Bright Side (7 page)

He smiles wide. “You’re welcome.”

I stick out my tongue at him. “Bastard.”

“Yup. So your roommate’s a clandestine stripper in training and you’ve been hanging out with gay men and gimps. I had no idea Minnesota was so progressive. That’s an impressive mix. Maybe I should’ve gone to school. What else? Tell me. Tell me.” He motioning his hands like bring it on.

I think for a moment. “I saw Maddie yesterday.”

“Dude, don’t tell me … she got her food groups mixed up again and you found yourself on the wrong end of the food pyramid. Second round of meat shits this week?”

“No, but food was involved. To tell you truth, I’m a little freaked out.”

“Freaked out? What happened?”

“Dude, she’s bulimic.”

His voice softens. “What?”

“Yeah. We went to breakfast. She ate like a champion and then ten minutes later she’s tossing it.”

“Dude.”

“I know. So, I walk in on her yodeling her breakfast. I confront her. She brushes me off. I appeal. She gets pissed. It was awful. I don’t know what to do.”

“Wow. She’s pissed huh?”

“Yeah, she totally deflected the intervention and asked me to leave.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah.”

“What are you
gonna do?”

“She’s pissed. I’m going to let her cool off and then I’m going to try to talk to her again.”

“Good luck.”

“Thanks, I need it.”

It’s quiet for a few moments before Gus changes the subject. “Bright Side, do you have enough money, you know, for everything you need with school and food and—”

I interrupt. “I have a job.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

“I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about me,” I insist, even though I’m not sure it’s true. I don’t know what I’m in for during these
next few months. My small savings may not last. I’ll cross that bridge when I get there.

He huffs. “It’s my job to worry about you. Do you need money? We got an advance on the album. I can send you whatever you need.”

I smile. “Damn, what did I do to deserve you? Thanks but no, I don’t need any money.”

“Would you tell me if you did?”

I shrug. “Probably not. I can handle it.”

“Damn it, Bright Side. If you need anything you call me okay? I can afford it now. I know you and Grace had it pretty rough … God I wished I’d known at the time. I guess I always thought your mom was loaded. I still feel bad about that. So let me make up for it now. Let me help.”

“You know how you can help me?”

His pained expression relaxes. “How?”

“You can wake up tomorrow morning, and the morning after that, and the morning after that, and work your ass off to make sure this album and tour are epic.”

He smiles.

“You’re new motto is this:
do epic
.”

He laughs. “I can’t
do
epic. It’s an adjective. I can
be
epic.”

“Look at you Mr. Smarty Pants. You, my friend, can both
be
and
do
.”

He grins, and looks down with an embarrassed huff. “If you say so. That’s a lot of pressure.”

“I’m serious; you’d better blow my fucking mind.”

“You’re pushy tonight.” He raises an eyebrow. “I like it. It’s
kinda hot.”

I roll my eyes. “Whatever. That’s the sleep deprivation talking. Go get some sleep, Rock God.”

“Yeah, I should probably do that.” He yawns. “Good luck with your first day of school tomorrow.”

I throw my fist in the air. “I’m
gonna live the motherfucking Grant College Experience!”

“That’s the spirit.” He laughs but he looks a little confused like he’s missed something.

I shrug. “I guess you had to be there.”

“Apparently.” He chuckles
sleepily.

“Do epic.”

“Do epic,” he repeats.

“I love you, Gus.”

“Love you, too, Bright Side.”

“Good night.”

“Good night.”

(Kate)

The first day of classes is outstanding. I know I made fun of
The Grant College Experience
, but I had goose bumps all day.
I was living it
. I walked around campus with the dopiest smile pasted across my face. For so long I’ve dreamed about going to college, a real college. I never thought it would happen, but here I am. I literally crossed it off my bucket list this afternoon. My list isn’t in any particular order, but “Go to college” was number five. I figure now is a good time to remind God that I’m happy with the way things are going.
Happy Monday, God. So, I just wanted to say thanks, you know, for Grant. It’s a gift. Peace out.

