Flytrap

Chapter One

Downtown Manhattan

September 15, 2024

A familiar and pleasant ding greets me as I walk into the door of my second home. 

The Yellow Brick Barista. The Oz of downtown Manhattan. It was the absolute best place to come after a stressful day of school bustle. I breathe in the smell of coffee grounds and baked goods- instant therapy. From the name you might expect it to be a very bright, or maybe even forest like theme. But there were no poppies, no tree designs, no winding yellow brick road. It was a very comforting, rustic appeal. It did include a dark yellow brick wall with a dark brown wooden floor. Lighter wooden booths sit next to the bar against the left wall with matching tables in front of them. To the right, a decent sized bookshelf stands- ready for free in-restaurant reading. Next to that, you'll notice quite a few little doodles on a giant blackboard that stood adjacent from the bar. Upon it lay a multitude of various chalk colors that customers can use to spend some creative time drawing. 

Several  small wooden tables and chairs scatter the remainder of the place, offering enough seating that it needed. I walked up to the bar and sat on a bar stool, whistling loud enough to catch Tony's attention while eyeing some sweets in the display. I am so hungry. I refused to eat the schools lunch today, I knew Friday lunch was the sloppy "spaghetti" so called... I didn't even bother bringing the money to pay for it.  

I wasn't ready to start the school year as a Senior. I was tired of school. I was tired of pretending like I knew how to relate to half of the people in that institution. And I was scared that the expectation would be too much for me to continue the "I give a shit" facade. But most off all, I was so sick of those stupid school lunches. 

I lick my lips at the tasty looking sandwich on the open menu sitting on the counter...

"Grace! I was wondering where you were! A few minutes later and I would have concluded your parents found you out. Don't scare me like that!" 

I feel my eyes wrinkle with a genuine smile. "Tony!" I was met with an engulfing bear hug. The smell of scones and coffee grounds take over my senses. Home. I look up at him, smile still adorning my features. With a beard and a mustache like that trailing behind a name like Tony, you would think he would be running a pizza place, not a coffee business. 

Tony always cared deeply for me. From the first moment I walked into his barista, he instantly reached me on a personal level that I could only compare to family. So in that sense, I regarded him with the same respect as a daughter would her father. I opened up to him about my home life- the strict lifestyle that I slaved away day by day awaiting an opening for escape. 

"I'm sorry, Tony. A teacher wanted to talk to me a few minutes after class about my grade performance in Drama. I'm okay. My parents still think I'm part of some after-school extra credit club." 

Yes, I lie to my parents. Yes, Tony is all in, hands down. As soon as my foot touches the welcome mat of my parents house, I've pressed the "go" button for chores galore. Make dinner, do dishes, make coffee, sweep, vacuum, run baths, so many more things. And on top of it all, I had to do homework and be in bed by ten. This one lie was my only way out. A way to breathe. And I had no shame taking advantage of it, regardless of any later consequences.

"I guess I'll forgive you this time," he replies mockingly, "you want a cake ball? We have a few experimental ones left. Being a gold star customer, you've earned top notch cake ball rights to be the first taste tester." 

I laugh, "Oh, a promotion! About time! Of course I'll take one." 

He smiles and heads to the back to find one. I sit at a stool beside the old brick wall and take out my sketch pad. I begin to sketch abstract scribbles in random places to let it take shape of whatever it was destined to. I don't choose my art. I let my pencil express itself; I'm philosophical like that. I chuckle at myself, connecting swirls and slashes. I rotate the sketch in several angles, finding different characters within the lines. I think it will turn into a plant of some sort. I settle with that and begin the transformation. 

The pleasant ding chimes again, indicating a customer. I look up to where Tony disappeared and yelled his name to catch his attention before glancing toward the entrance. A girl stood about 5"5, skinny as a pretzel. Her black hair drapes over a moss green shirt that exposes feminine shoulders; her dark skinny jeans complete with converse shoes. She stands there for a few seconds, hands in her pockets as she searches the franchise for a place to sit. She settles down a few tables from me. 

Tony reappears by the register and smiles at the girl, "Welcome to The Yellow Brick Barista! New faces are always welcome, is there anything you're looking for?" She doesn't answer. She barely looks at him. She just sits there, looking around. I couldn't look away from her fair complexion, noticing a small mark on the right side of her neck. I start to look closer, trying to decipher the nature of the abrasion until she turns her head toward me and looks me dead in the face. I look away, panicked. 

I look back at her in a split second to introduce myself, but she was already looking away and I lost the gut. I then look at Tony, whose watching me with raised eyebrows. I narrow my look and silently mouth, "what?" He raises his hands and shakes his head without a word. Rolling my eyes, I get up from the stool, "I'll take a rain check on those cake balls. I probably need to be heading home." Tony nods, "See you tomorrow, Gray." 

As I pass by the girl, she looks up at me. This time I make a conscious effort not to glance at the spot on her neck. I smile at her, but she doesn't return the favor. Taking a new approach, I compliment her shoes, "I've always loved converses. You pull them off pretty good." 

She just looks down at her shoes and back up at me, "Do you need something from me?" 

I open my mouth and close it again. Thinking of what to say to that, I look away. 
"They have great muffins here if you're looking for a snack," I settle with a hint of aggression. I take that as my exiting statement, but I couldn't stop myself from a mid walk mutter, "sounds like you really need it." 

I set out walking, my bag one strapped across my right shoulder. What the hell was up with her? I've never seen her around, and I've been in that coffee shop nearly every day for the last three years. What brought her to the shop? And why was she so negative with such a friendly approach? She walks into a place, and just sits there. 

It was possible that she simply wasn't a sociable person. A lot of bookworms you find in a coffee place aren't really there for conversation. They're there to get away or immerse themselves in a story or a coffee flavor. But she didn't order anything or pick up a book. Odd. 

What's more, in all my observation of fellow students at Maple High, I have never seen her lurking the halls. And from the looks of her, she was old enough to be in my class. Where did she come from? 

Her voice echos in my mind. A thick honey sound, sweet yet with a soft rasp. Sweet but with a spice on her tongue.  Get a grip.

I round a block, kicking a decent sized stone. I look behind me with a jolt of unexplained insecurity, but nothing was there. Grasping my shoulder strap with both hands, I pick my pace up slightly. I decide to put the thoughts of no-name on hold. The house wasn't much further, not like I was riveted. I sigh. 

Almost there. From here, I could see the towering maroon, brick building squeezed between two others. An ordinary fence enclosing the non-existent yard, visually capturing the incarceration that it was. 

I open the gate with a loud creak and close it back behind me. Opening the door of my parents' domain was like opening the doors of Limbo. The house was booming with angry voices and yells. I ghost by silently to my bedroom to prepare for the daily routine. The sooner I go to sleep, the sooner the next day will grant me more time out of here.