The Dark Morning Coffee Shop | Theland E. Thomas

Another day passing, and I drag through it like an ant struggling through sickly sweet caramel flavored syrup, more drowning than persevering. The warm, inviting smell of coffee becomes an oppressive stench if you inhale it eight hours per day. It’s not the worst job, but it’s ultimately just something to get the rent paid. And no matter how busy this place gets, no one wants coffee at 2 pm. I’ve wiped down the counters and tables at least five times. Not that the wash rag really does anything but smear the mess across the table in shining circles. Even that guy who always spends all day in here reading newspapers and books and never talks to us except to order his small, black coffee that he sips on periodically and must be ice cold after so many hours obliged me by moving to another table. I turn to Derrick, who stands, hand on counter, staring out the large windows at the overcast sky.

He looks at me. “It’ll pick up again soon when all the kids are out of school.”

“Where do they get all the money to spend on coffee anyway?”

Derrick shrugs. “I dunno. When I was a kid, I wasted my money on all kinds of stuff. Still do, I guess… just make room for the things you love.” He settles into a self-assured smile. I envy him for that trait, that easy-going, nonchalant confidence. He lives life by the day, having fun, doing what he wants while I watch, cautious, fretting, doubting, and uneasy. I too stare out the window, seeing my grey apartment in the grey clouds, thinking of countless nights clicking through pages of Internet jokes, laughing, then immediately forgetting what was so funny.

Ding. I look up and turn face the door, straightening my posture and inflating a smile in the same Pavlovian routine I’ve performed thousands of times. In walks a young lady, authentic, glowing smile making mine more real. “Hi,” she waves as she approaches the counter. Her brown hair is tied back a little sloppily, she wears a professional-looking blouse and slacks, and her light blue eyes reflect the warm shop lights and point them back at me.

I know I have to talk now, but the words seem held up in my brain. Finally, I sputter, “Hi. Uh, welcome to uh, The Dark Morning Coffee Shop.” I could feel Derrick staring daggers into my back. I’ve already been talked to about the greeting. It’s supposed to be, A Dark Morning to ya, and any variation of what can I brew for you today. It’s stupid, it doesn’t even flow when you say it, it’s like the owner of this stupid franchise just decided he wants to make sure every single customer hears this not-even-funny pun.

The girl holds up a sticky note. “So, my coworkers sent me out to get some coffee for everyone…”

“Yeah?”

“But, their notes stink. It’s all abbreviations and chicken scratch. Can you read this?” She hands me the sticky note, and our fingers graze as I grab it.

“Yeah, yeah, I know what these are, I think.”

She chuckles, “Well, if you make a mistake, I’ll just tell them it’s their fault for having bad handwriting.”

I smile again as I start mixing the first drink, “Well, I appreciate it.”

“Yeah, don’t worry, I won’t throw you under the bus. That wouldn’t be very nice.”

I don’t know what to say, so I look to Derrick, who starts preparing the second drink. He’s usually the first to jump into conversations, usually rescuing me from putting my foot too far in my mouth, but now his odd silence leaves me floundering in an unfamiliar sea. “Well, I’m already working here, I mean, how much worse can it get?” Heat blooms in my cheeks as Derrick shoots me a quick glance and a nearly imperceptible shake of the head.

But the girl laughs. “Oh, I’m sure it couldn’t be that bad.”

“Oh, it is, ask Derrick.” This is your cue, man, help me out.

But Derrick only offers a muffled, “Yep,” as he passes the drink to me.

The whirring of the coffee machine whips the fatty smell of cream into the air and beats back an uncomfortable lull in the conversation. “Uh,” I start, “so where are you working?”

“Oh, just at that bank across the street.”

She points in its general direction, but there’s a different bank on all four corners of the intersection, and I don’t really want to ask her which one, so I say something even stupider. “Aren’t you a little young to be working at a bank?”

I see Derrick look over again, this time smirking, and I know he’s just going to tear into me as soon as she leaves.

“No, actually,” she says, still smiling at me, God, she’s gorgeous, “They hire at 16, apparently.”

