viii. in which oliver york receives a surprise at work

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I QUICKLY TIED the scarf around my neck tightly as I sprinted down the pavement. Pushing past people, I had no time to apologize though I sent them all apologizing looks. Because Elliana had spilled an entire jug of orange juice on my uniform - how that happened, I have no idea - just before I had to leave, I had to stick it in the washing machine and risk being late. Little did I know, our machine malfunctioned and now I was an hour late to my shift at Java.

Christa was going to murder me. Even the clothes I managed to thrown on were not up to employee standards. My white dress shirt was on backwards, I had pulled these jeans out of the laundry bin, and I hoped to God I managed to slip on my own shoes and not a pair of my mother's. With the still dripping wet apron over my shoulder, I panted as I rounded the final corner.

And collided with someone warm and tiny.

She fell to the ground with so little as much as a groan while I only happened to stagger back from the impact. I blanched and bent down, grabbing her hands - scraped and calloused - and helped the girl to her feet. She didn't wince at the new stings on her palms, and once we were on our feet, merely dusted herself off like nothing happened.

"I'm sorry," I blurted out just as she spoke at the same time.

"Watch where the hell you're going."

The two of us jolted when we recognized our voices. I shut my eyes shut and pinched the bridge of my nose; my morning was already bad enough and now she entered the picture. When I opened them, Quinn had already slipped a smirk onto her graceful lips, cocking an eyebrow in my direction curiously.

"I don't have time for this." I muttered, half to myself as I pushed past her, fast-walking down the sidewalk to where Java stood at the end of the street. From this distance I could make out the crowd, smaller than usual, and Christa at the head, looking utterly perturbed.

The sound of footsteps behind me had me gritting my teeth. It was the clack of a heel, perfectly in sync with my own hurried pace. About halfway there, I whirled around and gave her an accusing stare. "What's your problem?"

Quinn rolled her eyes and paused in her stride, though I couldn't tell if she had actually rolled her eyes behind the amber sunglasses perched on the bridge of her nose. She looked different today, dressed in baggy clothes that wasn't suited for her body, though she still had her combat boots on. Her outfit screamed shy, when I remembered from yesterday how she was the exact opposite.

Giving an innocent look, Quinn simply gave another lazy grin and shouldered past me, roughly pushing me to the side like I did to her just moments ago. "I could ask you the same thing," she called over her shoulder and walked over to where she intermingled with the crowd waiting for Java the Hut to open.

I gaped for a second; I'd have to deal with her again? My shock was broken by Christa's shrill cry, "Oliver York, get your butt right over here this instant!"

Spectators in the crowd managed small smiles of amusement while Quinn just blatantly laughed. Feeling my face grow hot, I just hurried my pace and made my way through the crowd to the front. Unlocking the door with my employee keys, Christa and I swept off to the side to let everyone in.

Not wanting to hear another lecture, I quickly ducked into the store after the last person. My luck was still pretty rotten because a hand reached out and gripped the collar of my shirt in an iron grasp, pulling me back into the frigid autumn air.

Busted.

"Oliver," Christa sighed, crossing her arms over her chest as I meekly faced her. "I don't have to say anything, do I?"

"No." I let out a sigh too, rubbing my arm.

She bit her lip, frowning at me in disappointment. That was worse than when she yelled. Nothing screamed louder than the sound of angry silence.

I opened my mouth but Christa beat me to the point, holding up a manicured nail to effectively shut me up. "I know what you're going to say, Oliver, boy. And I know you're sorry. But I'm afraid that the point will come when you're not sincere about it anymore."

"You know I need this job, Christa." I pleaded, horrified that she might be thinking about firing me. "You know that."

"I do know, boy." Christa said in thoughtful agreement. "It's just that you know business isn't running very well for us right now, and every day that you're late, we lose Lord knows how many customers."

"I'm sorry-"

"I know, I know." Christa waved me aside, waddling through the doors and into the café. "Isn't everyone?"

The glass doors swung shut, leaving me alone outside. My breaths loitered the autumn air as I leaned heavily on the side of the wall of the café. Pinching the bridge of my nose, a frustated tic, I let my eyes wander past the glass windows, coincidentally locking gazes with Quinn.

She sat in one of the booths, actually Cassadee's usual spot, her feet poised on top of the shining table. Her arms crossed over her chests in a non-defensive way, and she had her sunglasses off. Quinn's amber eyes shone with mixed emotions that I couldn't tell apart: was that pity or understanding? Either way, we contemplated about each other and in that split second, I felt like she could see right through me like I could see right through her.

Then at the same time, our stares broke apart. And I found myself gripping the green apron tightly and heading sullenly into Java the Hut.

As soon as I entered, I was hit with a wave of heat and thankful for the blast. Shrugging off my winter coat and scarf, I threw it without a care into the employee room, deciding to organize it later. Tying the apron around my waist, I made my way back to the cash register and began filling out and preparing orders.

