Meg & Linus

by Hanna Nowinski

  “Hi,” Danny says when it’s finally my turn, smiling at me just as friendly and professionally as he always does.

  “Uh, hey,” I say, wondering if he’s starting to maybe recognize me after I’ve been coming here pretty much all summer. But I doubt it. This is a popular place and there must be hundreds of people coming through here all the time. “I’d like a large caramel macchiato, please.”

  He nods, and his grin is a little crooked. “Coming right up.”

  I pay and step aside to make room for the next person, but of course I’ve chosen the exact moment there’s a lull in the previously busy stream of customers, which means it’s suddenly just me standing awkwardly at the counter with Danny the barista who doesn’t know I like him. I quickly pretend to be checking my phone even though I haven’t received a text in more than four hours.

  Luckily, there’s no need to endure small talk, as Danny rarely ever engages in that, either. The other baristas here usually have comments ready about the weather or some news item or just something nice and easy to pass the time. It always makes me a little uncomfortable, which is most likely the opposite of what they’re trying to achieve.

  Well, my social weirdness is hardly their fault.

  But Danny is mostly silent, which I like. He almost seems a little shy. Like me. At least we have that in common. I like having something in common with him, even if it’s just the inability to chat with strangers.

  I finally have to lower my phone because there’s just nothing on it to look at, and I feel silly just flipping through my apps without any purpose—usually I at least have some messages from my friend Meg, but she’s been quiet lately. She’s probably busy saying good-bye to her girlfriend, Sophia, who’s going off to college this summer.

  When I look up from my phone, Danny is standing there with a rag wiping at a piece of counter that already looks spotless. I can’t help but swoon a little at his obvious attempt to look busy. It’s just a little hint of him being at least a little bit awkward, too, like me. But it feels like a connection. Just a little something we have in common.

  The girl working with him that day finally pushes my drink across the counter, smiling at me. “Here you go.”

  “Thank you,” I say, reaching for the tall cup.

  “And have a nice day,” she adds.

  “Yeah, uh—you, too,” I say back, flickering my eyes over at Danny for the briefest second. He looks up and his smile is polite but still unbelievably cute. I turn on my heels and find a table, the last one that’s free, and hurry over to sit down and get out my book so I can finally really look busy and feel a little less embarrassed.

  Only because I’m me and a smooth retreat would have been way too much to ask for, I trip over my own feet just as I reach my seat and bump into the table, which wobbles precariously as I try to steady myself and promptly knock the sugar dispenser to the floor when my hand slips on the tabletop.

  I bite my lip to hold back the curse—no need to draw even more attention to myself—and drop my bag, put my coffee on the table. Miraculously, only a little spilled over the sides and mostly soaked my hand and sleeve. I know how to protect my coffee even if I don’t always manage to protect my dignity.

  I drop to my knees and pick up the dispenser, which has, of course, burst open upon impact with the floor, spilling sugar everywhere, and start to rather stupidly brush at the mess on the floor, not really knowing what to do with it.

  And of course it’s Danny who suddenly appears next to me, kneeling right there beside me with a hand brush and dustpan. “It’s okay, here, let me,” he says, and starts brushing the sugar into a neat pile.

  “I can do that, it’s all my fault, I can—I’m so sorry, I can just—” I stammer and hold out my hand for the brush, my face burning; I know I probably look as red as an overripe tomato by now.

  “It’s okay, really,” he says, quickly and effectively scooping up the sugar pile with his dustpan. “No harm done.”

  “I didn’t mean to,” I promise. “I just tripped, I’m so sorry, I can help, I—”

  “Already done,” he says, and smiles at me. “No big deal.”

  “I’m so sorry,” I repeat dumbly.

  “You didn’t trip on purpose,” he says, and gets up, actually holding out a hand for me. “Did you?”

  I shake my head and take his hand and oh god my palms are probably gross and sweaty and I blush even more, but he helps me to my feet without even losing his smile. “No,” I promise.

