Our Stars and Their Faults

Our Stars and Their Faults

Sophie Anna

All Mason Grey wanted to do was buy a cup of coffee. But of course, he couldn’t do that without being bombarded by a barista. Sometimes, being an international pop sensation had its drawbacks. And sometimes, meeting an international pop sensation who just wanted a cup of coffee also had its drawbacks. 

What does the title ‘THE FAULT IN OUR STARS’ mean to you? To me, the title ‘The Fault in Our Stars’ means that everyone has faults, even our stars.

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           “Hi, can I get a large caramel mocha latte—extra sugar. Actually, can you just put as much sugar as you have in it? I have a thing in a few, and I shouldn’t be up at this hour, so I need the energy boost.” The barista before me just stared, not making a move to start preparing my latte or even enter my order into the touch screen computer thing. All she could do was look at me, and honestly, I couldn’t blame her. My face was pretty great, and if I were she, I totally would’ve checked me out instead of going to make a latte. But I wasn’t her, so I didn’t have the pleasure of checking me out. Instead, I was stuck with the hankering for a latte—which I wasn’t getting, because the chick behind the counter was still gawking. “Hello?”

           The girl blinked and then a took a deep breath. And then another one. And then one more. Finally, she opened her mouth to speak, but words didn’t come out. Her fingers were still frozen on the edge of the counter, and every muscle in her body seemed to be tensed. “You’re…” she trailed off.

           “I’m,” I said, “waiting for my caramel mocha latte, extra extra sugar.”

           Instead of going to get started on my latte, she finished her initial thought: “Mason Grey.”

           “Yeah, I am. Now, can you make my latte now?”

           “What are you doing here?” And that was a no. Honestly, it wasn’t that hard. You just had to get a cup, put some syrup or whatever in it, and then fill it with caramel and sugar and coffee and milk or something. I had seen people do it hundreds of times before, but for some reason this chick just couldn’t seem to figure it out.

           “I’m getting a latte,” I replied, tempted to just climb over the counter and make it myself.

           “Don’t you have people for that?” The way she said “people” was filled with disdain and all that. I was pretty sure that while she may have been star struck, she wasn’t exactly one of my biggest fans. Whatever. I didn’t really care right now if she had all of my albums or just my latest single. All I wanted was my latte. We could discuss her relationship with my music later, once I was comfortably sipping away at my drink.

           “Yeah, I do,” I sighed, “but I’m supposed to be going cold chicken on lattes, so they were given strict instructions by my manager not to get me any.”

           “Cold chicken?”

           “Yeah, isn’t that the expression?”

           “I think you mean cold turkey.”

           I snapped my fingers and nodded my head, turkey sounding much better than chicken. “That’s what it is! I knew it had something to with a bird!”

           Her eyes lost a layer of their initial captivation as she quirked her head to the side, still looking at me and not making my latte. “So if you’re not supposed drink lattes, why are you here?”