“Wow,” I said, wishing I could stop the neverending stream of stupid words coming out of my mouth, “you’re quite the achiever.”

Derrick finally brings over the last drink, unfolds a cardboard carrier, and places the three drinks inside. “Alrighty, here you go, thanks for stopping in today.”

“Thank you,” she waves, balancing the lopsided carrier, “see you guys later.”

She walks out, and the coffee shop returns to relative silence. Derrick goes to wash out the blender cups, and I clean the brewers, and soon there is nothing left to do again. My gut twists as I hear Derrick’s slip-resistant shoes pad from the back room.

“Dude,” he says.

I stare at the brown, granite countertops. “What?”

“You… are such an idiot.”

Cringing, I face his incredulous grin. “What do you mean?”

“That girl was totally into you.”

“What? No.”

“Yeah. She was.”

“Whatever.” I don’t have anything else to say, so I just say that.

“She was, man, and you were just like ‘hurr durr, you’re quite the overachiever.’ I mean, what the hell, man?”

I throw my hands up, “I didn’t know what else to say!”

He continues mocking me. “She’s all trying to talk to you, batting her eyelashes, and you’re all oblivious like ‘aren’t you a little young-’” he messes his face up into an angry caricature - “aren’t you a little young to be working at a bank?’ Oh, my God, dude…” he trails off in a fit of laughter.

The flashing sound of a page turn reminds me of the man in the corner. He doesn’t have to talk to anyone. He just sits in the corner every day and does his thing, quietly reading, reading, and reading. Sometimes I wonder if his brain ever hurts from all the information he stuffs in, a new book, cover-to-cover, every single day received by tiny, spectacled eyes.

Derrick enters my field of vision again. “So, are you going to ask her out?”

The question catches me off guard, and my heart jumps. “Uh. No. Why would I do that?”

“Well, do you like her?”

“I mean, yeah, I-”

“Then that’s why!”

Familiar pain swelled in my chest. “I don’t think… I mean, cause you remember with Autumn.” I can barely get the words out of my mouth. I’m ashamed. Ashamed that Autumn still affects me like this. Ashamed at my stupidity and naivete. Ashamed I pursued her in the first place.

The chuckling stops, and Derrick frowns. “Dude, I know that was really hard on you, but you have to get over it eventually. That was almost a year ago.”

“Yeah.” But inside me feels as cold and grey as the clouds past the window and as dense as a brick of lead. Soon, the kids from school flood in and socialize, and the adults from work come in and unwind, and there meetings formal and casual, and the shop grows noisey with conversation and brewers brewing and blenders whirring, and tired, enthusiastic, complacent faces, and night creeps until the warm, yellow lights are the only ones left, beating back the dark outside. And, eventually, the man in the corner packs his books into a satchel and leaves without saying a word. Then, I’m back in my grey apartment, on my grey laptop, wasting my life.

It’s been a while, but Autumn’s memory still floats in the back of my mind. That warm feeling her smile always made me feel, now stained with ripping hurt. I was in love, but… maybe I didn’t show it enough? Maybe I wasn’t the one she wanted after all? Maybe I wasn’t adventurous enough or handsome enough or maybe she never loved me in the first place. I fall into a sick, spiraling cavern of thought until not even the sterile glow of the computer screen can reach me.

Then, it’s another day passing, with another replay of people with the same orders and the man in the corner turning the pages in another story. At least the sun’s out today.

Derrick sits on a stool, staring out the window at the snow-capped mountains, tapping out a beat with a pen. He’s already exhausted all the tales of the crazy stuff he got into last night, and I wonder how he has time to do all of this and sleep as I stare at the coffee-brown counter tops. “Dude, you know that girl from yesterday?”

I cringe. I’d been hoping he wouldn’t bring it up again. Allying with this hope, I play dumb and say, “The banker, you mean?”

“Yeah, you know you didn’t ask her name? You’re supposed to get a name for every order.” Silently, I point to the man in the corner. We don’t know his name, and he’s here every day. Derrick waves his hand, “That’s different. That’s been happening since before I got here.”