Shelly is in full-blown flower-arranging mode when I arrive at Three Petunias at 2:30pm, but she stops long enough to ask, “Where’s your iPod? I brought my dock today. Let’s see if you’ve got anything good.”

“Is that a challenge?”

“Take it however you want.” It’s a challenge
all right. And suddenly I feel the need to defend my music’s honor. I fish my iPod out of my bag, hook it up, and put it on shuffle.

The first song that plays is Mozart. Shelly pushes the button to advance to the next song and looks at me almost apologetically. “I play that stuff all day long. I love it, but I need to listen to something else when I’m at work.”

“No worries.”

The next song rips through the speaker. I start dancing right there behind the counter, and Shelly watches me, nonplussed. “Come on Shelly. Shake what your mama gave
ya.”

She shakes her head. It’s adamant.

My feet stop moving but the rest of my body cannot stop. “What? Don’t tell me you don’t dance?”

She shakes her head again, and I can tell that she’s blushing. Damn, that’s something I never thought I’d see.

“Well, we have to do something about that.” I smile playfully. “You know I’m gonna get you out dancing before the end of semester, don’t you?” This girl needs to do something she’s never done before, something out of character. Suddenly that becomes my new goal.

The blush is fading and she shakes her head again to add conviction to her declaration. “I
do not
dance, Kate.”

“And I think your inner dancing queen wants to be set free. She’s screaming Shelly. I can hear her, and she’s pissed. Next time Clayton throws a rave in his room I’m inviting you.”

“A rave?”

“Okay, well, so it’s minus the hordes of people and the drugs and the glow sticks, but it’s still fun.”

“And who’s Clayton?”

“He’s my neighbor. He lives across the hall.”

She nods as I continue to sway my hips to the beat. She’s demonstrating terrific restraint in the this-girl-is-entertaining-the-hell-out-of-me-but-I-can’t-let-on department. “So what you’re saying is it’s really just you and your friend Clayton dancing to your iPod in his dorm room.”

I correct her. “
His
iPod, he’s got some good shit. But, yeah, that’s pretty much how it goes down.”

She shakes her head and a small but genuine smile emerges. It’s the kind of smile that you give someone you like, someone
who makes you happy. I have a feeling that Shelly doesn’t hand these out too often. I feel honored. “Kate, you’re too much.”

Smiling, I dance back over to my station and get to work, toning down the dancing to mere head-bobbing; my body cannot be still when I’m listening to good music. It’s like it runs through my veins and I physically can’t disconnect from it.

Every few songs, when she thinks I’m not watching, Shelly leans over and glances at my iPod to read the screen. I smile discreetly. I have quite a bit of European music and some of it isn’t in English. I don’t speak any of the languages: French, German, Dutch, so I have no idea what the lyrics mean. But it doesn’t matter; the music is phenomenal even if you have no idea what they’re singing about. One of those songs has just started.

She intentionally looks at the screen and then looks at me. “What the hell is this?”

“It’s French hip-hop. You like?” I know she does or she wouldn’t be interested.

“It’s all right.” She grabs a piece of paper and a pencil and writes down the artist and song. I notice that she jots down six or seven other songs from memory. “Where do you find all this?”

“My best friend and I have been collecting music for a long time. It’s kind of our hobby.” I couldn’t live without it.  

When the next song begins, I ask
. “So Shelly, do you have a boyfriend?”

She nods, smiling
a sweet vulnerable smile. I think I just discovered the chink in her armor. She’s whipped. “Yeah.”

“Yeah? You’re
gonna want to write this one down. If an album was ever made specifically to fool around to, it’s this one.” Because it is. This band has a dark ‘80s vibe and the front-woman’s voice is super sexy.

She writes it down. “The Boyfriend thanks you.”

I smile and affirm. “Yeah he does.”

