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7/23/2007 11:37:38 PM

A story I wrote in 9th grade.

So I wrote this in 9th grade, and I just found it on my computer. I was bored so I posted it. If you don't want to waste your time, don't read it. I don't expect many responses. But tell me what you think. [b][i]Number Eight[/b][/i] “I’ll take a venti caramel crème frappaccino, extra caramel, no whip cream,” I said to the man behind the counter as I searched my pocket for the correct change. “That’ll be $5.65,” came the methodical response. [i]He’s handsome. You think he likes me? Should I get his number? Nah.[/i] Besides he was already busy helping the next customer and I didn't want to seem like some weirdo. I always liked coming to Starbuck’s, the ambiance is so relaxed. I took in the aromas of the various coffees and frappaccinos being brewed. I wasn't much of a coffee person, but frappaccinos were like heaven. I had always hoped someone would build a Starbuck’s on this block and two months ago when construction started I was so excited. And since it’s opening a week ago I had been here everyday. I looked around and checked out the new interior and I still haven’t gotten over the magnificence of this place. The new couches, strategic placement of various coffee mugs available for purchase, the lighting effects, counters where students could work on homework, the openness, while still maintaining a cozy feeling; all of this is what made this Starbuck’s great. “Venti caramel crème frappaccino, extra caramel, no whip cream!” the coffee maker said as he placed the drink on the counter. I could already see that they had made it the way I liked it, with the caramel mixed around the sides of the drink, not just piled on the top. “Excuse me, comin’ through,” I said as I squeezed through other patrons waiting for their drink. I placed a firm grip around the second half of the plastic cup that was already dripping with condensation. I lifted the cup off the counter and saw a ring of condensation on the surface. I made my way towards the table I always sat at, but there was a newcomer sitting at the table next to it. I felt the soft insoles of my leather shoes pressing on the arch of my foot every time I took a step and I regretted not putting that insole in my shoe this morning. The newcomer at my table was a man. I would guess he’s in his late twenties. He had dark brown hair and with a slight hint of tanned skin. He was wearing a dark gray suit and a gray shirt with a silver tie. He was reading USA today and it looked like he was sipping a mocha cappuccino or a mochachino as I liked to call it. I chuckled to myself at this thought. I took a sip through the straw of my frappaccino and tasted the cold vanilla flavor with that hint of caramel. I didn’t realize how big of a sip I took until I stopped drinking and looked at how much was left in the cup. I reached the table and sat on one of the wooden chairs opposite of where the man was sitting. [i]Did he notice me yet? I should say something.[/i] “Hey,” my voice sounded fake and forced. What the hell was I thinking? “Good morning,” he said as he looked up from his paper for a second, with a stern but inviting look. “I see you, uh, got a mocha cappuccino there,” I said wanting to keep the conversation alive. “Yeah I get one every morning,” he said with a slight smile on his face. He picked up his drink and took a sip. I could still see the steam rising off the top. Maybe I will try some coffee. If this guy enjoys it so much, it must not be that bad. “I like to call it a mochaccino,” I said with a genuine laugh. At my comment he gave a little chuckle. An awkward silence followed this then he looked back down and continued to read his paper. Neither of us spoke for the next couple of minutes. He looked up every twenty seconds or so and drank some of his beverage. I proceeded to speculate on who this guy is and what he does. [i]He probably is a business man. From the looks of him, he’s probably some CEO or high ranking person. I wonder if he’s married.[/i] I searched for a ring on his left hand. [i]Nope, not there.[/i] “So, do you work near here or something?” I said with an enthusiastic tone. “Yeah I work over on right around the corner, in the old Copperstone building,” he said. I could tell he was surprised that I was still talking to him, but not so surprised that he was irritated. “Oh yeah? I work right around there too, in the Black Estate Building,” I said, wondering if he knew where I was talking about. I loved my job. All I did all day was sit in my little cubicle with my Dell 350 and phone and type and answer phone calls all day. I had decorated my cubicle with pictures of my favorite movie stars and singers. Oh yeah and I had a picture of my nephew on my desk, but he lived all the way in Oregon. “Really what department?” the man said now seemingly interested. His quick remark had brought me out of my little daydream. “Sales and marketing division,” I said with pride, wondering at the same time why this man all of a sudden was so interested. “Hey tell Bernie that ‘the jackass’ says, ‘hey what’s u,p and to give me a call,’” ‘the jackass’ said chuckling to himself. I could tell by the way he was talking about my boss that they must’ve worked together sometime ago. “Alright then, I sure will,” I said. [i]Wow this drink went by really fast.[/i] “Well I better get going to work,” I said as I stood up and gathered my things. [i]Damn I wish I could’ve drank slower.[/i] I never stayed past my empty cup. Most days it takes me a while but I think I was nervous today from talking to him that my drink went down faster. “Wait, wait,” he said as I started to walk away, “I don’t even know your name.” “My name’s Tracy,” I said as I stuck out my hand. His hand was warm, from the coffee I guessed, but soft and his grip was firm but welcoming. “Nice to meet you, I’m Rick,” he said with a smile. “Hey would like to do this again sometime, I mean go out for coffee?” My face immediately turned into a grin and “Sure,” came popping out of my mouth. “Alright then, same place, same time tomorrow?” he said. “See you here,” I said. With that I turned around and headed for the door, he followed me. [i]Number eight.[/i] I thought of the headline that would be in the papers in a couple of weeks; [i]Eighth victim found in Coffee Serial Killer killings.[/i] As we reached the door he held it open for me. “Thank you sir,” I said thanking him for his good deed. “Good day ma’am,” he said as I walked towards my office with a smile, knowing Rick would never get Bernie’s call.
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