“Well, what does it matter?”

“Because she’s going to come back in today.”

“How do you know?”

“Because she likes you!”

I purse my lips, counterpoints invalidating that argument flood my head. “How do you know?”

“Because I know these things.”

“See, that’s not a good reason to-”

“Well, speak of the devil!”

Ding. I stand and see the same girl from yesterday, for some reason still surprised when Derrick is right. Her blue eyes meet mine, and she smiles saying, “Hi.”

I swallow as she approaches, and my lips part, but no words come out.

“A Dark Morning to ya,” Derrick steps in, “He can help you.”

She slides a sticky note onto the counter. “They sent me with the same order as last time, I think.”

I reach across the counter, closer to her, to grab the paper, the fluttering in my chest disproportionate to such a mundane activity. “Well,” I say, “looks like it.” I place the note in between myself and Derrick, and we both get started on the drinks, blenders working loudly.

“So,” her voice cuts through the machine noise, “how’s the day been?”

“Oh, just… the same as yesterday, actually.”

“But, the same is good, right? It’s better than worse than yesterday.”

She’s right. “I suppose so. So, uh, how’s your day going?”

“Pretty fun actually!” Her already bright eyes glow even brighter, “We get paid to volunteer, so I spent all day playing with puppies!”

“Wow, that sounds awesome. I wish I could do that!”

“You should volunteer. They’re so cute - they just run around you and want to play all the time!”

As I finish up the second coffee, Derrick muttered something. I turned, “Hmm?”

“Name!”

A flash of heat. I fumble to get a sharpie from the pen-holder. “Oh, uh, what’s your name?”

“It’s Carin. What’s yours?”

I pause. “It’s actually just so I can write it down on the…” She’s looking at me expectantly. I glance at Derrick, who seems to be stifling laughter. “Uh, Daniel. Dan.”

“You know, I’ve always liked the name Daniel. I’ll call you that.”

I chuckle. “That’s what my mom calls me.”

A sudden laugh startles both of us, and we both look at Derrick, who struggles to maintain his composure. He waves his hands in front of his face. “I’m sorry, just thought of an inside joke, that’s all.”

Carin smirks, leaning on the counter, and looking from me to him. “Sounds funny. Is it the kind of joke you can share?” I’m trying not to visibly cringe.

“Unfortunately not. Friend confidentiality, you know.”

She nods sympathetically, and I step in with my sharpie ready, “Okay, so which one is yours?”

“Actually, none of them. I’m just the errand-girl, getting coffee for everyone else.”

Derrick prepares the drink holder and slides it across the counter. “Do you at least get a tip?” he asks.

“Just seeing your smiling faces.” She takes the drinks. “Thanks guys, see you later.”

“Yeah, see ya.”

The door opens with a ding and swings shut. She’s barely out before Derrick exclaims, “Dude!”

Here we go. I swing around. “Okay, shut up.”

He grins from ear to ear, but a malicious kind of grin - at my expense.

“She’s totally into you. How can you not see that?”

I frown. “I don’t know, maybe you’re reading into this too much.”

“I’m not. She asked your name. No one cares about our names, that’s why you never get busted for not wearing your nametag. But, you’re all like-” He contorts his face and voice to mock me - “‘Hold it! Hold it! It’s just for the coffee.’ She’s all asking your name, and you’re like, ‘Nope, I actually just want to write it down.’” His cackling laughter echoes from the walls of the shop. “‘Uh, you don’t, uhhhhh, you don’t get my name, lady, I get yours.’”

I roll my eyes, hoping he’s done, but instead he simply continues pointing at me. “And you totally like her too! I saw you. You’re all spilling the pens everywhere, and you’re bright red. Look at you, you’re still bright red, ha-ha!”

I throw my hands in the air. “Okay, so what if I like her. How do you know she likes me? She probably doesn’t. I’m not interesting.”

“I agree, but who knows. Haven’t you heard of visceral attraction?”