  He nods, and lets go of my hand. “Enjoy your coffee.”

  “I’m really sorry.”

  “I know. And it’s really okay,” he repeats in his usual friendly voice, and walks away.

  I sit down and take a few deep breaths and slowly, slowly, my heartbeat returns to normal. And, okay. Maybe it wasn’t such a big deal. But he touched my hand.

  That just now may have looked like nothing to an outside observer, but it was actually quite a good interaction for us. And yes, I know it doesn’t mean a thing and he’s already forgotten the clumsy, round-faced little weirdo who never manages to say enough to make a lasting impression unless he trips over something. But I’m still happy with it. If this is the most I can ever get anyway, this was really good. And now I have delicious coffee to make my afternoon even better.

  I wait until I can be sure no one’s looking at me anymore before I send off a short text to Meg. I’m not expecting a quick response, but reaching out to her still makes me feel better. She doesn’t even know about Danny specifically, but she knows there’s a cute barista, and she knows me; she’ll understand how much this means to me.

  I’m looking forward to school starting again (yes, I’m being serious—I like school, okay?), but if I’m being honest, I am really going to miss my afternoons here at the coffee shop. I’m going to miss being smiled at by the cute barista who is most likely straight and forgets my face every time I turn my back.

  But I really am pretty sure that he is about my age; maybe I’ll see him around school when it starts. I can’t remember seeing him there before, and I certainly would remember him if he went there. But maybe he’s new in town? Or maybe he’s just here for the summer and I’ll never see him again once the summer ends. I hate that thought.

  But for now, I’m enjoying my coffee and the occasional smile from this boy I don’t know, and yes, it has been a pretty good summer. I really cannot complain.

  Chapter 3

  Meg

  THIS MIGHT BE THE FIRST year since I started school that I’m not excited, and it’s all Sophia’s fault.

  I sit in my car and stare at the school building looming tall and gray before me. Dozens of students are weaving around one another, multicolored blurs providing lively chaos against the drab backdrop of the scene. I watch them clumping into random circles, dissipating, bumping into one another all across the wide steps leading up to the main entrance. There’s an elegance to it, an excited energy that has never failed to draw me in until now.

  Only this time, the usual excitement I’ve been looking forward to all summer is impossible to summon, because whoever invented girlfriends clearly didn’t think this all the way through, all of these emotions that come with a breakup. I’m angry at her for leaving me, but more than that I just miss her so much I can’t breathe sometimes, and it hurts.

  And now my last first day of high school ever is ruined, and I’m not going to get it back. Just as I’m not going to get her back. It’s never going to be perfect the way I wanted it. It’s just … all ruined. All of it.

  I sigh, push my glasses up on my nose, and reach across the seat for my book bag. Might as well get this over with, because being newly single is still no excuse for missing class.

  I open the car door and am immediately greeted with the hum and chatter all around, the busyness of a first school day. Yup, the world is still here and still loud and still probably mostly ignoring me, which is actually kind of the way I like it. Maybe my classes will manage to cheer me
up at least.

  I’m not even halfway across the parking lot when I hear hurried footsteps off to my side.

  “Meg! Hey, Meg, wait up!”

  I even manage a grin as I turn to greet him, take in the familiar sight of the round little guy in too-short pants and a sweater vest and neatly parted blond hair, smiling eyes sparkling with excitement as usual as he scurries over.

  “Linus! I see you survived the rest of the summer!”

  He shrugs, bumps our shoulders together as he starts walking next to me. “I called you last week. Like, five hundred times. Didn’t you get any of my texts? Seriously, where have you been these past few days? Is everything okay?”

  “I’m sorry. I was … busy.” I feel bad. I know he must have been lonely this summer while I was hanging out with Sophia all the time, trying to make the most of our last days together. And then I dropped off the face of the planet completely once she walked out of my house that day. I just couldn’t bear to face him and tell him what had happened. I barely even talked to my mom for days. It would have been like reliving the breakup all over again and I wasn’t ready for that. But I feel bad for vanishing without a trace like that.

