The Espressologist

5

"Is it just me, or does this project seem a bit lame to you?" I ask, scooting my chair and desk around so that I can sit face-to-face with Cameron White. Professor Monroe, our English instructor, said our next assignment is a five-to-eight-page biography on someone else in the class.

Because of our seating vicinity, Cam and I decided to partner up on this one.

"I don't know," he says with a straight face. "It might be fun to learn about all your deep dark secrets."

I stare at him for a moment, not sure what to say.

"You don't really expect me to tell you my secrets, do you?" I whisper.

"Well, you'll have to give me something good to write about. I want an A." Cam grins at my worried look.

"No way!" I exclaim with a nervous laugh, relieved.

"Besides, I'm going first with the questions." I tap my pen on my notebook, purse my lips, and study Cam. He's really not bad-looking at all. He's a little more rugged than the typical guys I see around the city. More like he should be hiking a trail somewhere instead of riding the El train. But he's got really nice blue eyes and he laughs a lot, which makes his face light up.

"You are taking too long to come up with a question.

You're kind of scaring me."

"Okay, okay, I'm just trying to come up with some good ones. I think I'm going to start from the present and work my way back, if you don't mind," I say.

"I don't mind. Shoot."

"Okay. Number one, how did you decide to attend Anthony Carter Community College?" I ask.

"That's a good question," Cam says, and I relax a little and prepare to take notes. "I actually got into Indiana University–it's one of the Big Ten schools. They have a decent finance program–that's my major, by the way–and I'd always planned on going there."

"What happened?"

"Well," he says, taking a long pause. "My mom was diagnosed with breast cancer in August."

"Wow," I say, dropping my pen. "I'm really sorry."

"She's doing okay so far," he tells me, "but she's all alone and, well, she needs me right now. The chemo has been rough on her. For the time being, I'm staying home to help her and going to school locally."

"You are, like, the best son ever." I have a sudden respect for Cam. He shrugs.

"My turn. What's your favorite coffee drink?"

"What?" I chuckle. "Are you kidding me? Is this going in my biography?"

"Definitely," he says, with his pen on his paper waiting to write down my answer. "I'm very interested. You already told me you're the assistant manager at the Wired

Joe's around the corner, so I'm sure you're an expert on the best drinks."

"That is kind of true." I try to sound modest. "But just because I know a lot about coffee doesn't mean my favorite would be everybody's favorite. It's such an individual thing."

"Still waiting ..." He feigns impatience.

"Large iced nonfat mocha, no whip," I tell him, and he actually writes it down.

"Hmm ... interesting." Cam stares at what he just wrote.

"Oh, stop it," I say, shaking my head. I've been analyzing people and their drinks for so long that it's kind of weird having someone analyze me. Just then Professor Monroe interrupts and tells us that class is over for today. I check my watch. Fifteen minutes to get to work.

"I don't have nearly enough here to write a paper on you, so it looks like we're going to have to work on this outside of class. Do you want to meet sometime?"

"Sure," I say, writing my e-mail address down in the upper corner of his notebook. "Gimme your e-mail, too."

He writes his in my notebook. "When is this due, anyway?"

I ask.

"Next Wednesday. We only have a week, so we'll have to get together soon," he says.

"Let's shoot for Sunday afternoon," I suggest. "I work until four. You can meet me at Wired Joe's and we can work at a table there."

"Cool." He tosses his books in his backpack and walks with me out the classroom door. "See you then."

"See you," I say, buttoning up my tan designer-knockoff jacket (who can afford a real one?) and slipping my backpack over one shoulder. As I head out the door I hear the signal on my phone indicating I have a text message. It says, "J, come over. 911. E."

I type back, "Wrk in 15."

Em responds, "4 real. 911."

"Ok," I type, and slide my phone back into my bag.

I run the three blocks from school to Wired Joe's to let Derek know I'm going to be late for work this afternoon. I tell him I have my period and no tampons so I need to go to the store and he makes an "ew, gross" face.

