"No problem," Katie says, and heads the six blocks to Em's place. When we get there Em and I jump out of the car and promise to be back shortly. We race up the two flights of stairs to her apartment and head for her bedroom. Thankfully, Em's mom is out tonight and won't get to voice an opinion on our clothing choices. I immediately start rummaging through Em's closet looking for something cute to wear. As a bonus to being best friends, we both are almost the same height (I'm five-six and she's five-seven), and we both wear the same size. We are constantly raiding each other's closets.


I finger a pink fake cashmere sweater with my left hand and flip open my cell and dial with my right. My mom will kill me if I don't call to check in.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Mom."

"Hi, sweetie ... on your way home?" Mom says.

"Not exactly. I'm at Em's." I pull a silver scoop-neck sweater out of the closet, hold it against myself, and turn to show Em. She shakes her head no.

"How was your day?" Mom asks, and I can hear tapping in the background. She's obviously typing on the computer while talking to me.

"Great, actually. Derek made me assistant manager."

"Oh, honey, that's fantastic! It won't interfere with school though, will it?"

I doubt it. "No, of course not. Hey, Mom, is it okay if Em, Katie, Ava, and I go hang out at Jen's?" Not a lie. We will be hanging out at Jen's. Along with fifty of her closest friends.

"Okay, Jane, but be home before midnight."

"Kay."

"And keep your phone on."

"Uh-huh."

"Love you," Mom says.

"Love you, too. Bye."

"All cool?" Em asks when I hang up.

"Yep." I return my attention to Em's closet.

"Hey, that was funny what you were telling Sarah about your notebook tonight." Em eyes the notebook that I threw on her bed as she slips on her new skinny jeans and lies back on her bed to button them.

I laugh. "That girl is so nosy. I was getting sick of her asking me about it." I pick up a pair of Em's black leggings and a white-and-black striped skirt and hold them against myself while looking in her mirror.


"So, Dr. Freud, how long is your study of people's coffee habits going to go on?" Em has read through some of my descriptions before and thinks they are hilarious.

And accurate, of course.

"I don't know. It's fun and pretty fascinating. I can tell so much about people from their drinks. I actually got an idea tonight that I'm thinking about trying out," I say.

"Yeah? What's that?"

"Well, it really depends on how willing my subjects axe!'

"Oh god, just tell me I'm not one of your 'subjects,' " she pleads, stopping to look at me before she continues to outline her right eye with dark brown pencil.

"Boring ol' medium-hot-chocolate you?" I say. "Nah.

Besides, you have a man already." Em has been dating the ever reliable Jason Jones since freshman year in high school. I swear they are going to get married one day.


"Well, I don't see him around tonight, do you?" she says. "And sometimes I get a coffee hot chocolate, so there."

"You told me."

"But seriously, do tell. What does having a man have to do with this?"

"Well," I start, not sure how exactly to say it. "You know how earlier tonight I was telling you how awesome Gavin is and how we should set him up with someone?"

"Yeah ..." she says, sitting down next to me on the bed.

I flip open my book to "medium iced vanilla latte."

"Look." Em quickly reads my entry.

Medium Feed Vanilla Latte

Smart, sweet, and gentle. Sometimes soft-spoken but not a doormat. Loyal and trustworthy. A good friend.

Decent looks and body.

"What about it?" Em asks.


"Hold on." I flip through the pages of my notebook again. "Now read this."


Medium Dry Cappuccino

Smart and simple. Fit and fairly good-looking. A little timid and soft-spoken but probably a powerhouse if ever tested. A good friend.

"Okay ... where is this leading?" Em is totally confused now.

"Don't you see? They're perfect for each other!" I squeal. "The drinks? What are you going to do with them?"

"Not the drinks," I say, exasperated, "the people. The people who drink these drinks are PERFECT for each other."

"Really? You think so?"

I nod. "And I'm going to prove it. I'm going to hook them up."

"Who?" Em asks.


I sigh and roll my eyes. "Gavin and Simone!"

''Simone?''

"Yeah, Sarah's friend," I say.

"Ohhhhhh ..." A smile spreads across Em's face. "I can kind of see that! A little coffee matchmaking, eh?"

"A little Espressology" I answer, smiling back.

* * *

We arrive at Jen's apartment and knock on the door.

No one hears us because the music is turned up and we just walk in. The place is packed, mostly with Columbia kids whom I don't know. Katie and Ava disappear almost immediately into the crowd and leave Em and me standing there. Someone slips a cold bottle of beer into my hand.

Yuck. Beer is gross. I look up.

"Thanks," I say to the cute blond boy smiling at me.

He looks familiar.


"No problem. Jane, right?" he asks. "Yeah," I reply.

"Do I know you?"

"Cam. Cameron White. I sit behind you in English. Of course, I haven't seen you in a couple of weeks." Oh ... now I remember this guy. He's in my English class at the college.

"Yeah," I say. "How's class going?"

"I can't complain. It’s pretty easy really. We only have the four papers to write this semester. Are you coming back to class?"

"Oh yeah ... for sure. Just been busy. Well, there's my friend. I'll talk to you later." I zigzag through the crowd away from him, setting my unopened bottle of beer down on an end table, and run smack into Simone.

"Hi," I tell her. "I was just talking about you a little while ago. That's so crazy to run into you here." She looks at me like I'm a psycho. "Do you remember me?" I ask. "I met you earlier tonight ... at Wired Joe's?" She's still looking at me like I'm going to drag her out to an alley and turn her into soup. I pull my long dark-brown hair away from my face and twist it up on my head. "Now picture me with a blue apron on and a foaming pitcher in my hand." A look of recognition comes over her face and she smiles.

