Des Moines, Iowa
Holly noticed the neighbor kid, Zoey, come into the coffee shop with another girl. She was busy bagging a new shipment of coffee, grinding and pouring big bags of the shop's signature bean into small bags for retail sale.
As soon as she was done, she took a cloth to wipe down the tables. It was an excuse, but, she thought, a smooth one. "Hey, Zoey," she said as she came to the girls' table. "We met last night at the neighborhood meeting."
"Yeah, umm . . ."
"Holly," she supplied. She sat at their table. "Umm, I just want to say . . . about Maggie. Don't let her get to you."
Zoey rolled her eyes. "Or Jack. Or Mr. Harrish. Or—"
"Nicky?" Holly said. "She'll come around. She's just read too many radical feminist manifestos and not met enough real trans people. And the others, they just don't know what to think. Give them time."
Zoey nodded. "I guess. Well, thanks."
"So what are you girls up to?" Holly asked as she stood.
"Just trying to talk Sarah out of her major," Zoey joked, indicating her friend.
The plump blonde smiled and shook her head. "It's not that dangerous," Sarah said, rolling her eyes. "Seriously, one incident."
"Incident?"
"Didn't you see the news?" Zoey asked.
"The attack in Miami?" Holly guessed. "Yeah, that sounded awful. Five dead."
"Sarah wants to be a social worker, work with the homeless," Zoey explained.
"One mentally ill man! Working with the homeless isn't dangerous because one mentally ill man goes nuts one time," Sarah said.
"Is that what happened?" Holly asked. "Cuz some people are saying . . ."
Sarah shook her head emphatically. "He had a mental health history, schizophrenia. And he was an addict, a bad combination. But not all homeless people are like that."