Getting Over Garrett Delaney (12 page)

Her words sit between us on the counter. I know I should say something nice back, something reassuring, but I’m wordless with sudden horror.

She gives another rueful shrug and then takes her drink. “Thanks. Good luck with … well, next year. Maybe I’ll see you around, during breaks, you know?” And with that, she sashays away.

What am I doing?

I stare after Beth, a rush of absolute, unfettered panic speeding through me. She’s right, I
am
lucky. Garrett has been the best friend a girl could want, so how could I be so stupid as to think about shutting him out for good? I’ve been so busy thinking about my unrequited love, I haven’t even stopped to consider the other, more important part of our relationship.

Friendship.

Ignoring him now would make him think I don’t care, that I don’t want to be friends. I want to get over him, not lose him for good! How must he feel, with me not replying to his texts and e-mails like this? What kind of friend am I?

“Sadie!” Dominique snaps me out of my panicked reverie. She dumps an armful of dishes on the counter, then strips off her apron. “I have to go,” she informs me.

“Are you off already?” I stare at her, still fixed on my Garrett dilemma. “I didn’t see LuAnn come in.”

“She hasn’t.” Dominique shrugs, with typical insouciance. “But you can handle it.”

“Um, sure, I guess.” I look around. The café is half full, and everything seems quiet enough. “But can you … ?”

My words fall into empty space; she’s already gone. But then I realize, I’m unsupervised, with no one to bark disapproving orders in French if I check my phone, say, or make a quick call… .

I snatch my phone out from my locker and dial with shaking hands. It’s pure instinct — I don’t even think about the hours of struggle I’m rendering useless here; I only want to make things right.

Voice mail.

“Hi, Garrett,” I say, trying to keep the panic from my voice. “How are you doing? I just wanted to say I hope you’re OK, and call anytime.” I pause. “I, um, know I’ve been busy, and not returning some of your messages, but I’m here for you — I promise. Just call. Anytime!”

I hang up, still feeling a lurch of guilt. It’s not Garrett’s fault I’ve been in love with him all this time, and it’s not his fault I’ve had to pull away for the sake of my mental health and general sanity. No, he’s the innocent party in all of this. And here I am, abandoning him as if our friendship doesn’t mean a thing. I think of the messages I didn’t return, the IMs I didn’t respond to, the e-mails languishing unread in my in-box. He must think I’m ditching him, that I couldn’t care less. I want to get over him to save our friendship, not destroy it!

“Excuse me? Hello, can I get some service?”

“Sure! Just a sec,” I call, quickly typing out a text in case he’s stuck in a lecture or class and can’t check his voice mail.

“Like, now?”

Some people have no patience.
Call me!
I finish, then tuck the phone under the counter and turn back to work. The itch is back to a full-on burn, but there’s nothing I can do but wait now.

Wait, consumed by the panic that I’ve ruined everything.

Half an hour later, it’s clear that my friendship with Garrett isn’t the only thing I’ve destroyed; my new skills as Super-Barista have fallen apart as well.

“I ordered a latte, like, ten minutes ago!”

“And I’m still waiting on the mocha whip.”

“The tables are all dirty!”

CRASH!

A tray of dirty plates tumbles to the floor, but I ignore it, yanking down hard on the Beast. It splutters but doesn’t deliver me the caffeinated elixir I need. I try again. Nothing. It’s as if the universe can sense my Zen barista focus has been broken; the peaceful, placid café has degenerated into sheer chaos, dirty dishes are piled on the tables, the orders are stacked overdue, and I’m left to dash around, desperately trying to satisfy the ever-growing line.

“Hello! We’re waiting here!”

“Uh-huh!” I call, my voice tinged with panic now. “Be right with you!”

Aren’t there laws against this — leaving a teenager in charge of, well, anything? I’m not even allowed to vote, yet suddenly I’m the sole being standing in the way of a full-on coffee riot!

“Two cappuccinos!” I cry, trying to swirl the foam into our trademark heart. It comes out a confused blotch, deformed and broken — a metaphor for my current psyche, if ever there was one. Garrett still hasn’t replied to my messages, despite my checking every five minutes — make that every three.

Josh peers out of the hatch at the mess. “Sadie?” he says, his voice edged with concern as he takes in the loud, angry, near-rioting scene. “Maybe we should close the kitchen to new orders, and I could come help you out.”

