Coffeehouse Angel (20 page)

"No. I'm going to do it after school."

"Good. Tell him that we'll discuss the details when I'm discharged."

"Grandma--"

"Now Katrina, don't try to change my mind. There's more to this than you realize. It's time to move on."

Mr. Prince had shoved an envelope into my locker.
Katrina, Here are the results of
your aptitude test. Come in to discuss.
I stuffed it into my backpack. If I went to his office, he'd ask me about my checklist, which, except for Elizabeth's additions, I had neglected to fill out. I still didn't have anything to put on it, except maybe
Owner of
the World's Most Famous Cat,
or
Ex-friend of Nordby's Hometown Hero.
I know what would look really good on the list--
Dating an Angel.

We had a substitute in World Mythology and she sent us to the library. The librarian cornered Vincent, asking him all sorts of questions about his scholarship. I found an empty aisle at the back and sat on the floor. Maybe I could pass the entire class without having to talk to him. I didn't want to hear his excuse for breaking his promise. He'd say something like, "You're not the boss of me," and I'd say something like, "Oh yeah, well whatever," and it would slide downhill from there.

Elliott wandered into my sanctuary. "This is the business/technology section," he informed me, as if I might be lost.

"Yeah, I know. Maybe I like technology." I pulled a book off the shelf and pretended to read it.

Elliott shrugged, then chose a book and sat on the floor. "I liked your story about the potato farmer." He cleaned his glasses with his striped rugby shirt. "Though I didn't understand the ending. The girl's neighbor bought a new tractor and updated his potato packaging, but why did the girl give up? I'm sure there were ways she could have competed."

I looked up from my fake reading. "Huh?"

"She could have done a marketing survey to find out what types of potatoes the customers preferred. She could have researched the latest hybrids to find higher yielding potatoes, giving her an advantage at market. There are small business loans and--"

"It doesn't matter, Elliott. It was just a stupid story."

"Okay." He put on his glasses. "Hey, can I ask your opinion?"

I'd never had a real conversation with Elliott, even though we'd been in school together forever. He was on the small side, as if puberty hadn't quite caught up with him. He seemed perfectly nice, and since my pool of friends had dwindled down to ONE, I figured it would be a good idea to start talking to more people. "Sure. Ask away."

He pulled out a familiar piece of paper and scooted closer. "Have you filled yours out?"

"Not really."

"Mr. Prince said that even though my grades are stellar, I need to join a few more clubs. So far I have Chess Club, French Club, and Robotics Club. Do you have any suggestions?"

"You're asking the wrong person. I don't belong to any clubs."

"What about your friend...Elizabeth?"

"She's not into clubs either. But she takes a bunch of classes at the community center."

"Oh. What about this section,
Skills and Talents?
I wrote:
Computer Programming,
Digital Photography,
and
Audio Engineering,
but Mr. Prince said that I need to broaden the list, make it look like I'm more well-rounded. How do I do that?"

"Again, you're asking the wrong person. I'm so clueless he made me take an aptitude test." "How'd you do?"

"I don't know." I pulled it from my backpack. "I'm kind of afraid to look."

"Why?"

"I probably flunked. I'm not good at anything, really."

"You can't flunk an aptitude test." Elliott held out his hand and wiggled his fingers.

Might as well find out. I handed over the results. He slid his thumb under the flap and opened the envelope " 'Results for Katrina Svensen: Entrepreneurial Profile,' " he read. "Wow, that's great."

"Entrepreneurial ?"

"That means you'd be good at starting your own business."

I knew what "entrepreneurial" meant. What I didn't know was how that related to me.

Had Mr. Prince given me the wrong results?

Elliott continued to read. " 'Enterpreneurs possess the following characteristics: they are creative problem solvers, they have the ability to see possibility, they can make independent decisions, and they inspire, persuade, and motivate others.'"

I took the paper and turned it over to see if someone else's name was on it. It had to be a mistake.

"What classes does Elizabeth take?" he asked. "Maybe I should sign up for one of those."

"She'd be happy to tell you about her classes. Just ask her."