As the afternoon ambles on Shelly randomly fires questions at me while we work. I guess she’s decided my taste in music doesn’t suck. This must be part two of the music challenge.

“Name your top three favorite female singers.” Her eyes are narrow and twinkling. “And so help me God, if you say one damn pop princess you’re fired.”

I laugh at the threat. I could answer this question in my sleep. “Top three? Number one:
Romy Madley Croft from the xx. Number two: Alison Moyet from Yaz. And number three: Johnette Napolitanos from Concrete Blonde. Honorable mention, because I’ve been listening to them a lot this week, goes to the chick from Royal Thunder. She can wail.”

“How about best guitar player?”

“My best friend.”

She looks doubtful. “All the great guitar players out there and you’re going to say your best friend?”

I smile back. “Absolutely.”

“Okay. Best bass player?”

“Easy. Silversun Pickups’ Nikki Monninger. Her bass lines are wicked. Plus she wears pretty dresses when she performs—so she’s badass and classy at the same time. I like that.”

“Best punk band?”

“Teenage Bottlerocket. Their live shows kick ass. So much fun to watch and the mosh pit is always raging.”

“Most underrated band?”

“Hands down, Dredg.”

“Who?”

“Exactly. It’s a travesty. Dredg should be a household name.”

“If you could meet any band or musician, who would it be?”

“I think it would cool as shit to hang out with Dave Grohl. He seems so nice, humble. You know, just a normal dude. Except that he’s crazy talented.” Shelly smiles at this, and I smile back.

It’s
7:00 when she unplugs her dock and hands me my iPod. “Well Kate, I do believe I’ve found the ultimate dealer.” She’s got her list in hand. “I’ve got to pick some of this up.”

I appreciate the compliment. “I’m glad you liked it.” I bow. “My job here is done.”

She rolls her eyes. “You wanna grab some pizza tonight? The Boyfriend and his roommate and I are going over to Red Lion Road later for beer and pizza. We can pick you up.” And just like that Shelly’s no longer intimidating. She doesn’t take shit from anyone, but for some reason she’s warmed up to me. And the truth is, I like her, too.

“
Dude, I’m sorry but I can’t. I’ve got homework and I promised Clayton I’d eat with him tonight.”

She smirks. “A date with the raver?”

“Nope. Just an evening of platonic fine dining at the cafeteria.”

She pulls her apron over her head. “Well, you’re no fun.”

“I really am sorry, dude, thanks for asking. Another time, okay?” The truth is I don’t have any extra money. I’ve got five dollars that needs to last until Friday when I get paid. That probably wouldn’t even buy me a slice of pizza and the beer I’m not old enough to purchase. But I can’t tell her that. I won’t become the charity case. And the cafeteria is free. Besides, I can already taste the $1.57 cup of coffee from Grounds, the one I’ll grab on my way to Literature tomorrow morning. Since the dorms don’t allow coffee makers (even the Holy Grail), and the cafeteria coffee tastes like mud, I’ve got my heart set on that cup. I need those five dollars.

(Keller)

The bell rings and it’s instinct to look. It’s not so much a trained reaction as it is involuntary curiosity. Since Romero had an appointment early this morning, I’m working the coffee bar solo until he returns.

The first thing I notice about her is how utterly tiny she is. Then I notice her clothes, her whole look; she’s not from around here. The third is the scowl on her face, pointed at the bell hanging from the door. I get the feeling she has history with th
is bell. She’s the cutest thing I’ve seen in a long time. The kind of cute that makes you smile, even if you don’t want to. As she approaches the counter, the scowl vanishes, replaced by the most genuine, sincere smile. Smiles aren’t always happy, but hers is. It’s open, content, and confident. She looks friendly in the most literal sense of the word, like you’d swear you’ve known her for years and she knows all your secrets. And still likes you in spite of them.