“But it’s the lunch rush. They want lunch!” I tell him, wiping sweaty bangs from my forehead, and smearing hot chocolate mix across my face in the process. “You can’t leave the kitchen.”

“OK, if you’re sure… .” He makes a reluctant face and then goes back to work.

“I wanted low-fat milk.” A scowling blond woman thrusts her drink back at me. “And there’s cinnamon on top. I hate cinnamon.”

“If you could just wait a moment …” I beseech her as I throw three pastries on a plate and push them toward the nearest person. Why must people be so picky? It’s a three-dollar coffee, not the center of their existence!

“But I told you specifically when I ordered, no cinnamon.”

With a sigh, I take back the drink, scoop off the offending foam, dump it all in a fresh cup, and hand it back. “Better?” I scowl.

“Well!” She opens her mouth in shock. “I’ll be filling in a feedback form about this.”

“You do that!” I call after her. “They’re right by the register!”

I snap back into action. The Beast is shaking so hard that the row of coffee cups stacked on top of it begins to vibrate. I snatch the jug of frothed milk away from the steamer, spilling half of it over my arm.

“Ow!” I reel back as the scalding hot liquid hits my skin.

“Hey, Sadie?” Kayla appears by the counter exit, making me jump back in the other direction and drop the jug. “Do you have those workbooks?”

I stare at her blankly.

“I left you, like, three voice mails about it,” she tries again, looking completely exhausted. “You know, the dream ambition book things?” She’s got two camp kids by the hands. There are suspicious brown stains all over her Sunny Dayze Camp T-shirt, her hair is splattered with blue paint, and her trademark perky ponytail is hanging limp.

“I’m sorry,” I tell her, still trying to stem the flow of coffee from the Beast. “I, um, didn’t get your messages.”

Truth is, I’ve been skipping past anything that isn’t immediately Garrett related. I have my priorities, especially with the café in meltdown!

“Oh.” Kayla deflates. “I have the whole Lion Cub group waiting for them. They riot after snack time. And you know how it is — there’s never enough tranquilizing cough syrup to go around.” She manages a grin.

“I’m sorry!” I turn to quickly jam three new filters under the unceasing
drip-drip-drip.
“It’s crazy here.”

“But Sadie —”

“Hey, miss? I’m waiting here —”

“Order up!”

“So, like, I have an allergy to sugar, and —”

The buzz of demands kicks up to a roar — moving beyond chaos to an utter disaster zone. Hurricane warning, Category 5. And then, through it all, I suddenly hear a faint but unmistakable sound.

My cell phone is ringing.

And it’s not just any ringtone. It’s Garrett’s, the familiar melody of Belle & Sebastian, aka his favorite band in the known universe.

“Sadie? What’s going on?” LuAnn pushes through the crowd, out of breath. “I saw the crowd from down the street. Where’s Dominique?”

But I barely hear her. I don’t hear any of them anymore. Everything fades away to that one sound, taunting me, begging me,
commanding
me to go answer my phone.

He’s calling.

My heart leaps. Like a girl possessed, I abandon the espresso machine and leap for my purse. My cell phone tumbles out and skitters across the floor. I lunge after it on all fours behind the counter.

“Hello?” I press my hand to my free ear to hear better. “Garrett?”

“Hey, Sadie.” His voice is distant and blocked by static.

“I can’t hear you. Are you there?” I duck lower to the ground to block them all out. On some level, I hear a clatter and a high-pitched yelp, but it doesn’t matter, not when Garrett actually picked up the phone and called me. He’s not mad! I haven’t ruined things! “What’s going on?”

“Nothing much, I just figured I’d check in. Are you OK?” he asks. “Your voice mail sounded kind of weird.”

“No, I’m fine. Good!” I yelp, still crouched behind the counter. “I just didn’t want you to worry. You know, that I haven’t been in touch.”

Garrett laughs. “You know, I didn’t even notice. Things have been so busy here… . You didn’t … and with the … tomorrow.”

“Garrett? You’re breaking up!” I hear static and bursts of noise.

“Look, I’ve got to run… .”

“Garrett?”

But he’s already gone.

I hang up.

“Sadie?”

I stay on the floor, clutching my phone. He didn’t notice? I’ve been killing myself for three days now, fighting my epic battle not to pick up the phone — aching with missing him — and he barely even noticed I wasn’t around?