Elliott's cheeks erupted like little cherry tomatoes. He opened his book. "Well, I've got some research to do." He lay on his back and started reading.

I lay on my back and read the test results over and over. What sorts of problems had I solved? Who had I ever inspired? Did I ever see possibility, or was I always looking at my life with a loser mentality?

When the bell rang I made sure that Vincent stayed well ahead of me in the hallway.

Between second and third period I ducked into the bathroom to avoid Heidi, and at lunch I had to take the long way to the parking lot to avoid Vincent again.

Elizabeth had beat me to the car. As soon as I shut the passenger door, she burst into tears. "He said no."

"I don't believe it."

"He said he had something else to do that night."

"Like what? Everyone goes to the Solstice Festival."

"He's probably going, he just doesn't want to go with...me." Her nose started to run. "I don't blame him. I'm fat and ugly. Who wants to go out with this?" She swept her hands over her purple coat and checkered pants. She threw her lunch bag into the backseat. "I'm not going to eat for a month."

"He's a jerk," I said. I had forgotten to pack a lunch, so I grabbed an apple from Elizabeth's bag, then let loose a flood of unhappiness. "They're all jerks. They want perfect girls. Perfect, sporty, perky girls. And when they get those girls they forget about their friends. Okay, so maybe he didn't hold that cup on purpose during his television interview and maybe it wasn't his fault that Mr. Darling named a drink after him, but he promised he'd never go to Java Heaven and now he's going. Heidi's totally brainwashed him against me. It's all her fault. She's doing this on purpose. She's so mean." I tore into the apple's flesh.

Elizabeth wiped her eyes, leaving a smear of mascara on her sleeve. Before I could spew any more unhappiness she said, "I'm going to be totally honest and I don't want you to get mad."

"What?"

She took a big breath. "Heidi's dad's a real jerk, no argument there, but I've never seen Heidi act like a jerk. Sure, she's an overachiever and totally annoying, but she's not mean to people."

I almost choked. "I can't believe you're saying this. I thought you hated her as much as I do."

"I don't
hate
her. I don't like her because I know she stresses you out and she's just not the type of person I would want to hang out with. I'd always feel like a total failure around her."

"Oh gee, thanks."

"You know what I mean."

"No I don't. You like hanging out with me because I have no goals, because I don't do anything? Because you don't feel like a failure around me?"

"Of course not. Jeez. I hang out with you because you're my friend and I love you.

But you've decided to hate Heidi simply based on what her dad does for a living."

"So?"

Elizabeth reached into her lunch and unwrapped her sandwich. "I don't think you're pissed at Heidi because of her dad's coffeehouse. I think it has to do with Vincent. I think you should just admit that you're in love with him."

"What?" A piece of apple flew from my mouth. "I'm NOT in love with Vincent."

"It sure seems like you are."

"What are you talking about?"

"Yes, he's a total idiot for agreeing to go inside Java Heaven to make snowflakes.

That's wrong. And we should give him the silent treatment. But--"

"But nothing. I
don't
love him."

We sat in silence for a while. I stared out the window. How could she think such a thing? Was everything and everyone against me?

And that's when they walked by, just like before. Vincent and Heidi, in their matching swim team sweatshirts. But this time he wasn't just touching her arm, he was holding her hand, their morning argument long forgotten.

I started to cry.

Elizabeth slammed her hand on the steering wheel. "I knew it!"

I
couldn't tell where one feeling ended and another began.

I was worried about my grandmother, embarrassed about closing the coffeehouse, excited about the third coffee bean and the whole angel thing, sad about possibly leaving Nordby, and miserable, angry and confused about losing my best friend. Was love mixed up in there too? Me, in love with Vincent?

It didn't make sense. I'd never thought about kissing him. Okay, maybe once or twice, but that had been curiosity, nothing more. I'd seen him in his bathing suit a million times and I'd never looked at him like
that.
Sure, I liked sitting next to him in the movie theater because I could hide my face on his shoulder if it got scary. And sure, when we studied together on the couch, I liked to stick my feet under his knees to keep them warm. I liked it when he let me wear his coat or his sweatshirt. And I especially liked it when, of all the people in our school, all the perfect and beautiful and overachieving people, he chose to sit next to me in class. Was that love?

