Page 75 of You've Got a Place Here, Too
“Um…” I fumble for my words, looking anywhere but into his eager eyes. River stands behind him, aggressively nodding herhead and mouthing the word “yes.” Part of me wants to say no because I don’t want it to affect our class partnership. But the other nagging part says River is right about having fun.
“Just like a casual thing,” Nick adds, noticing my hesitation.
“Yeah, sure. Where were you thinking about going?”
Before Nick can respond, River unnecessarily interrupts. “You should take her to Sipsational. Shelovesit there.”
“Alright, then it’s settled. See you there at seven.”
He leaves me with a peck on my cheek, and it takes me a second to process what just happened. But when my senses snap back into reality, my heart rate rises along with my irritation. I tug River toward me, whisper-shouting, “What’s your problem? Why would you suggest Sipsational?”
“If you don’t like Malcolm anymore, then what’s the big deal?” River smirks. “Plus, how bad can a date with Nick be?”
If I hear Nick tell his “fun” fact again like I’ve never heard it before, I might spill my piping-hot coffee just so I have a reason to excuse myself. My nails tap against my cup as I debate if the second-degree burn is worth it. “Yeah, I don’t know if you know, but I’m the vice president of SGA,” he says for the fourth time.
Usually, I love learning about other people’s lore, but the conversation keeps returning to this. The way he talks about it, I’d swear he’s the damn vice president of the United States and not our Student Government Association.
I knew going on a date with Nick wasn’t a good idea. Sure, he has this captivating energy about him, but I don’t see much beyond admiring his excellent work ethic.
My eyes dart around Sipsational. Since the coffee shop isattached to the Stu with a walkway in between, its expansive windows give a perfect view of the skaters, the people snapping pictures of their outfits, and one of the several groups who shove a camera in your face asking you the most absurd question for content. As the heat of the summer winds down, outside the Stu becomes less of a hot spot, and with fall here, everyone is utilizing the space before it becomes a ghost town.
The sun hangs low, hitting us directly in our faces and bouncing off the signature Aggie Gold–painted walls, making them even brighter. Only a few other students are scattered around the café, some deeply engrossed in their studies, while a group of friends crowded around the couches, whom I’m jealous of, are laughing so loud that they are heard over the whirring of the espresso machine and the buzz of the latte machine.
Now I finally land on Malcolm. He’s behind the Aggie Blue–tiled coffee counter embellished with lousy fall decorations, stirring an espresso into a cup of iced milk. After placing the lid on, he reads the cup. “Blueberry latte with coconut milk for Jackie!”
I give him a quick once-over, examining his short-sleeved shirt, which allows me to see his numerous tattoos scattered across his rich mahogany skin. Then I notice his fresh, neat cornrows that peek from his rolled-up skullcap.
We both came in as baby-faced freshmen, but Malcolm has matured over the past three years, and he’s gone from cute to turning-heads kind of fine. While I’ve maintained my dimply, chubby cheeks and still get carded anytime I go out, the most that’s changed about me is my profound fondness for my natural hair. While that’s become an extension of my growth since coming to college, I wonder if I’ve evolved into a person who is fearless enough to go for my deepest desire.
When our eyes meet, it’s like he knows I need relief. Agenuine smile forms on my lips for the first time since being here, and he returns it. His glance shifts from me to Nick, and his joy slips momentarily.
I’m more immersed in him than Nick because I barely hear Nick say my name. “Piper, did you hear me?”
As if our gazes are magnetic, turning away from Malcolm is difficult. All the warmth building inside me blows away when I refocus on Nick. So far, I’ve been able to mask my boredom well, but realizing Nick doesn’t care that I was distracted makes me want to disregard the whole act. I fold my cardigan over my chest, crossing my arms.
“I’m sorry. What did you say?” I ask.
Nick picks up his cup and finishes off his drink. “I’m going to the bathroom real quick. Do you mind getting me a refill while I’m gone?”
I don’t respond before he slips out of his chair and walks away. An exasperated sigh passes through my lips, and I sink into my seat. This is a complete waste of my time, and I’ll never listen to River again.
A wave of frustration washes over me. River was supposed to accompany me here, but as we headed out the door she learned her student organization had a meeting, leaving me alone. I wanted her to sit on the other side of Sipsational, keeping an eye on me like we’ve done for each other on previous occasions.
She only went to the meeting because the date was on campus, so if Nick turned out to be a murderer, at least there would be numerous witnesses. Plus, River only shows up to half their meetings anyway, and with executive board elections coming up soon, she doesn’t want to be replaced.
As I finish the remains of my coffee, I send a quickPick Up SOStext to River and walk over to the short line at the register. Icall her, and her phone goes to voicemail. So I desperately leave a message: “I need you more than that meeting. This is the worst date I’ve ever been on, and you have to save me. Come up with any excuse to get me out of this, and I don’t even care if it’s crazy. Just bring your ass over here now!”
Once I reach the front of the line, I’m done bickering into my phone. Malcolm’s the only one behind the counter, and typically I enjoy that because it allows me to talk to him. But I’m on a “date,” and if this is half as awkward for me as it is for him, I think silence is a better choice. I never come here with anyone else unless we’re studying, so I try to act like everything’s normal.
Yet, he knows something is up. “You good?”
“Yeah.” I dart my eyes to the near-empty baked goods display case and say the first thing that comes to mind. “I just wish there was some banana bread left.” I don’t want to get into any details because this situation is growing more embarrassing.
“Refill?” He nudges his head toward the cup I slide across the counter.
“Yeah.”
Malcolm juggles three orders simultaneously, bouncing from the espresso machine to the milk frother and blender. “I don’t believe you. The last time I saw you this miserable was when you took Professor William’s trig class.” He dramatically clutches his chest. “It’s heartbreaking to see, P.”
