Of My Dreams

“Um, hello?” A whiny, valley girl voice hit my ears, “This is like totally poor service.”

I slowly turned around to face a platinum blonde waiting in front of the register with a Coach bag on the counter and a Blackberry in her right hand. She couldn’t have been there long, and I was in the middle of rinsing out the blender from the last frozen latte I had made. I put the blender down in the sink and rinsed off my hands to face the girl.

Calmly, I smiled and asked, “May I help you?”

“It’s about time,” She complained, “I’ve been waiting to order for like two full minutes. I should really complain to your manager, but then again, I barely have time to even make this order. So anyway, I’ll have a medium Hazelnut Cappuccino with soy-milk, scalding, and little to no froth.”

“Um, do you mean to make that a latte?” I asked confused.

The girl frowned angrily, “Did I say latte? Uh, NO! I said a Hazelnut Cappuccino with soy-milk and no froth. Clearly, I did not mean a latte. God, what are you? New?”

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. I prepared her “cappuccino” and charged her for a latte, hoping she was too preoccupied with texting that she wouldn’t realize that I charged her more money than she was expecting. While I was working the espresso machine, the girl looked over at me and said, “You know, I think I know you from somewhere.”

“Really,” I said in a disinterested voice.

“Yeah,” She said slowly, “Do you go to Newman High?”

When I nodded, the girl snapped in my face and looked enlightened, “Now I know who you are. You’re that girl who tutored my boyfriend. You know Brad Duthorne?”

“Right,” I recognized the name. Brad was the quarterback on the varsity football team and the Student Council Vice-President. So this was the infamous Tiffany that Brad always had to leave our sessions early for, “I tutored him in Algebra 2 and Chemistry.”

“Yeah, and sometimes I would see you two talk between classes about homework assignments and crap.” Tiffany smiled artificially, “I knew you had to be one of the smart ones. Well, anyway, I never worried about Brad working with you. He doesn’t really go behind my back with scholarship girls.”

I put a lid and coffee collar on the hot drink and quickly handed over the counter in exchange for the credit card Tiffany held out in my face. I swiped it as quick as I possibly could and handed it back. “Well, I suppose I’ll see you soon.” I smiled in an impersonal friendly manner as she grabbed a few napkins and turned for the door.

“Oh, no, you won’t,” Tiffany smiled, “No offense, but the service here is really slow, and this place is kind of tacky. Next time I want a coffee, I’m gonna stop at a Starbucks.”

I decided not to mention that we’d probably see each other at school because I was seriously ready to have her out of the café. I turned around and continued to clean the blender and the makings from the espresso machine. I didn’t relax until I heard the little bell over the door jingle to mark Tiffany’s exit.

“I have no idea how you survived that,” a familiar less whiny voice said from behind. I chuckled and turned around to see my best friend Harper standing in front of the register, “Girls like Tiffany make me worry about our generation. I mean, hell, she criticized you for not knowing the difference between a cappuccino and a latte. Can you imagine the looks she gets when she makes that order at other coffee places?”

“Be nice,” I said as I wiped the counter down.

“Nice about that dumb bimbo?” Harper stuck her nose out, “No, thank you. She was being an ass to my bestie. I mean there is nothing wrong with being a scholarship student and working at your aunt’s café afterschool and on weekends. At least, you’re putting your private school education to good use.”

Speaking of my aunt, the manager of the café that Tiffany was going to complain to came out of the kitchen with a fresh tray of blueberry muffins which she put in a display case.
Harper waved to her quickly. “Hey Maria!” she called.

“Hello, Harper,” Aunt Maria smiled carefully as she straightened up from the case, “Did you change your hair again?”

“Yes, I did,” Harper replied proudly, “I’m so happy you noticed. I decided that the pixie cut alone wasn’t enough to make my mom notice. So I dyed it purple.”

“That’s surely something,” Aunt Maria pulled a loose strand of dark brown untampered hair behind her ear. I had acquired the same hair color from both my aunt and my mother, but for some reason, it looked prettier on them than me.

“Would it be possible for me to have a nice warm blueberry muffin perchance?” Harper said in her sweet voice.

“Are you going to pay for it?” I asked, not falling for her act.

“Do I have to?” She batted her eyelashes.

“Of course not,” Aunt Maria bent down and pulled a muffin from the display case, “You’re like family. It’s on the house.”

Harper’s whole face lit up, “Thank you! Thank you!”

I rolled my eyes and continued to put the blender parts and the espresso bits away before the next customer that wasn’t Harper came to the counter. Harper went around to the cooler and pulled out an Izzie drink and placed it on the counter. “I’m going to get this too. I really need to cut back on the amount of coffee I drink. I realized it gets me all jittery.”

“What you really need,” I said as my aunt retreated back into the kitchen, “Is to stop coming her solely for free food and drinks.”