I said in the beginning that this was not one of those "I'm in love with my best friend"

stories. Suddenly, on that Monday, I didn't know what to think. I didn't know squat.

I drove home. A banner hung across Main Street, announcing the Solstice Festival.

Shopkeepers had lined their doors and awnings with little white lights. Displays of gingerbread houses, snowmen, and candy canes filled the shop windows. Festivity floated through the air, but it ricocheted right off me as I drove past our front door.

Closed by the Health Department Until further notice.
The rat was my fault. It had appeared because I had lied to an angel, and then I had let the lie fall from my hand, onto the floor, where my fat cat had eaten it. I couldn't blame everything on Mr.

Darling.

I parked in the alley. "Hello, Katrina," Ingvar said, opening the back door. He held a broom. "Your grandfather gave me a key ages ago. I hope you don't mind that we let ourselves in. We've been cleaning."

The coffeehouse smelled like bleach and Pine-Sol. While Ralph mopped the kitchen floor, Odin wiped down the pantry shelves and Lars scrubbed the stovetop. "Hi Katrina," they said.

"What's going on?" I asked.

"We're cleaning the place up before that nincompoop of a health inspector comes back," Lars said.

"Can't have Anna worrying about these things," Ralph said. "Worry is bad for the heart."

Ingvar dipped a sponge into a bucket of sudsy water. "We've cleaned plenty of boats in our day. Kitchen grease is a breeze compared to fish guts. This place will be spotless. That inspector won't find a single rat turd."

If we moved to Florida, I'd probably never see these men again. They were like the uncles I never had. The grandfather I missed. The father who got taken away. I couldn't bear to tell them that my grandmother had decided to close.

"Where's Irmgaard?" Odin asked. "Is she at the hospital?"

"I don't know," I told him.

He handed me a postal box filled with mail. "All this came today. Most of it's for Ratcatcher."

"The phone's been ringing all day too," Ralph said. "Took a bunch of messages.

Everyone wants to talk to the cat."

"Lots of people been stopping by too," Lars said.

"Thanks." I carried the box into the office and set it on the desk. I opened one of the cards. A little girl had drawn a picture of Ratcatcher and the rat. They were sitting together, smiling. Ratcatcher had a pink bow on her head and the rat wore a purple bowtie. The girl wanted to know if Ratcatcher would write back. I shuffled through the box and found three more bills, each past due. They came to over four hundred dollars. Grandma had said she had two hundred in her checking account. My backpack slid off my shoulder and fell to the floor with a
thunk.
I felt like falling beside it and curling into a little ball. Honest to God, a sixteen-year-old is not supposed to have so many problems at once.

Ingvar stuck his head into the office. "I told him he could use your shower. I hope you don't mind."

"Who?"

"Your boyfriend. The kid with the skirt."

"Malcolm's using my shower?"

"It was my suggestion. He was soaked to the bone. Said he'd been sitting in the rain all night. If you don't mind my saying, Katrina, he could use some new clothes.

Maybe you could lend him some of your grandfather's?"

I smelled him before I saw him, following the scent up the stairs and down the hallway to the kitchen. He sat at the Formica table, eating Cheerios out of the box. His hair was wet and slicked back, his torso perfectly clean and sculpted. That's right, his torso. I couldn't tell since the tablecloth hid his lower half, but he appeared to be naked.

"Uh, hi," I said.

"Hello." He smiled in that nice way, giving me his full attention, as if I were the center of the universe. Then he reached across the table and took an apple from the fruit bowl. "You know, there was a time when this was considered to be a very dangerous piece of fruit."

"What did you do with your clothes?" I asked.

"They're gone." He rolled the apple in his hand.

"You threw them away?"

"I took them off and now they're gone. It's for the best. I'm supposed to blend in wherever I go like a chameleon. It doesn't appear that kilts are popular in these parts, so I might as well wear something more befitting your little corner of the world." He started to get up.