  He deserves a better best friend.

  “I thought you had disappeared! Or left the country! Or maybe found a way to graduate a year early and go off to college with Sophia—”

  “Yeah, no.” I laugh, and it comes out a lot more bitter than I had intended. “That sounds completely realistic.”

  “Hey!” He grins at me. “You might be the only person at this school who is actually smarter than I am. If anyone found a way into college early—”

  “So not what I meant,” I say, but being called smart by Linus, who is kind of a genius, is really flattering. I’m not about to turn down a compliment like that.

  “Meg?” he asks, and stops walking, and when I turn to him he looks worried. “Really, is everything okay?”

  I give up, shoulders slumping, and hang my head to stare at the dark ground of the parking lot beneath my feet. Sometimes it just really sucks having a best friend who actually knows you. “Not really?”

  “What happened?”

  I brush my hair from my face and can’t quite make myself look up at him. I haven’t actually told anyone other than my mom—telling people will just make it real—but Linus is my best friend and it’s not like he isn’t going to find out sooner or later.

  “Sophia dumped me.”

  He stares at me as if I’ve been speaking Elvish. Except, he’d probably have understood that. “Um. Excuse me?”

  “Look, it’s not really hard to understand at all: Sophia broke up with me. It’s really a very simple concept. We were together. Now we’re not. Do you need me to write it down for you?” I wince a little, shocked at myself for talking to him this way. I have no idea what’s wrong with me today. But because Linus is the sweetest person alive, he doesn’t turn on his heel and walk away from me like I would have deserved. Instead, he looks really worried and takes a careful step closer to me.

  “No, I did understand the words,” he says, still blinking at me as if he’s not quite sure he’s getting it right. “They’re just not really making much sense. Did you say Sophia dumped you?”

  I nod, tightly grabbing onto the strap of my book bag. “Yup.” I’m holding myself so tense that my shoulders are starting to hurt from it, but I can’t help it; I feel weird and I really could use some sign of sympathy. Maybe a best-friend hug, just something to make this morning suck a little less.

  Instead, Linus frowns some more and I’m starting to worry that his face may actually get stuck like this and it’ll be all my fault. “Are you sure?”

  I groan, roll my eyes at him. “Oh my god, Linus, she was my girlfriend, yes I’m sure! Can I maybe have a little sympathy here? I mean, like, what, I’d go and make this up? I don’t—”

  “Oh no,” he says, face falling, taking a tentative step closer. “Oh no, oh, Meg, I am so, so sorry, that is horrible, oh my god—”

  And then I finally get my hug, and suddenly it’s a little difficult not to get overly emotional in the middle of the parking lot. Linus is a good hugger, and not just because he’s soft. His sweater vest smells like fabric softener and he hugs like hugging is very serious business that you have to get exactly right.

  “Thank you,” I say, voice muffled by the fabric of his shirt, so I hope he can’t hear the amount of sadness in my voice.

  “I can’t believe it,” he says, and hugs me tighter. “Honestly, this goes against everything I believe. I feel like we must have sidestepped into an alternate timeline.”

  I nod against his shoulder and close my eyes for a second. This is more like the reaction I was hoping for.

  “Hey, are you okay?” Linus asks, giving me a worried look as he pulls back.

  I smile at him, because it’s not his fault this last first day of school is the worst first day of school ever. And because I’ve known he’s been on my side since the day freshman year when those hockey players snatched my phone out of my hand and threw it in the Dumpster, and he climbed in with me into that smelly grossness to help me retrieve it. “I will be okay,” I promise.

  Countless movies and books promise me that it’s the truth, even if I can’t quite see it yet. But I guess sometimes you just have to hang in there until you can.

  “Do you want to come over after school and watch really sad movies and have way too much sugar?” Linus asks.