The "just got my period" excuse works on every single male teacher at school– it's good to know it is just as effective in the real world. I leave Wired Joe's and run the six blocks to Em's. I ring her apartment and she buzzes me in. The door is unlocked and I know her mom is at work, so I head in and go straight to her bedroom.

"Must... start... working ... out... again," I huff and puff, bending over slightly and grabbing my sides. I take a moment to regain my breath and then finally look up at Em. She's lying in a lump on her bed and, oh crap, she's crying.

"What's wrong?" I ask, not entirely sure what to do.

I've never seen Em cry before. In the seven years that we've been best friends I've cried plenty and she's always consoled me. Well, until now, that is. I sit down on the bed next to her. "Em, what's wrong?"

Em turns her head from her pillow to look at me.

She's a puffy-faced mess. "Jason broke up with me," she whispers.

"What?" I practically scream at her. I can't believe it.

Jason and Em have always been so solid. They are the dream couple. "Why on earth would he break up with you?"

Em's face crumples and she drops her head into her pillow again. Her shoulders rise and fall with her crying. I wait for her to stop. She turns her head and looks at me.

"He said it isn't working anymore. He said we're too different," she chokes out.

"What does that mean?" I ask.

Em grabs a handful of Kleenex from the box on the desk near her bed. "He thinks I'm too involved with school," she tells me.

"What does he expect? You are taking really hard classes this semester. He should know that you have a lot of work." Em nods her head in agreement. "Not to mention ... you're going to college next year and then law school. He should get used to all the schoolwork now."

"That's just it," she says. "The prelaw thing. He thinks I'll be too busy with school and study groups to spend any time with him, so we should just end it now."

"Maybe it's not such a bad thing to break up," I say, crossing my arms. "If he can't hack it now while you are in high school, he sure won't be able to when you are in college."

Em's face crumples up again and she buries it in her pillow. Shoot. Wrong thing to say. I knew I was no good at this consoling business.

"Sorry, sorry, sorry," I say. "What can I do to help? Do you want me to try to talk to him?" We all hung out quite a bit last year, so I feel pretty comfortable approaching him about this. We haven't hung out much since the school year started, though. Jason was a year ahead of Em and me and is out of school now. He didn't go to college. He went right to work for his uncle in his construction business and has been pretty busy himself.

"No!" Em screams, sitting straight up. "I didn't tell you the worst part."

Uh-oh. There's more?

"Oh god ... I'm so embarrassed." She covers her face with her hands.

"It's okay, Em, you know you can tell me anything."

"He's ... dating someone else. She's ... a ... townie," she says.

"A what?" I ask.

"You know, a townie. His uncle lives in a really small suburb of the city. Jason has been spending all his time out there since he started working for him." Em sighs and takes a deep breath. "She's like the town hussy or something. She practically lives at the one little local bar in town. She's twenty-four and she works at the SuperMart full-time."

"Dare to dream," I say.

"It gets worse," Em continues. "He met her bowling."

Despite Em's distress. I can't help but grin, putting the whole picture of this girl together. "She's on his league."

"Jason is on a bowling league?!" I practically scream.

"What's up with that?" I ask, laughing now. "Do they have team shirts and everything?"

"God, I don't know. And stop laughing–this isn't funny! He's been acting strange ever since he graduated," she says.

"Sounds like it." I mean, seriously, a bowling league? I shudder.

"What am I going to do?" Em whimpers. "Do you really want my opinion?" She nods. "Let him go."

"But we've been together for almost three years!" she protests.

"I know. I'm not saying it will be easy or anything, but he cheated on you, Em. Or I should say he IS cheating on you. And, not that I want to agree with a cheating jerk, but it does sound like you guys are headed in different directions."

Her bottom lip quivers a bit. "I know."

"I'm sorry, Em," I say. "Here, let me call Derek and let him know I can't make it to work after all. I'll tell him I have killer cramps or something. We can hang out tonight."

"Okay. Thanks, Jane," she says, wiping her eyes with the Kleenex.