I’m not good at feelings. Or talking. Or much of anything, really.

Well, no.

That’s not true.

I have an excellent memory.

Eidetic, to be exact. You’d probably know it as photographic. Like a camera, you know?


Which is, coincidentally, exactly why I have not got up from my seat yet to introduce myself.

Because since I am not skilled at talking or feelings or talking about my feelings for that matter, I will inevitably make an idiot of myself. And then remember all of it again and again in excruciating detail. I will have an entire mental scrapbook dedicated to it. My excellent memory will keep every moment on instant replay.

Click! Click! Click!

…How do you introduce yourself to someone you’ve never met, anyway?


Don’t be ridiculous. No one just says “hi” to strangers they see in a coffee shop. You need an “in”. Or at least something clever. Something witty. Something…

Something more than a great memory.

I mean, you could order her favorite drink and have it sent over, or ask her how she liked the book she was reading last week since she didn’t have it with her this week–but then she’s more likely to think that you’re a stalker.

I’m not a stalker. I just don’t forget things. And she’s hard to not notice. But I’m not sure you can tell people that you’re not a stalker without them then irrevocably labeling you as a stalker.

Oh my god, what if I am a stalker? What if I have been stalking her subconsciously?

No. Stop it. Don’t be weird.

I can’t not be weird.

I can’t even look at her without thinking that based solely on the books I’ve seen her read every week, I want to make out with her brain.

You can’t tell a person you want to make out with their brain. I’m pretty sure that can get you a restraining order. And I don’t know if I could be more restrained than I already am, even if I was ordered.

Oh my god, Katie, just go say something. Anything. Maybe you’ll hit it off, maybe you’ll make a fool of yourself and never see each other again, anything is better than this in-between.

Limbo is a stupid place to be in. I’m glad the Catholic Church got rid of it. I do feel sorry for the babies though. And the people who were good but not Catholic. And me. Oh crap, limbo was my in!

I’m getting off topic.

I clicked my fingernails against the small cafe table and my stomach shuddered.

Just go do it.

I managed to stand and grabbed my book bag, giving myself an easy way to chicken out or bolt for it if it went horribly wrong.

This is going to go horribly wrong.

Isn’t it better to remember how you tried and fell on your face then recalling how you sat in the corner and mulled over the ways you COULD have screwed up but never actually did?


I took a deep breath and made my way over. Cafes are surprisingly larger than you think once they turn into your own personal gauntlet. She looked up from her drink. White chocolate, two shots, no whipped cream. Same as always. She raised a dark eyebrow and her lips almost smiled.

I finally exhaled. “Hi.”

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