  I take his arm as we’re walking side by side, lean my head on his shoulder. “Yes. Please. That sounds really good.”

  Chapter 4

  Linus

  I WALK HER TO HER physics class even though she tells me I don’t have to.

  “Really, this is ridiculous,” she says. “I can find my own way.”

  “I’m here for emotional support,” I insist. “You know. ‘You’re not alone’ and all that.”

  “That’s sweet, but I’m not going to have a breakdown in the middle of a crowded hallway,” she promises. “Also, I’m not sure that’s how emotional support works.”

  “I know,” I say. “But we can’t go for coffee right now because class is about to start, so this will have to do until then.”

  She bumps her shoulder into mine, which I know means thank you. I wish we actually could go for coffee right now. I’m worried about her. But instead I walk her all the way up to her classroom door and hug her quickly before turning around to hurry back down the hallway. I have to run in order to not be late for history now. But when your best friend just got dumped you sometimes have to risk being a few seconds late to class, even if it’s the very first class of your final year of high school. But Ms. Rodriguez likes me. I know her because she ran the Model UN last year and also enlisted me as a tutor for some of her students. So I’m hopeful that I won’t get in trouble for almost being late and won’t be labeled the “late guy” for the rest of the semester.

  * * *

  I’m not a teacher’s pet or a nerd. I just genuinely like my classes and I want to do well.

  … Okay, so I am a bit of a nerd.

  Or a massive nerd, actually, if we are being quite honest here. I don’t really see what’s wrong with that. It just means that I like things that are considered lame by the people who get to decide what’s cool and what’s not cool. But just the fact that they think that astronomy club and debate team are lame doesn’t make it true. Why should their opinions matter more than mine?

  Meg and I met through an extracurricular, actually. It was during the brief time our school had an LGBTQ club.

  I know that it doesn’t make sense to a lot of people, our friendship; apparently gay guys and lesbians have nothing in common, right? At least if all friendship is solely based on talking about what kinds of body parts you like on other people. I can safely say that I have never had a friend with whom I bonded solely on the basis of appreciating other people’s body parts.

  It was Star Trek, actually, that brought us togethe
r. Because that first afternoon, Meg showed up wearing a T-shirt with a large Spock on the front along with the words LIVE LONG AND PROSPER. And I guess I stared a bit. Not to be rude, I just … hadn’t really met too many people before who got the awesomeness of Star Trek.

  Anyway, once we were done for that afternoon and getting ready to leave, she glared at me from her seat and asked, “Didn’t you say you were gay? Because you might want to rethink that since you’re sort of staring at my boobs, you know?” I kind of stammered out an apology, probably blushing redder than a fire truck, and explained to her that I was just a huge, huge Star Trek fan. And she believed me and somehow we walked out together and kept talking and I was mostly just really incredibly glad that she didn’t hate me for looking at her T-shirt all afternoon.

  The club was disbanded after just a few weeks due to “lack of interest,” but it went on long enough for the two of us to connect and stay in touch. So I guess some good came of it, after all.

  I like Meg. I like our friendship, but not only because we’ll never, ever fight about a guy or a girl. We’re opposites only in the obvious ways: She likes girls; I like boys. She is tall and skinny, and I am short and, um, rather portly. But I fail to see how any of that matters.

  There are lots of reasons why we get along. It’s because Meg likes quiet afternoons with coffee and books as much as I do. She’s also one of the only people I know, other than my parents, who understands exactly how wonderful Star Trek really is. The old Star Trek. Not the new movies. Of course I appreciate Chris Pine as much as the next person, but I also appreciate Gene Roddenberry’s vision; the man was a genius.

  Meg and I also share a similar taste in music and she is honestly the best study buddy I have ever had in my life (and also the only one). That time my chem lab partner bailed on me when we were supposed to prepare a presentation together, she spent a week helping me out with my project every afternoon even though she had her own to work on. We’ve always just partnered up with each other since then if that was at all possible.