homeless people.

  Or I'd come off as really cheap. Why didn't she give him something that wasn't day-old? I decided to write about Vincent's good deed.

  I wrote a paragraph, but the incident with Heidi kept intruding. I kept seeing that smug look on her earmuff-framed face. Me, just standing there, holding that cup. Like all embarrassing incidents, this one took on a life of its own. "Relive me," it whispered, over and over. "Are you starting to get somewhere with your homework?

  Well, we can't have that, so it's time to relive me again." Why, why, why had I just stood there, watching Malcolm walk away, staring at his legs like an idiot? If only I had gone straight into the coffeehouse.

  The phone rang. Before I could say hello, Elizabeth screamed, "Turn on channel seven! Vincent's on the news!"

  Sure enough, there he stood, in his swim team sweatshirt, calmly answering Brad Stone's questions. His straight black hair looked extra chlorine shiny on TV. I might have noticed that he spoke eloquently and that he seemed more mature than his sixteen years. I might have noticed that he looked happier than I'd ever seen him look.

  But all I noticed was the Java Heaven coffee cup that he held in his right hand.

  Ten

  Wednesday morning found me waiting in my guidance counselor's office for my mandatory appointment. I picked a few Ratcatcher hairs off my sleeve while Mr.

  Prince finished a phone call.

  Thumbtacked posters covered every inch of wall space. Most of the posters were motivational-- Reach for the Stars, Be All That You Can Be, Go for It! That kind of thing. The rest dealt with serious subjects like drugs, suicide, and school shootings--

  the ugly realities of the teenage world. Each poster was the exact same size. He had probably torn them out of some guidance counselor catalog. Or maybe he subscribed to a Crisis-of-the-Month Club.

  I tapped my feet. Get off the phone already. I wanted to get to class and talk to Vincent. He hadn't returned my call last night and he hadn't stopped by the coffeehouse before practice that morning. Maybe he was feeling bad about holding that cup on TV. He had to know that I'd be fuming. Java Heaven didn't exactly need free advertising.

  If I carried around a little black book with the words

  The Law written on the front cover, I would insist that the first law in that book be: Thou shalt never, ever partake of Java Heaven coffee!

  But I didn't need a little black book because my friends-- my two friends--already knew that law. And to break that law would mean disloyalty and serious hurt feelings on my part. Anyway, Mr. Darling had probably shoved that cup into Vincent's hand just before the interview. But, then again, Vincent could have dropped it. He should have dropped it. Law #2: If a cup of Java Heaven coffee is shoved into thy hand, then thou shalt drop it.

  "Okay, Katrina, let's get started." Mr. Prince slid a pair of glasses onto his long nose.

  "How are you?"

  "Fine." I smiled sweetly, unclenching my hands. The last thing I wanted was to get into a conversation with Mr. Prince about feeling
s. "Everything's fine."

  "Good." He cleared a space on his desk. "The purpose of this meeting is to check your progress and make sure that you're on the right track."

  "Okay."

  "You're a sophomore this year," he said as he opened a file.

  "Yeah."

  He pulled a piece of paper from the file, looked at both sides, then frowned. "Surely I'm missing some pages. Your file is awfully thin. What kind of activities are you involved in?"

  "Uh, nothing really."

  "Clubs? Sports? Basketball?"

  "I work."

  He sat back in his chair. "Working is admirable, Katrina, but surely you have time to get involved here at school."

  "I work every morning and every afternoon."

  "I see. Is that necessary?"

  "My grandmother can't afford to hire any more employees."

  "Ah. Well, have you given any thought to what you'd like to do after you graduate?"

  "Not really. My grandmother wants me to go to college."

  "Exactly." He pointed to a poster behind his head. Education Paves the Road to Success. "Nordby High has an excellent rate of college acceptance. Sophomore year is the time to start getting serious. It's no longer just about grades. Competition for all the top schools is intense. Admissions committees want students who are involved on many levels. Let me show you something." He heaved a notebook onto his desk. "I've been working closely with Heidi Darling. You know Heidi, don't you?"

  "Yeah." Ugh. Was it too early in the morning to vomit?

  "This is a work-in-progress, mind you, but her achievements are impressive--the exact thing every admissions committee is looking for." He spun the notebook around. "I have her permission to share this with other students. In fact, I'm going to put it on display in the hallway."

  I expected a spotlight to appear and a choir of angels to descend as Mr. Prince opened the notebook to reveal its glory. Would I be blinded by its brilliance? I should have brought some sunglasses. And so, on that Wednesday morning, when I could have been in World Mythology class asking Vincent about the coffee cup incident, Mr.

  Prince shared the supremeness that was Heidi Darling.