Coffeehouse Angel by Suzanne Selfors Read Free Book Online Page B

Okay, so maybe I didn't remember the whole story. I glanced at the bottom of the page and read: "Take this bean," the strange man said. "It will bring you fortune."
    Huh? What a weird coincidence.
    The phone rang again. It w7as Elizabeth.
    "So, did he wait for you after school?"
    "Yeah." I pushed the book aside and told her all about the guy and the bean.
    "Did you eat it?"
    "No."
    "You should eat it."
    "What? That's crazy. Why would I eat it?"
    "Maybe it's crazy, but you never know. I wish someone would give me a magic bean.
    I'd wish for Face to notice me.
    Crap, I gotta go. My dad's flippin' out because I dented the car. It's just a little dent but he's going ballistic. See ya tomorrow."
    My jeans lay on the floor. I slid out of bed and plucked the bean from the pocket. The chocolate had worn away, staining the pocket's lining. I held the little bean in my fingers. Fortune would solve everything, wouldn't it? We could fix up the shop, buy an espresso machine, and hire more employees.
    As if. No way was I eating that thing. Alley Guy was a lunatic.
    And yet, I didn't throw it away. Why? For the same reason that I make a wish before I blow out my birthday candles, and look into the sky for the first evening star, and pull extra hard on the wishbone. Because, deep inside, like a Scandinavian craving caffeine, I craved change. I had been living a quiet life in the mundane middle, hidden in my two friends' shadows, but that wouldn't work much longer. When they left Nordby to pursue their dreams, I'd become visible, exposed for w7hat I was--nothing much at all.
    I set the little bean on top of my dresser.

Seven
    T uesday morning came, but you wouldn't know it without a clock. On days like that, the sun became almost mythic. People would say things like: "Remember when it was warm? When was that exactly?" After I had finished my cereal, a rainstorm descended upon Main Street. I peered out the back window. Fat drops rattled the Dumpster's lid. The alley's yellow lightbulb hummed. No one slept on the wet bricks.
    Hopefully he had gone home--back to his family and some medication.
    I made the coffee. Just as I was filling the jam pots, Elizabeth, a breathing kaleidoscope of patterns and colors, blazed through the front door. Her artistic expression was not limited to canvas.
    "Thought I'd give you a ride. It's like a typhoon or something." She brushed the rain off her striped raincoat. Then she sat on one of the stools and helped herself to a day-old pastry. Cinnamon icing oozed between her fingers.
    Elizabeth had a thing for sweets, and I mean a thing-- daily doses of white flour and glazed icing to the extent that, if stranded on a desert island, she'd go through withdrawal pains that would put a heroin addict to shame. She kept a platter of cookies near her easel and you could always find a candy bar or package of Ding Dongs in her glove box. Her particular favorite, marzipan, she ate straight out of the tube. Total junkie.
    Fortunately, Elizabeth was one of those perfectly proportioned plump people, like an hourglass. "Hourglass figures are classic," she often said.
    I'm one of those perfectly proportioned skinny people, like a flagpole. Flagpoles are patriotic. That's about the nicest thing I can say about flagpoles.
    "So, did you eat it?"
    "No."
    "Let me eat it. Maybe it will work for me." She wiggled on the stool. "Why let it go to waste? If it works, I'll share the money with you. Come on." There was no use in arguing with her. She wouldn't give up. That's how she had gotten her father to give her a car--two weeks of nonstop whining. Her dad deserved some credit, having lasted two weeks. I tended to fold quickly.
    "Come on. Give me the bean. Please? At least let me see it."
    "Fine." I went upstairs and collected the little bean from my dresser. Ratcatcher followed, batting at my ankles along the way. The faucet gurgled in the bathroom as my grandmother got ready for the day, her radio blaring down the hall.
    "Yuck,"