“I… don’t believe in that.”

“Okay”, this time he throws his hands up before him, “You don’t have to man, but please, just do us all a favor and ask her out already.”

The thought twists my gut when he says it, but it remains in my head for the rest of the day and preoccupies me throughout the night. Instead being bleached by the neverending emptiness of Internet memes, my mind is full a tumultuous battleground of vibrant hopes and paralyzing fears, soaring possibilities and limiting doubts. I can barely picture myself taking the first step to asking Carin out, but I can picture a million rejections with stunning clarity: A polite but debilitating decline, a crushing absolutely not, a disgusted face, laughter, and worst of all, a yes that leads to the inevitable end where fleeting joy always plunges into eternal sorrow.

That night, I have a dream that I’m finally going to meet Autumn and reconcile. I’m walking from a grass field onto the blacktop of a vast, empty parking lot, the wind brushing past just quickly enough to bring a chill. My feet slap the pavement as I approach the red car in the middle of the lot, but, with every step, my apprehension grows until my stomach is clenched into knots, and my hands are clenched in my pockets, and my teeth are clenched together. I stop halfway to the car. Despite the wind, there’s a disturbing lack of movement, as if the entire world is focusing on that blood-red vehicle, and then Autumn steps out, her dark blonde hair blowing sideways in the wind. I gulp, tears welling in my eyes. She didn’t even break up with me face to face - it was over a text. The cold, heartless words burning through me, shattering me, slowing time to an airless still, each one registering individually like long, arching blows to the chest: “I’ve been seeing someone else.”

It’s like it’s happening all over again, the pain welling up within me bursting forth from that barely stitched wound, bitter acid flooding my chest, my throat tight, and pressure in my face from tears held back. The now freezing wind whips up, clouds covering the sun, and I take more tentative steps forward, and I look up. Instead of her face, all I see is blackness. Everything else is there, but behind her flashing hair hangs only a terrifying shadow that seems like both the entrance to hell and my own reflection. The blowing wind is now a frenzied roar that drowns out my throat-shredding scream as I stumble backward and fall, and suddenly, the darkness expands from Autumn’s face, tearing across the entire landscape until I’m in my pitch black room, bolt upright and drenched in sweat.

That day, like the previous days, Carin comes in shortly after two, lighting up the shop with her smile. “Hi guys.”

“Hey,” I say, completely ignoring the formal greeting. “The usual?”

“Yeah, we’re just going to do the uge today. Did you memorize it already?”

“Well, it’s only three drinks.”

“Oh, that’s really thoughtful. Do you memorize everyone’s drinks?” Carin looks earnestly at me, her blue eyes big and enveloping.

Derrick interjects, “Nah, I’m pretty sure that was just for you.”

My face burns as she goes along with the joke. “For me?” She feigns flattery, “Oh, my, next thing you know we’ll be going steady.”

I give a nervous laugh and speak utter nonsense as I mix the first drink. “Yeah, that would be quite the thing.”

“Hey, you seem like a nice enough guy.”

“Uh, thanks.”

“Yeah…” she trails off. “You know it’s always good to pay a compliment when you can. That doesn’t happen enough in the world.”

“You know, you’re right,” I agree, “I couldn’t tell you the last time I got a compliment in here. Or even gave one.”

Derrick stares at me, unsmiling. “Yeah, I mean, I give compliments all the time, but no one ever compliments me back.”

“Well, maybe you can be the first to start a chain reaction and change the world,” Carin says.

“Maybe.” He puts the three drinks in the cardboard carrier and slides it across the counter. “Here you are.”

“Alrighty, thanks again guys. Bye.”

“Bye,” I say.

I watch her leave, and as soon as she does Derrick starts in.

“Dude, why didn’t you ask her out? She obviously wanted you to ask her out!”

“Well, I don’t want to,” I say.

Derrick sits in his stool. “Why not?”

“Well, because… I don’t think… I’m just not ready for a relationship right now.” My chest is heavy.

“C’mon, man. You and I both know that’s just fear.”

