Sweet Dandelion

“Yeah. I take it you do, too?”

I nod. “I live here with my brother.”

“Is he around?”

“No, he left to run some errands. I’m actually hoping he’ll hang out with his friends.” Mr. Taylor arches a brow and I explain, “He’s neglected his social life since, you know, he got saddled with me. I don’t want to stop him from living his life.”

“I’m sure you don’t keep him from anything.”

“Believe me, I do.” I look down at my yellow vans. Bright against the black tile. “Have you met him yet?” I force my eyes up to meet his gaze. “He said you asked for a meeting.”

He shakes his head. “We haven’t scheduled anything yet.”

“Oh, okay.”

“Do you not want us to meet?” He doesn’t sound accusatory, only curious.

I tell him the same thing I told Sage. “You said I could trust you. I want to know I can.”

“I won’t tell your brother anything we talk about. That’s … I would never do that to you or any student.”

“Right. Thank you.” He adjusts a pair of glasses on his nose and because I hate awkward situations, I blurt, “I didn’t know you wear glasses.”

He’s totally Clark Kent now.

“Oh, yeah,” he touches the side of them, “I try to give my eyes a break from contacts on the weekend.”

“You look nice.” I wince. “I meant they look nice.”

He chuckles, but I want to crawl under the nearest table and hide.

Behind him I see the green car pull up that Ansel told me to watch for. “My friend is here. I better go.”

He steps to the side, out of my way. I take a few steps before he says my name.

“Yeah?” I turn around.

“I’m happy to see you’re making friends. It’s good for you.”

“I’m trying.”

“I know.”

It feels impossible to break contact from his intense stare, but somehow I manage to do it.

Climbing inside Ansel’s car, he gives me a quizzical look. “Who was that?”

“No one.” I pull the seatbelt across my body as he slides the gear into drive. “It was no one.”

“Okay, this place is cool.” I spin in a circle, looking around the coffee shop Ansel brought me to.

Watchtower Coffee & Comics is a simple place. The walls are a light gray, except for part of one that’s a chalkboard. Up top it says Watchtower and below it is the menu. The floors are concrete and there are plenty of tables to sit at and some comfy chairs if you want to grab one of the comics to curl up and read.

“Glad you like it.” Ansel gets in line behind three other people and I join him.

“You don’t strike me as the comic book kind of guy.”

His dark brow arches. “What kind of guy do you think I am?”