Page 20 of Even in the Rain

I pull my shoulders back and push the door open. A gentle chime rings above my head, and I’m such a bundle of nerves that I startle, freezing midway through the entrance. Then I let out a slow breath, and take a second to glance around. The décor is way brighter than I expected. The business that lived here before was a Mexican restaurant, and the brick walls were painted dark green and the drop ceiling was solid black. It looks like a totally difference place now: bright and airy and hip. The brick walls have been painted all white. The ceiling, too, and it’s almost fifteen-feet high, since they got rid of the ugly drop ceiling. And despite all the white, the space still has a warm vibe. Probably because of the pots of ivy hanging above the windows, and the floor-to-ceiling shelves along one whole side of the café, filled with hundreds and hundreds of board games.

Only two of the tables are occupied: a mother and a little girl with Cindy-Loo Who pigtails playing Candyland at one table and four bearded guys in their twenties gathered around another one, enthralled in their game of Star Wars X-Wing.

Three teenagers around my age are hanging out toward the back of the cafe by a counter that separates the kitchen area from the main space. One of them, a tall girl with pastel pink hair, is standing behind the counter, a clear sign she works here. I’m not sure about the other two, though.

They pause their conversation when they notice me approaching, and like the stretch from the carpark to the main entrance, the walk to the back of the café feels really,reallylong. I’m kind of regretting coming here on a weekday afternoon. I should have waited until opening on Sunday.

One guy at the counter calls over to me—the tall one, with pale gray, almost silver eyes that are kind of stunning. But also, really intense. And really intimidating.

“Bellybutton or Spilt Milk?” he asks as I approach, motioning to my chest with his chin. And I feel my skin suddenly go clammy. More clammy than it already is, I mean.

I falter just a few feet from them. “Wh-what?”

He rolls his eyes. “Your T-shirt. Jellyfish. Which album is your favorite?”

I am still totally confused. And even though I should be familiar by now with the feeling of being mortified about something, even when I’m not sure exactly what it is I’m mortified about, I’m still caught off-guard. I guess I wasn’t expecting that here. Not yet, anyway. I don’t even know these people. I’m almost positive they don’t go to my school; that they all go to Ocean Heights High School.

I glance down at my T-shirt. My jellyfish tee-shirt. The one my sister got me last Christmas. It literally just has the word JELLYFISH across the front in bold letters.

Is this guy making fun of me? Or does he legitimately think Jellyfish is the name of a band?

Wait. Maybe Jellyfishisthe name of a band.

“I uh…” I swallow, but my throat is really dry and there’s no way they can’t tell what a mess I am right now over this one simple question. “I’m just really into jellyfish,” I finally say. “And basically, marine biology in general.”

“Well, fuck. That’s disappointing,” the guy says. And I have no idea what to say to that.

The pink-haired girl behind the counter leans forward and smacks the guy’s arm. Hard.

“God, Silas! You’re such an ass.”

“What?” he swipes a handful of gummy bears from a meeple-shaped bowl on the counter and tosses them into his mouth. “She comes in wearing a tee-shirt that says—”

“Go wait outside. You’re intimidating the customers.” Pink Haired Girl shoves him with both hands this time. “I’ll be done in twenty minutes.”

“Oh, uh, I’m not really a customer,” I interject, finally scrounging up a few measly scraps of confidence. “I’m here to apply for the job… I saw the posting? Online?”

And why am I making everything sound like a question? The goal here is to showcase my can-do attitude and totally hire-able, upbeat-but-not-to-the-point-of-being-annoying personality.

Pink Haired Girl doesn’t seem put off, though.

“Really?” She looks genuinely happy. “That’s awesome!” She reaches her hand across the counter. “I’m Maggie.”

I stare blankly at her outstretched hand for a moment. It’s been a long time since someone my own age has extended their hand to me. Without the intent of causing some sort of harm, I mean.

“Oh, um… I’m Caroline.” Finally, I shake it.

Hopefully, she can’t tell how clammy my palm is. I don’t know how she wouldn’t, though.

“Do you board game?” The second guy asks; the skinny hipster dude with curly hair and a retro bowling shirt.

“Or just walk around wearing totally mis-leading T-shirts?” Silas pipes in, popping another gummy bear into his mouth.

“Oh myGod!” Maggie leans her entire upper body across the counter this time and shoves him with all her might. “GO!”

He doesn’t budge—just shoves another handful of gummies in his mouth and chews slowly, scrutinising me, totally nonchalant and cool and every other adjective I can’t think of right now that refers to emotions that are foreign to me. There’s a dark edginess to him that is such a harsh contrast to Maggie’s light, breezy personality that I can’t help wondering how they ever came to be friends. Because they must be friends, despite the irritation he seems to incite in her; since that’s the only explanation I can think of to explain their easy camaraderie.

“Oh, um…” I take a silent breath and pretend his intense gaze doesn’t make me want to turn and run in the other direction. “I didn’t realize Jellyfish was a band.” Then, to appease him, I add: “But I’m sure they must be good. I mean, if they named themselves after a species that has no evolutionary need for a heart, brain, blood, or lungs, then, ah… they must be really awesome.”

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