“No,” I say, feeling a slight indignation, “it’s logic. Why should I let you pressure me into a relationship that’s just going to end eventually? Everything always ends.”

“You’re right, man, everything ends. I mean, friendships end, relationships end, and, eventually, everybody dies, but that shouldn’t let that stop you. Life is so much more than that.”

I mutter, “I don’t think you get it.”

Derrick shakes his head. “No. I do get it. You’re the one who doesn’t get it. I used to be the same way, you know. I thought love was pointless. But, then I realized, I don’t have to live a depressing loveless life. In fact, I deserve more than that, and you do too. Because, underneath everybody’s hurts and scars, are people. And people need each other.”

I’m speechless. Partly because I’ve never expected more than surface-level conversation from him, but more because he’s cut straight to the truth of what I’m feeling. All I can do is stare at the man sitting with his back to the window, sunlight illuminating his book. Softly, I say, “I guess you’re right.”

“Of course I am.”

“Well, what should I do?”

“You should ask her on a date tomorrow. I mean, the thing worst she can do is say no.”

Already, the idea is growing on me again. “Okay, but what should we do? How should I ask her?”

“Honestly I usually tell my friends to take all first dates to coffee shops, but that would really suck, wouldn’t it? Just don’t worry about it.”

“Okay.” I make up my mind to ask Carin out when she comes in tomorrow. I go through what I’m going to say in my head, testing a million different possibilities and formulating something to say for each one. I replay it over and over, tweaking and modifying. Sound natural. Sound suave, no, just be yourself, add an uh, or a so somewhere. Or, if the topic presents itself, just pivot into it. I imagine her face as I ask her. Surprise lighting those bright, blue eyes. A gleaming smile? Or maybe a furrowed brow as she rejects me. That’s okay too. Will we exchange numbers? Duh. Should I have my phone on hand or just write her number down? Call, don’t text, texts can be ignored. What if it’s busy when she come in? No, that never happens.

By the next day, I’m filled with anticipation, completely prepared for every possible contingency. It’s slow, as usual, and Derrick sits, phone on the counter. I stare out the window, hearing the man gently turn the page in his reading. I’m checking the door every five seconds just to make sure I didn’t miss the ding, but the next time it does ding, it’s not her. It’s just the usual crowd of kids, signaling that the afternoon lull is over. Oh, well, it’s not big deal. I guess I’ll see her tomorrow. But I don’t see her tomorrow. I wait all day with the same anticipation, but she doesn’t come. This repeats again and again until clinging hope becomes despondent disappointment. She never comes back. Instead, every day is just another day passing, vanishing like my line of sight over the snow-capped mountains, past the man in the corner turning another page in another book.

The Reddening | Theland E. Thomas

The horde of dragons swirled in the air, their gleaming, colored hues replacing the sky blue amid the thunderous cheers of the clan. They'd done it! They'd finally conquered the giants and ended the siege that had wrought famine and disease upon their people-

"What are you doing?"

Katie peered over the off-white pages of her book to see Emily brushing her hair over her shoulder. "I'm reading?"

"C'mon, you're supposed to be helping me!"

Emily smacked her gum obnoxiously and positioned herself on the table. Katie looked at her. In the summer between 6th and 7th grade, Emily had hit puberty. She'd grown taller and gotten a new bra.

"This is the last book in the DraconSphere trilogy, you know," Katie said. "Don't you want to read it?"

"Katie, I'm not a child anymore. I don't read children's books."

Incensed, she retorted, "500 pages is hardly a children's-"

"Shh! He's coming!"

Katie placed a pink bookmark between the pages. The sound of the boys' excited conversation preceded them through the hallway and burst into the classroom.

"...and then he slammed through the wall and took out all the vampires with his Sun-Ray sword! Dude, I'm telling you, Slade IV is the best movie I've ever seen."

Emily eyed the two as they approached. "Hey..." she said, turning as they walked right past her. "Hey, Nick."

