Finding Atlas

After school ended, I walked with Delphine to her locker as she called her mom to finalize her Halloween party plans. Unlike most teenagers, Delphine had nothing to hide from her parents, and unlike most parents, Mr. and Mrs. Savoie were all right with parties as long as they didn't fly out of control.

"So," I started as she hung up, "do you wanna have a study session at Bardia's?" I remember her giving me a pained expression, telling me she was about to decline my delicious offer. I eyed her suspiciously as I told her, "Don't tell me you're turning down some piping hot and beautiful beignets." She caved in, but only with a guarantee that she was leaving before three thirty because she had to practice for her violin concert. I had no idea that her early leave would make such a difference in my life.



After Delphine left, I was left with one extra beignet and a Lit essay to tackle. I had decided that moment that I needed a cup of extraordinary hot chocolate to carry on, so leaving my laptop, lone beignet, and a few textbooks at my table, I stalked over to the barista and ordered my drink.

"Would you like honey in your hot chocolate?" I froze, not only because of that accent, but because of the strangeness of the question. I'd been a loyal customer at Bardia's New Orleans Café since I was four—fourteen years of my life—and ordered their hot chocolate since I was seven, and never had I ever been asked that question before.

I looked up and there was Blondie, in all his mysterious glory, with my cup in one hand and a black marker in the other. Once I defrosted from his smoldering gaze, I shook my head and answered with a brief "No, thanks" and went back to my seat to wait. After two or three minutes, Blondie came and set a paper cup with a brown logo on top of my stack of textbooks.

"I put honey in it anyway, trust me when I say it's good." I looked up at him with a doubtful expression before I realized that the odd flow of his voice was because of a Cajun French accent, and a legitimate one at that. I looked down at the tag on his shirt, the name Atlas scrawled thinly in black ink.

"I didn't ask for honey, though," I said. He just shook his head and said, "Have a little faith, you never know what could surprise you." I was baffled by his brief philosophical lesson.

"I can't afford to have faith, there's too much to lose." I replied briskly, and he merely rolled his eyes at me.

"Just try the damn hot chocolate with honey." And he walked away. Unfortunately, he proved to be right because the moment I took a sip, I felt like I was in heaven.