Being the gifted actress she was, Harper shaped her expressions into false shock. Then she dropped her lower lip and whimpered, “You think that’s the only reason I came to visit?”

I kept a straight face and stared at her.

She shook off the act, “Right. Anyway, don’t you know what time it is?”

I looked at the ornate clock behind me. It was seven minutes after five. “It’s the end of my shift?” I stated.

“Duh,” she huffed, “So you are going to move your butt, say goodbye to your aunt, and get your things? I’m hungry and I want to get a bite to eat before you drop me off at the
conservatory.”

“Eat your muffin,” I mumbled as I untied my apron, “and give me five minutes, will you?”

Harper shrugged and walked over to a small booth where she began ripping pieces off her muffin and daintily popping them in her mouth. I ran through to the back room and hung my apron on a rung. Then I picked up my purse and my coat. Running out, I said a brief goodbye to my aunt and met Harper at the door.

“Well, you ready now?” Harper asked with a fake patient voice.

“Yes, yes,” I pushed her out the door, “Let’s go.”

“Jeez, Charlotte,” she said once we were out of the café, “Why are you always so pushy?”

“I’m not,” I replied, “But you are always so impatient.”

“True.” Harper took a sip of her Izzie, “Now, as I was saying over the phone last night, there’s someone I want you to meet at my dance studio, so we better hurry up so we can get there
early.”

“Okay, fine,” I adjusted my coat and looked to the road signs, “Which way are we going?”

“Umm to the alley,” Harper looked at me like I was crazy, “I had my driver wait for us back there. There’s no way I’m walking in this weather, it’s freezing.”

“It’s really only fifty degrees,” I pointed out.

“Yes, but I am wearing a leotard and tights, ergo we take the car,” Harper said as she grabbed my wrist and impatiently dragged me to the alley where a formal black car waited for us.

I felt awkward as I entered the car with Harper. She acted like it was no big deal, which for her I suppose it wasn’t. Her family lived in the fancy suburban area of Boston and had her attend Newman High even though she was not-so-secretly fond of the performing arts which to be honest, our school was lacking in Harper’s standards. With her father being the CEO of a rather successful law firm and her mother being an interior designer that could out decorate Martha Stewart, it was a rather well-known fact that the Dales family was rather well-off.

However, unlike most rich kids that often went to Newman High, Harper did not like to be known because of the depth of her father’s wallet. She was what we could call, a true rebel heiress. She was quite determined to be an actress or a dancer someday with spunk that had all the fashion magazines following her instead of Lindsey Lohan and Paris Hilton. Yes, my dearest friend Harper was quite determined to push beyond the civil ways of the high class “royalty” in order to outshine the rest. Yet, that didn’t mean that she didn’t go to “Daddy” whenever she wanted to take the private jet to London for Christmas break.

It always seemed odd to me that Harper picked me out of the many teenagers that went to Newman High. She liked to be the center of attention, and I liked to be in a quiet corner of the library somewhere writing in my notebook. It was our freshman year when I had first met her. She was taking a break from rehearsing for the school musical and decided to go to the library on an account of a headache that formed because of the stage music. The library was pretty quiet that day with barely a few people straggling around the computers or books.
But Harper found me in my usual corner and sat down next to me and asked, “You’re in my World History class, right?”

I answered with a shy, “Yeah, I suppose.”

“Your name is Charlotte, right?” She asked which had made me jump because I was surprised that anyone knew my name.

“Yes, and you’re Harper.” Of course I knew hers.

“Good,” she replied, “Then I don’t feel awkward by sitting with anyone I don’t know. Now if you don’t mind…” And she laid her head down on the desk and fell asleep. And we’ve been friends ever since…

When we arrived at the conservatory that Harper took dance lessons from, she turned to the driver and said, “Okay, remember to pick me up at seven-thirty. I might call you just to remind you.” She turned to me briefly, “Wait, do you want James to wait here for you so you can get a ride home?”

“No, that’s okay,” I said to both Harper and James, “My apartment isn’t far from here.”

“Are you sure?” Harper looked nervous, “It’s been getting darker much earlier around here.”

“Honestly, Harper, I walk home every day, I’ll be fine,” I reassured her. No need for awkward car rides with her driver.

“Okay, fine,” she turned to James again, “Seven-thirty, don’t forget.”

The minute we entered the conservatory, Harper had a certain look like she was home. She led me through the halls to the studio in which she was taking lessons. Just outside, we ran into a boy who was wearing sweatpants and a skintight tank stretching.

“Ahh, Charlotte, this is who I wanted you to meet,” Harper squeezed my arm and then called out, “Pierre, darling!”

He turned around and straightened up and smiled a very bright smile at her. “Harper, sweetheart,” he called back as he walked to us, “And is this your dearest friend Charlotte?”