Nicholas. Last year, he was suspended for sneaking worms into kids' lunches. This year, he was apparently the hottest guy in school. He sat hunched forward, making emphatic gestures to Owen, and offhandedly glancing up at Emily. "Oh, hey, Em. So anyway, it's Slade I and II that you need to see before the fourth one. The third one is a lame prequel."

"But, wouldn't I want to see the prequel?" Owen said.

"I mean, you can if you want, but I would prefer to just keep the action going."

Emily huffed and walked over to their seats, leaning on Nick's desk. "So, how was your summer?"

"It was pretty cool. I went to a summer camp..." Nick looked up at Emily, and a sudden rush of redness betrayed the realization that crashed over him. "I mean, it was chill. Just hung out, you know nothing really happened." He slung his arm over the back of his chair.

"Well, I had a great summer," Emily said, snapping her gum even more obnoxiously.

Katie met Owen's quizzical glance and returned to her reading. As she foraged deeper into the world of dragons and myth, Emily and Nick pioneered a new world of flirtation. More students trickled in, and as Katie looked around, she noticed something different about the girls. They were all noticeably taller, but, beyond that, they still looked different. They all wore trendy, form-fitting clothes. Their hairdos were different from last year - or rather, the same. It was as if they'd gone to the salon together and picked out one hairstyle for them all. Make-up made their eyes pop, their cheeks rosy, and their lips red. Was this change just in the girls? No. The boys all seemed to have gelled hair and styled t-shirts. Every single one of them wore similarly styled, flat sneakers. Except for Owen. He still wore velcro shoes. She glanced down at her own plain blue shirt and cargo shorts. Are we the only ones who didn't change?  Discomfort began to set in. That desperate, crawling desire not to be the odd one out. Her mom always said, "you're beautiful just the way you are," but her classmates looked a lot more beautiful right now.

As Katie walked to the busses after school, Emily skipped up behind her. "Guess what?"

"What?"

"Nick asked me out!" She made a little squealing noise.

"That's cool." Katie struggled to muster up some enthusiasm. "What are you going to do?"

"I don't know yet! What do you do on a first date?"

"I..."

"Maybe he'll bring me flowers! Do you think we'll kiss? What if we fall in love?"

"Love?"

"Well, bye, Katie!" Emily dashed off to her bus.

Hardly a second went by when another voice sounded behind her. "Em's going out with Nick?"

Brooklyn stood there with her, gripping her backpack straps with pink nailed hands. Her big eyes and mouth were framed by curly, blonde hair. Katie replied, “I guess.”

"You know he's a total player, right?"

"No..."

"Well, he is. I heard that he asks girls out just so he can go under the side stairs with them."

Katie raised an eyebrow. Nothing was making sense today. It was like she'd woken up in an alternate universe. "The side stairs?"

Brooklyn gasped. "Don't tell me you haven't heard about the side stairs. It's where couples go to make out and stuff."

Katie felt her face grow hot. "Really?"

"Yeah. Tell Em that she needs to stay away from him."

With that, Brooklyn hurried away, leaving Katie to meander to her bus, lost in contemplation. What was happening? Katie thought she'd gotten life down, but all of sudden, people were acting so strange. All of a sudden there was so much she didn't know. For instance, the next day, she noticed Brooklyn, Scarlett, and two of their friends chatting in the corner. "Hey," she stopped by with a smile on her face.

"Hey, Katie," Brooklyn said. The other three glanced at her and continued talking.

"...Yeah, he's a total hottie. Maybe I can get him to go to the side stairs with me," Scarlett said. Katie gasped, an audible testament to her confusion.

"Wait - you want to go to the side stairs?"

The group stared at her. The girl rolled her eyes. "Uh, yeah. Everyone wants to go to the side stairs. It's how people know you're cool."

"Besides," another chimed in, "that's how you know a guy really loves you. You don't go to the side stairs with just anyone."

Katie noticed she was red-faced and gaping. She clamped her mouth shut.

"Don't be such a prude, Katie," Brooklyn said. "Everyone's doing it."