After what I realize is an exaggerated pause on my part, I smile and offer my standard greeting, “Welcome to Grounds. What can I get for
ya?” I realize that I sound much more excited than usual, and I clear my throat.

Her smile deepens, like she knows this is out-of-character for me, and when it hits her eyes they smile, too. They’re the palest shade of jade and tell a story all their own.
Then it hits me how beautiful this woman is. Like a freight train it hits me; from her eyes, to her smile, to her wavy sunshine-blond hair, to her petite but exceptionally well proportioned body. Everything about her is beautiful.

Her magical eyes and mouth are still smiling at me. “Good morning.”

Her voice is so sexy. I can’t explain the sound, but it lands somewhere deep inside me and takes root. It’s the kind of voice you don’t hear as much as you feel. And as soon as I feel it, I want to feel it again … and again. I find myself trying to match her smile. The right corner of my mouth pulls up. “Good morning to you.” I may be losing my mind, but I don’t want this time with her to end too fast. So I flirt. Which I haven’t done in such a long time. “Let me guess, caramel cappuccino, soy, no whip?”

Her brows crease a little and her head delicately tilts slightly to one side, but her smile doesn’t fade. “So are you pretty good at this? Guessing people’s orders I mean?”

I can’t help this feeling. I want to be closer to this woman standing four feet from me on the other side of the counter. So I lean forward, lace my fingers together, and rest my elbows on the counter. Mission accomplished: I’m another foot closer. She has a faint dusting of freckles on her nose. They’re beautiful, too. “Usually.” Which is a lie. I’ve never done this.

She scratches her head like she’s thinking over what I’ve said. W
hen she pulls her hand away from her hair, it’s even messier than before. That’s not a bad thing.
At all
. She challenges me. “So I’m a caramel whatcha-ma-call-it kind of girl? Damn, I don’t know how to take that.”

I keep my elbows and hands resting on the counter. I’d worry I just offended her if her smile wasn’t back in place. But she seems feisty. “That’s my best guess.”

“Wow,” she replies. “To tell you truth, I feel a little slighted by your presumptuous assessment, but I’m gonna let it slide. I always thought I wore my passion for coffee on my sleeve, kind of like a badge of honor. Large cup of coffee, house blend … black, please.”

Black? She can’t mean it, no one ever does. They mean black
until
you put everything else in it
. I narrow my eyes. “Flavor shot?”

Her eyebrows lift
. “Nope.”

I press on. “Creamer? Milk? Soy?”

She shakes her head. “No thanks.”

“Sugar?”

“Nah, I’m sweet enough already.”

Out of anyone else’s mouth that would’ve sounded cheesy and over-the-top flirtatious, but she says it so matter-of-factly I don’t think she’s even trying to be suggestive.
Damn,
she’s got me falling all over myself here. I laugh and shake my head. “I bet you are.” I pour the coffee, then offer her the warm cup. I almost jump out of my skin when she takes it and her finger slides over mine. It was clearly unintentional on her part, but I have to suppress a vocal reaction. I clear my throat again and attempt to sound normal. “Guess I had you pegged wrong. Welcome to the club.”

As she hands me two dollar bills, she winks. “I get that a lot.”

She winked at me
. I’m grateful at this moment that I’m standing concealed from the waist down behind this counter, because I’m way too close to embarrassing myself on such a middle school level. I drop the change in her tiny open palm, because I can’t risk physical contact again.

She immediately drops it in the tip jar and hoists her coffee in the air. “Thanks. Have a stupendous Tuesday.”

Who says stupendous? She does. It may be my new favorite word. “Stupendous,” I repeat. I can’t stop smiling at her. It’s like she’s turned on this switch inside me. “You do the same.” I offer a lazy salute. It’s a habit I’ve picked up from working with Romero so long.

I glance at the clock. It’s only 6:55am, and this has already been a
stupendous
day.

What in the hell just happened? I feel like I’ve been asleep for years and I’ve only just woken up.