“Um, yeah, that’s me,” I said bashfully.

“I’m so glad we finally got to meet,” Pierre pulled me into a hug which I had not been anticipating, “I’ve heard so much about you.”

When he let go of me, I replied, “I heard a lot about you too. You’re Harper’s dance partner, right?”

“He’s only the best dance partner in the entire company,” Harper grinned as she put an arm around him, “Lucky me.”

“Oh, Harper, stop it,” Pierre punched her playfully in the side, “You’re going to make me blush in front of your friend. So, Charlotte darling, are you thinking about joining the company?”

“Oh, God no,” I replied before I could stop myself, “I mean, I really can’t dance.”

“Charlotte’s a writer,” Harper said seeming to be proud of both Pierre and my talents.

“Of course, that’s right,” Pierre waved a hand, “I forgot you told me your best friend was a writer. Well, that is quite something in itself. Next time we meet, you must show me your best work.”

“Um, okay,” I started blushing. I never showed anyone my work before.

“Well, it was nice meeting you,” Pierre released Harper and pulled me into yet another hug, “Unfortunately, I must get inside. I need to speak to the instructor. Until we see each
other again, Charlotte, stay golden.”

I waited until Pierre was well into the studio room before I turned to Harper to see her glowing face, ready to ask me my opinion of Pierre. “So, what you think?”

“Well, I don’t mean to be judgmental, but is Pierre…”

“Gay?” Harper finished for me, “Yes, he is.”

“I was going for eccentric, but anyway.”

Harper brought a hand to her mouth and looked at me painfully, “Oh dear, when I asked you to meet Pierre, you didn’t think I was trying to hook you two up or something, did you?”

“No!” I replied, “I knew you just wanted to introduce me to your friend. I wasn’t aware that you were trying to hook me up with anyone actually…”

Harper, not really believing my answer even though it was the truth, replied immediately. “Don’t worry, Love,” she grabbed my hand and squeezed, “I’ll find you the
perfect guy some day.”

I sighed, “I don’t want ‘the perfect guy’, Harp. I don’t want any guy for that matter. I’m really glad I got to meet your dance partner, he’s very sweet. But please, don’t take this to mean I was looking for a guy.”

There was a silence while Harper took off her coat and hung it up on a hook near the rest of fancy coats and belongings. She turned back to me and looked at me with a sort of pity, “You don’t know what you’re missing.”

I just vaguely nodded. I heard her say that only a thousand times at least. Whenever she dragged me to parties, she’d promise me a guy by the end of the night. After a few times that she made this promise, I stopped arguing that I didn’t want to meet her hook-up guys.
By the end of the night, she would always forget her promise, which didn’t faze me too much. While at these eccentric house parties, I would sit by myself in the quietest corner where hopefully no one could see me; Harper, on the other hand, would be sitting on some guy’s lap flirting or making out.

And every time we left a party and walked back to my place, she’d swing from side to side, drunk; telling me all about the boy’s kissing technique. I let her think I was listening as I silently ensure she doesn’t do something she’d regret later. But always, just before we’d enter my apartment, she’d say, “Honestly, Charlotte, you really don’t know what you’re missing.”

I turned to the clock on the wall and looked up at Harper, “Well, I know what you’re missing. You probably should get into your class before your instructor gets mad at me for holding you up.”

“I can wait a few more minutes,” she scowled as she thought I was just trying to avoid a boy talk with her.

“Unfortunately, Harp, you have a friend who believes punctuality is very important. You should get in your class, and I better get home in time for dinner. I’ll see you tomorrow then?”

“I suppose,” Harper sighed.

I left the conservatory as quickly as I could with a brief wave over my back. Not to insult Harper, I tried not to look uncomfortable there. I was completely afraid that someone would walk out into the halls of the conservatory and realize that I didn’t belong there. So I made my exit as quit and as unnoticeable as possible.

Once I was back on the street of Boston, I took a breath of relief and made my way home. I liked the quiet of the streets of Boston. Sure, there were still some people there that were sketchy at best and the cars passed by without fail, but anyone could see that it was a much nicer and quieter city than New York or Los Angeles.

Only a block from my house, a man bumped into me as he was passing with his girlfriend.

“Sorry,” he said as he bowed his head quickly. He was very handsome.

I smiled shyly, “No problem. It’s alright.” Definitely not from the city, I remarked in my head. Most people bump into you and at best utter an apology as they continue on their way.

His girlfriend looked at me uncertainly and turned away, pulling the man along. The way they held hands and looked at each other when they were farther away from me, made it seem like the rest of the world melted away so only they mattered. I admired their love from a distance.

Harper’s words rang in my head, “You don’t know what you’re missing…”

It was moments like these that made me wonder if she was right.