CHAPTER TWO: COFFEE
As we entered the substantial building, the heavy smell of coffee beans and mango syrup filled my nose. Since it was early spring, fruits were the right flavors for coffee right now. A line of people were in front if us, either texting or staring out the large glass windows. Framed abstract art lined the walls, and a gift card stand was in front of me. "What do you want?" He asked gleaming at the large board of flavors. "I don't have money...for this. I don't want to spend my amount on ground up beans. It's a waste." I replied. I did want some. But truth be told, all the money I had was a few 5's. "Just to tell you, ground up beans are not good. But with sugar, cream, and a dash of Carmel it's a really good treat. And anyway, I'm paying, not you." He said. I felt really bad with him doing this. Especially since my clothes were scrawny, dirty, and my hair was not brushed. He had on a really expensive looking Goose down jacket with heavy jeans and a backpack. I looked down at his muddy vans and noticed a scar on his ankle. The line moved up a bit. The smell of coffee got stronger. Bright lights from the baked good counter glowed behind the glass. When we reached the counter, a young girl with wavy orange hair and green eyes asked for the boy to go first. It just hit me then that I was buying coffee with a guy that doesn't even know my name. Nor do I know his. "I will have a small Carmel cappuccino and she will have...-" "Same thing." I blurted. "And add two chocolate cookies. That's it." He finished. She pulled out two foam cups with the logo on it and a sharpie. "Can I have the names?" She asked. "I'm Kurt and this is..-" he trailed off. "Skylar." I blurted again.
"Kurt and Skylar!" A tall African American man called from behind the counter. He pulled two stirring sticks out of his green apron pockets. We said thanks and took our cups to a small table by the window. "So." He said. "Runaway huh?" But before I could answer an ambulance raced down the road, it's sirens wailing. When Kurt turned his head to look I found another scar in his neck. It was long and deep. He turned back towards me. I nodded. "But how are you?" I asked. "You seem...rich." He sipped his coffee. "Your underestimating me, ms. Skylar." He laughed. "I've been a runaway for about 4 days. So I still have some riches from being a kid at my dad's house. But now since I'm 17, I ran away, so I wouldn't be abused anymore." That really explained his scars. "What's your story?" He asked. "It's a long story." I said taking a swig. "That is what coffee shops are for. Go on." He said with a smile. "we don't have a curfew." I looked at him with a bright smile. "So when I was 10 I was adopted by a woman and her son. He was 14 at the time, and he was really nice. We were friends in school to. We ate lunch together, volunteered for the same classes, and we even did homework together. But then one night, he snuck in to my room, and told me to watch my back. I think it was because I started to hang out with his friend, mason and they had a fight. Anyway, I didn't know what to do. So the next day I went to school, and when I came out of the bathroom, a knife was laying in the hallway. The next day, he put a bunch of needles in my backpack. So when I reached in, my hand would bleed. One day I called authorities, and they got me a fostering father in an apartments when I was 15, for about two years. But one night he had a stroke an passed away. But I liked living by myself. But when the authorities had to come check on the foster service, I gathered my things into my foster dad's backpack, took my jacket and beanie, and left. Ever since then I've been sleeping in the train stations and running from the authorities. If
You haven't noticed my picture is everywhere as a warrant for my arrest." I finally finished. He looked at me staring into my eyes as if studying my face. "I knew you looked familiar." He laughed again. This time I laughed with him.