“Sadie!”

Nothing’s changed, I realize, feeling completely lost. Sure, I made my big detox plan and thought it would make a difference, but here I am, still orbiting around him as if he’s my gravity, still filled with thoughts of him — even if they’re thoughts about how
not
to think of him.

“Sadie!”

I finally look up. LuAnn is standing two feet away from me. “You’re here,” I say, flooded with relief. “Great.”

“Great?” she splutters, and only now do I realize she’s turned a strange shade of pink. No, make that raspberry — clashing with her crazy punk red hair and the fluorescent pink of her retro blouse. “Does this really look great to you?!”

I look.

The espresso machine is going into meltdown, gushing scalding black liquid in a tide of deadly caffeine. Three of Kayla’s brats have broken free and are splashing around in the mess, tracking gritty footsteps across the café floor, while the four-deep throng of angry customers jostles and yells. Plates are piled high, with overdue orders cooling next to stacks of dirty dishes.

I exhale in a whoosh, and just like that, the madness subsides. The real world slips back into focus, and suddenly it hits me: I’m sprawled facedown on the floor in a puddle of frothed milk, and preschoolers are staring at me in shock and disgust.

“I have a problem,” I say slowly, pulling myself into an upright position. The truth is ugly, but nowhere near as ugly as the half-eaten eggplant panino that was just inches from my cheek. I can’t keep this secret any longer, so I say it again, every word full of cringe-worthy, cheek-flushing shame.

“I have a serious problem, and his name is Garrett Delaney.”

LuAnn swings into action and calls the whole crew in to save the place from complete chaos. Denton and Jules, another barista, take duty out front, while the rest of them sit me down in the back office for what they call a staff meeting but I know is more like an intervention. Even Kayla joins us after dropping the kids back at the community center; she lines up with LuAnn, Dominique, Aiko — all of them looking at me as if I’m teetering on the edge of a complete breakdown. And I guess I could be, if the scene out front is anything to go by.

“So this is all because of a guy?” LuAnn repeats slowly.

I nod, shameful.

“OK …” she says with a mixture of relief and confusion. “I thought it might be drugs or something.”

“You’ve been acting kind of weird these last few days,” Aiko agrees. “Really nervous and jittery.”

“She could be lying,” Dominique announces. She lunges forward, takes my face in her hand, and turns it side to side to examine me. “See? Her eyes are all bloodshot.”

“I’m not on anything!” I break away. “I promise. I can’t even drink more than two cups of coffee a day!”

“Hmmm,” Dominique sits back, stony-faced.

“But I still don’t get it,” Kayla says, speaking up for the first time. “Garrett’s away at camp, and you said you guys have always just been friends.”

“We were. I mean, we are.” I pick at the skin around my thumbnail, avoiding their confused, judgy eyes. “But … I’m in love with him.” The words sound strange and foreign; it might just be the first time I’ve ever admitted it out loud.

“And?” LuAnn prompts.

“And I’m trying not to be.” I bite my lip and plunge on. “I had this plan to get over him, a whole detox program to get him out of my life, with rules and steps, and little gold stars. But I don’t want him out!” I find myself carried away with frustration. “I miss him so much, it hurts. I just want us to be friends again. Just friends.”

I look up, hoping they understand what I’m trying to do. But instead of sympathetic gazes, I find a line of blank stares.

“A detox program? That’s so … cute.” LuAnn tries not to smile, but I can see the twitch at the corner of her lips.

“Who is this guy, anyway?” Aiko asks. “A movie star? A sparkly vampire?”

“Just this guy from school,” Kayla answers before I can. She shrugs. “Some girls think he’s cute, but …” She trails off, the implication clear: Garrett is nothing special, and I’ve lost my mind.

“So, you were never dating, and now he’s in another state? Why not just get over him already?” Dominique looks disapproving, as if her heart has never done a thing her brain hasn’t vetted and sanctioned.

“Haven’t you ever adored someone, even though you knew it couldn’t work?” I ask desperately, trying to make them see. I’m not crazy — this is something real I’m feeling here! “So you try, and try, to move past it and forget about them, but it’s like they’re stuck in your head — you can’t just flip a switch and stop loving them! So you hate yourself for it, because you know it’s no use, but nothing you do seems to ever make a difference.”

Silence.