Since when? What a stark difference this was from just last year. In 6th grade, kids talked about games, books, and cartoons. Now everyone was making out under the stairs.

"Uh... okay," Katie said, turning away with an uneasy feeling in her gut.

"What a weirdo," she heard them say as she walked away.

Soon everyone seemed to be participating. Guys would approach girls, their faces growing redder with every step. Nevertheless, they would try to maintain composure as they asked the girls on dates that usually consisted of a brief period of holding hands and a trip to the staircase. They used coded language in front of oblivious teachers. They spent lunch periods together and took excessive bathroom breaks so they could sneak off to the hidden places in the school for a few minutes, looking flushed and guilty when they came back. And day after day, Katie watched, wondering if there was something wrong with her for not wanting to join the fun. Wondering what was holding her back. Why she was so scared. Wondering if anyone really loved her. Emily was officially dating Nick. She spent more and more time with him and less time with Katie, leaving her friendless and alone. Katie told herself she was okay with it, but a simmering resentment grew inside, intertwined with a confusing jealousy.

So, Katie took a trip to the mall, intent on redesigning herself. Everyone else underwent makeovers over the summer. Hers was better late than never. She was going to change her hair, get trendy clothes and come back a whole new Katie. A Katie that could be popular. A Katie that could be loved. However, the clothing store was right next to her favorite bookstore. She stood in between the two shops, pondering the tantalizing adventures promised by book display and the intrigue represented by the blouse. Before her floated her own reflection. Her plain haircut, her chapped lips, her horrible fashion, and her flat chest. She gazed up at the white, plastic mannequin on her right. Its body twisted in an impossible pose, it's back arched, reminding her of Emily on the first day of class. She gazed between her reflection in the glass and the mannequin in the display, slowly reaching a distinct, piercing conclusion: That's not real. With heavy conviction settling in her gut, she turned her back on the mannequin and went into the bookstore.

The next day at lunch, she spotted Owen quietly eating by himself. She sat down across from him. "Hey, Owen."

His face lit up. "Hey, Katie."

She unwrapped her sandwich and started eating. "So, Nick ditched you too."

"Yeah." He frowned. "He used to be so cool. Now all he wants to do is hang out with Emily."

"I know. It's so gross."

"Yeah."

"I mean, what do we go to school for? To learn or to make out?"

Owen blushed. "Yeah, I mean... yeah. That's so lame." He stared at his food.

Katie continued. "Whatever happened to having fun?"

Just then, Emily slapped her hands down on the table, making them both jump. "Katie!" she shouted.

"What?!"

"Brooklyn-" she looked worried, confused, and angry all at the same time, her face painted with red splotches. "Brooklyn just told me she saw Nick under the stairs with Scarlett! With Scarlett! He's cheating on me!"

Katie frowned. "Um, well... I'm-"

"I can't believe it!" Emily shrieked, "I'm going to kill her. I'm going to kill her."  She pulled at her hair, huffing and growing redder by the second. People were watching. "Oh, that girl is dead. Nick's mine. Nobody goes to the side stairs with my man!"

Katie stood. "Hold on, you don't know anything for sure, Em." She grabbed Emily's hands. "All you have is Brooklyn's rumor."

Tears poured from her eyes as Katie escorted her away from the crowd and into the bathroom. "C'mon, calm down. It's okay."

Emily sobbed into her hands. "It's not okay," she blubbered. "You don't understand. I gave him everything. Everything! And he doesn't even love me!"

"Oh, Em, I'm so sorry." Katie embraced her shaking, sobbing form feeling nothing but guilt for simultaneously thinking this was the logical conclusion of rushing into things with no forethought. They stayed like that for a long time until, gradually the heaving sobs died down to the occasional shudder and Emily finally broke away. Katie's shoulder was soaked with cold tears and snot.

Emily sniffed. "I'm not feeling well. I think I need to go home."

"Yeah," Katie agreed, "you don’t look too good."

Emily frowned, tearing up again. "Yeah, I've been red for days and a little itchy. I hope it's just an allergic reaction or something."

