all spiky blue hair and leather, with eyeliner and silver rings on his fingers. I wonder if the band’s name, Anubis’ Arrow, threw him off and he came expecting goth rock.
“I just have to work in the morning.” On the stage, David sings a song I haven’t heard before, so it must be new. That annoys me more, since they’re pulling out new material to keep the show going. “You a fan?”
“No.” He points to my t-shirt. “But I’m guessing you are.”
“I’m with the band. I design their stuff. Posters, CD covers, this.” I tug on the material. It has the band’s name in a font I designed along with a pyramid and a stylized image of a jackal. I don’t mention that this is all my year of graphic design school has amounted to.
His gaze stays on my shirt for a long moment. He smiles up at me. “So you’re an artist?”
An art school drop out, but that’s practically the same thing. “A little bit.”
“You can’t only be an artist a little. It’s part of your soul.” He lifts his beer, looks at it, and puts it back on the bar untouched.
“Had enough, huh?” I ask. I sip my water in had-too-much-solidarity.
“You could say that.”
“That’s cryptic.”
“Thank you for noticing.”
The song ends and mercifully, they don’t go into yet another one. David thanks everyone for coming. Brian takes the microphone and says, “Ladies,” with a gratuitous wink to the crowd, before David pushes him off and thanks the club for having them. Then, finally, the show is over and the lights come up.
I look around and spot Katy. She’s still at her table with the hot stranger and has a pen in hand. Probably trying to remember her phone number. “I should go.”
“Already? I didn’t even get to use my best line.”
Goth guy is flirting me. The realization makes me laugh at loud.
Encouraged, he clears his throat and puts out his hands as if about to give a Shakespearean soliloquy. “Do you come here often?”
I laugh again. “Not really. You?”
“I live around the corner, so more than I should. I’m Zach, by the way.” He extends a ring-laden hand. I shake it.
“Hannah. And I should really go. Early shift and all.”
“See you around, Hannah.”
I sling my purse over my shoulder and head over to my drunken friend. Her guy passes me on the way to the bar to pay his tab. He is really hot, I’ll give Katy that.
I get Katy into a cab and have it wait while I walk her to her front door. She drops her keys and erupts into another giggle fit, so I get the door open and settle her on the sofa.
“Sorry, Hannah,” she slurs.
“It’s okay.”
It’s not, because I have to be up and ready to serve customers in less than four hours. I put her keys on the counter with a note that her car is still at the club and I’ll come by after work tomorrow.
By the time I get into bed, my alarm is set to go off in less than three hours. I swear to never go to a show on a work night again.
CHAPTER TWO
The opening shift at Coffee Harbor is the bane of my existence. I’m not a morning person and even free coffee can’t make up for having to drag myself out of bed at four-thirty. No one should have to be awake at that hour, especially when it’s cold and rainy outside.
I push my roommate’s gray cat, Ariel, off of my clean laundry pile and dig around for my purple polo that serves as my uniform shirt. It’s too early for makeup. I put my messy red hair into a ponytail, put on lip balm, and walk the four blocks to the coffee shop.
My first course of action is to make myself a very strong hazelnut latte.
Coffee Harbor has a decent-sized seating area with polished wooden tables and blue plastic chairs. A shelf of books and board games sits to one side. Paintings of islands and ship harbors decorate the walls. A fishing net hangs in one corner, filled with plastic crabs and fish that are a hassle to dust.
The manager, Joe, is a guy who
“I just have to work in the morning.” On the stage, David sings a song I haven’t heard before, so it must be new. That annoys me more, since they’re pulling out new material to keep the show going. “You a fan?”
“No.” He points to my t-shirt. “But I’m guessing you are.”
“I’m with the band. I design their stuff. Posters, CD covers, this.” I tug on the material. It has the band’s name in a font I designed along with a pyramid and a stylized image of a jackal. I don’t mention that this is all my year of graphic design school has amounted to.
His gaze stays on my shirt for a long moment. He smiles up at me. “So you’re an artist?”
An art school drop out, but that’s practically the same thing. “A little bit.”
“You can’t only be an artist a little. It’s part of your soul.” He lifts his beer, looks at it, and puts it back on the bar untouched.
“Had enough, huh?” I ask. I sip my water in had-too-much-solidarity.
“You could say that.”
“That’s cryptic.”
“Thank you for noticing.”
The song ends and mercifully, they don’t go into yet another one. David thanks everyone for coming. Brian takes the microphone and says, “Ladies,” with a gratuitous wink to the crowd, before David pushes him off and thanks the club for having them. Then, finally, the show is over and the lights come up.
I look around and spot Katy. She’s still at her table with the hot stranger and has a pen in hand. Probably trying to remember her phone number. “I should go.”
“Already? I didn’t even get to use my best line.”
Goth guy is flirting me. The realization makes me laugh at loud.
Encouraged, he clears his throat and puts out his hands as if about to give a Shakespearean soliloquy. “Do you come here often?”
I laugh again. “Not really. You?”
“I live around the corner, so more than I should. I’m Zach, by the way.” He extends a ring-laden hand. I shake it.
“Hannah. And I should really go. Early shift and all.”
“See you around, Hannah.”
I sling my purse over my shoulder and head over to my drunken friend. Her guy passes me on the way to the bar to pay his tab. He is really hot, I’ll give Katy that.
I get Katy into a cab and have it wait while I walk her to her front door. She drops her keys and erupts into another giggle fit, so I get the door open and settle her on the sofa.
“Sorry, Hannah,” she slurs.
“It’s okay.”
It’s not, because I have to be up and ready to serve customers in less than four hours. I put her keys on the counter with a note that her car is still at the club and I’ll come by after work tomorrow.
By the time I get into bed, my alarm is set to go off in less than three hours. I swear to never go to a show on a work night again.
CHAPTER TWO
The opening shift at Coffee Harbor is the bane of my existence. I’m not a morning person and even free coffee can’t make up for having to drag myself out of bed at four-thirty. No one should have to be awake at that hour, especially when it’s cold and rainy outside.
I push my roommate’s gray cat, Ariel, off of my clean laundry pile and dig around for my purple polo that serves as my uniform shirt. It’s too early for makeup. I put my messy red hair into a ponytail, put on lip balm, and walk the four blocks to the coffee shop.
My first course of action is to make myself a very strong hazelnut latte.
Coffee Harbor has a decent-sized seating area with polished wooden tables and blue plastic chairs. A shelf of books and board games sits to one side. Paintings of islands and ship harbors decorate the walls. A fishing net hangs in one corner, filled with plastic crabs and fish that are a hassle to dust.
The manager, Joe, is a guy who
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