"Oh yeah, you made my coffee earlier. It was good.

Thanks."

"Sure. Glad you liked it. Hey, listen, are you single?"

She looks at me funny again, "Not for me, of course!" I quickly add. "I just know the PERFECT guy for you." She relaxes.

"Oh, well, I generally don't do the blind date thing ..."

she starts.

"You wouldn't really have to. Just let me introduce you. Come into Wired Joe's the next time I work." I quickly go over my schedule in my mind. "Monday afternoon around sixish. His name is Gavin and he's so awesome; he comes in and gets a drink about that time every day. You can get a look at him first and decide if you want to meet him. Then I can just casually introduce you. I swear you guys are PERFECT for each other," I repeat.


"Okay. Why not? I can at least come in and get a drink, right?" she says.

"Cool!" I'm jazzed that my first Espressology test is about to take place. "I'll see you then." I smile and head off to find Em.

3

"My classes are so, so hard." Em sets her elbows on the small wooden table and rubs her eyes with the back of her hands. We're sitting at a table next to the bathroom at Wired Joe's, waiting for our shift to start. There is an inch-long string sticking off the seam of Em's black fake-leather shoe and it is driving me crazy. I must get her away from SuperMart shoes and into a decent shoe store. "I was up until three a.m. working on a paper for my lit class."

"I know what you mean. I'm tired, too," I say with a yawn, stretching my arms over my head. Though I'm not tired from school, but rather from catching up on last week's TiVo HD All My Children episodes last night.

"How are your classes going?" Em asks. How are they going? Good question.


"I just got off the phone with my mom and she asked the same thing," I say, attempting to avert the question.

"And what did you say?" she persists.

Well, shoot. That didn't work. "Um ... okay. I guess."

"What's wrong? Is that chemistry class at the college getting you down? I heard that it's hard."

"No ... not really." It can't get me down if I'm not there, right? Em looks up at me quizzically and props her head on her right fist.

"Why haven't you been talking about school lately?"

She studies my face. I hate when she does this.

"It just isn't that exciting," I lie, trying to look innocent. Em's eyes narrow and she rubs her chin with her index finger. "You're the one with all the interesting classes.

You know how boring my schedule is," I add. My classes are on the other side of the school from Em's, so even when I do go I rarely see her.


"Really? Just nothing exciting to talk about? What are you studying in your classes?" She continues to look at me.

Uh-oh. Her stares are relentless–I'm doomed.

"What?" I ask, shifting uncomfortably in my chair for a few seconds. "Oh fine, fine! I haven't gone to classes in a couple of weeks. Happy?"

"Jane!" she says, exaggerating the "a."

"Why haven't you been going to classes?"

"Because," I whine, "they're boring! When will I ever need to know how to make a cheese soufflé? And I suck in ceramics. Even my grandma wouldn't want one of my spun pots. Seriously. None of this stuff will matter when I'm designing red-carpet gowns in fashion school."

"You can't skip classes, though. You'll get kicked out of school."

"I haven't gotten in trouble yet."

"Yet is the key word here," Em says, and frowns. "And what about your college credit courses?"


"I don't like the college either."

"Why not?" she asks.

"It's ... not what I expected. I want to go to school to study fashion, not stupid English and chemistry. And the people are weird. It's all like, people who couldn't make it into real colleges and old people returning to school. I just don't like it," I say, pouting now.

"So what are you going to do? Just not go? You have to go."

"Why?"

Em sighs and I feel a lecture looming. "Jane, I know you think senior year is just a blow-off year, but it isn't.

What if the School of the Art Institute asks to see your grades from this year? What are you going to do then?"

"They wouldn't do that. Would they?"

"They might. Do you really want to take the chance?"

she asks. Hmph. We're both silent for a moment. "Just try.

Will you go to classes tomorrow?"


"Fine, whatever. Can we talk about something else now?"

"Only if you promise to go to school tomorrow," she retorts.

"Omigod, Mom, I promise, I promise! Jesus!" I say, annoyed.

"Okay, fine, I'll drop it then." She looks victorious.

"How much time do we have left?"

"About five minutes," I answer, alternately tapping my left index and middle fingers on the table. "Ooh, did I tell you what is going down tonight?" I suddenly cheer up.

"No, what?"

"Sarah's friend Simone is coming in. I'm going to introduce her to Gavin. He doesn't know it, though, so I'm crossing my fingers that it goes well."

"I hope it does." A slow smile spreads across her face.

She's looking at the door.


"What?" I ask, and turn around to see what or whom she is looking at. My frat boys are walking into the store, with Will in the lead.

"Hey, guys!" I call. "You're early today. Gimme a minute and I'll come help you." I race into the break room and throw down my purse and coat, tie on my apron, and get back up front in fifteen seconds flat. Daisy, my thirtysomething too-tight-clothes-wearing floozy co-worker is flirting with my boys, and I want to take a rolled-up paper and smack her in the nose. Heel, Daisy! Heel! "I got it, Dais. Take a break," I tell her. Her mouth opens in protest and I give her my best raised-eyebrow, "I'm the assistant manager, do what I say" look and it actually works! Power is so cool. Daisy doesn't say a word and slips away. "Okay, guys, the usual?" I take my place behind the register.