The line went quicker today, and it was probably my fault. I didn't see many of our usuals come in and that was never a good sign. I went through the motions like a machine, never straying from my duty. Though Christa denies it, I was her best barista, just barely surpassing André.

While I tended to the people sitting on the barstools behind the counter, Christa filled pastry orders by my side. Together we made a powerful duo, but today I felt isolated and shunned. She hadn't spoken a word to me since I opened the café, but I couldn't blame her. I was always late; sometimes it would just be a simple disaster like this morning, or I just wouldn't give the effort after another night terror. Though, my boss didn't know about the latter.

Soon enough, the line dwindled down to a capacity of zero and I was left with some free time to look around and people-watch. It may seem kind of stalker-ish, but I liked imagining up scenarios for peope as they went through their day. Was it a special occasion for them? What was running through their minds? It fascinated me to know that two people could be thinking the same exact thing, that two polar opposites could be the most similar people in existance.

A blur to my left snapped me out of watching a mother feeding her baby formula and I turned to greet the customer. My smile faded in exchange for a slight scowl when I realized it was just Quinn taking a seat on the bar stool right in front of me.

She had her elbows on the counter, leaning towards me casually, ready to initiate small talk like we were best friends. I leaned back against the wall on the opposite side, fixing a stoic glance in her direction.

Quinn looked around and spotted the bell by the cash register which customers took a whack at when I wasn't already ready for them. Inching towards it, she hit it twice before straightening back in her original position. "Yo."

"Welcome to Java the Hut, may I take your order?" I relayed the initial customer greeting, gripping my hands on the edge of the preparation counter.

"Can I get a medium pumpkin spice macchiato and a small caramel latte?"

I snorted. "No extra whipped cream, sugar, and whatever the other shit was?"

She smirked, a lazy smile filled with unknown emotions. "Not today, Oli."

"Don't call me that." I instantly blurted out, narrowing my eyes at her. The nickname was reserved only for Elli and Cass, the only two people I can tolerate using the horrid nickname.

"Aw, did I hurt your feelings?" Quinn's eyes widened, feigning surprise. What was her problem? It was like she had to constantly get a kick out of annoying the shit out of me for no apparent reason.

"Whatever." I wouldn't give her the satisfaction of seeing me get pissed again, so I just shut up and started preparing her order. I just finished making the macchiato and started on the latte when I heard it.

Quinn began humming, a quiet little buzz that shouldn't have caught my attention but it did. I froze in my movements, listening to the melody and the sound of her boot tapping in rhythm and I clenched my jaw.

"Stop that," I said over my shoulder, just loud enough for her to hear.

The humming stopped as I heard a reply, "What? Not a fan of The Beatles?"

"No." I lied.

She began humming a different tune, another familiar song that had my heart seizing. Make the music, "Stop."

"Don't like The Clash either? What? Do you have a problem with bands that start with 'the?'"

"Just stop humming." I ordered, adding all the extra shit she wanted from yesterday in her order anyway. My voice sounded strained and I squeezed my eyes shut for a moment, thankful she couldn't see since my back was turned to her.

Something in my tone must have finally clicked in her brain because all noise dropped from where she was seated, no clack of a heel, no hum. Just silence. For some reason, quietness coming from her was unnerving. As if I was already used to her obnoxiousness that without it, it felt off.

I spun around, clearing the pained look from my eyes before she could see and reached the cups towards her. She took them swiftly in both hands, her touch lingering on my own for a second longer than needed. My breath caught in my throat as she glanced up and gave me a quizzical look.

"Do you play?" Quinn asked, her voice hesitant.

"What?"

"You have callouses on your fingers," she pointed to my hands, resting on the red countertop. "Do you play guitar? Maybe bass? Another string instrument?"

The reply came reflexively and I clenched both hands into fists, growling out a, "No." Her eyes darted to my hands for a split second before they returned to my own gaze, and I had to think if I imagined it or not.

We remained in a lockdown, much like our staring match from before. She had a lot of questions in her amber orbs and I had to keep my own eyes guarded.

Quinn broke the staredown by taking a small sip from her order, her eyebrows knitting together in distaste. "What's in this?" she sputtered.

"I put the extra stuff you wanted," I replied simply, gesturing to the drink. "Voila."

She looked like she was going to say something but quickly shut her mouth, swirling the contents of her coffee with a thoughtful expression.

Picking up the steaming white styrofoam cups once more, Quinn merely began humming again as she stood from the chair. I scowled as I recognized the tune immediately: American Idiot by Green Day.

She slapped a crumpled ten dollar bill on the table, looking like she was going to say something else but chose to remain silent.

"What, you actually had change today?" I snorted.

Quinn merely winked and left for the door. Before she made it to the exit, she turned back slowly, calling across the room in a loud promise, "I'll find a song you like one day, Oliver York. Just you wait." Then just like a ghost, she was gone.