"Yeah, me too," said Katie, noticing a little tickle in her throat.

Emily stayed home from school the next day. She skipped the day after that too. And the day after that. And the day after that. But Katie seemed to be the only one who noticed. Kids continued giggling, flirting, and exchanging fleeting glances with flushed faces. That was an odd feature Katie noticed. Everyone involved in this new culture was constantly red of face, as if they were trapped in a state of perpetual embarrassment. Maybe they were. Nick and Owen never hung out together anymore. Nick, who spent his days perched between Scarlett and Brooklyn, had left his friend far behind, but Katie, on occasion, observed Owen's accusing, rueful stare. She would have preferred to lose herself between the pages of books rather than pay much attention to others, but she just couldn't shake the disturbance squirming in her gut.

After over a week, Emily finally came back to school. Katie sat in silence, across the table from Owen, reading in the empty, early-morning classroom when she walked in coughing and hacking. Dark rings around her eyes stood out from her peeling, red skin.

"Holy smokes, Em!" Katie ran toward her, "What happened to you?"

"I'm sick," Emily rasped.

"Okay, with what?"

She shrugged. "I don't know. They just put me on antibiotics and said I could go back to school." She looked at Katie, a desperate plea in her bloodshot eyes. "Can I sit with you?"

"Of course."

To her surprise, the other kids shuffled into the classroom with the same peeling, red faces. The coughing was a cacophony of phlegm and rasping. No one talked. No one made eye contact. They just piled into the desks, flecks of skin dusting the tables as they scratched. Half the kids weren't there.

The teacher walked in and laid his shoulder bag on the front desk. Amid the constant coughing and scratching, he took his papers out of his bag, uncapped his dry erase marker, and squeaked an equation onto the board. Finally, he turned around and addressed the noise. "What is going on in here?" He surveyed the class from right to left "Are you guys all sick?"

The class' silence hung heavy like a damning admission of guilt.

With a grunt, the teacher packed his materials back into his bag. He pointed at them. "You know what? I don't get paid enough to catch your disease. I'm calling the nurse up here." The whole class shifted as they watched him go.

They sat in silence for a minute. Then, Scarlett, who was staring daggers at Nick rasped, "You bastard. You did this to me."

Nick started to reply, but choked out a dry, grating cough first. "What? I know you've been going to the side stairs with Joey, you slut."

"Hey!" Joey stood up, "You went to the side stairs with my girlfriend?"

Katie watched with bulging eyes as the class transformed into an angry, bickering mob. It wasn't clear who threw the first punch, but the students soon converged in a slowly churning circle of rasping, hissing, kicking, and coughing. One person would slap, but the other lacked the strength to retaliate, so the would-be brawl quickly dissolved into winded, frustrated participants returning to their seats.

Nick huffed. "Say whatever you want, man, but I didn't start this."

With that, the class fell back into relative, wheezing silence. The nurse arrived and, startled, called the CDC. They quarantined the entire building. No one was allowed to leave until they identified and attributed a source to the illness. Which meant everyone had to report what they'd been up to the last few weeks. If not for their already splotchy faces, Katie imagined that they would be blushing as, one by one, they all repeated that they'd taken trips under the side stairs. One boy buried his face in his hands as the hazmat aide asked through his suit, "So how many girls did you... take under the staircase just last week?"

"I don't know, man. Four? Maybe five?"

The gas mask distorted the aide's breath as he turned to his coworker. "Jesus, Bob. If I was getting as much action as these kids, I'd have a disease too."

"No kidding," Bob replied as he scraped a skin sample into a dish. "When I was in 7th grade, I was still putting worms in girls’ lunch boxes. I don't know what's gotten into kids these days."

The Reddening turned out to be a non-deadly, but very contagious disease. The doctors informed worried parents that their children would probably endure periodic outbreaks of flaky, red skin for the rest of their lives. In contrast to the adults' subsequent outrage, the kids accepted the news with subdued sobriety. The fun, while wild and enthralling, had come to a jarring halt.