Wednesday, August 25, Afternoon

Xavier Uzual

Uncle Tasben’s apartment was a fourth story room in the heart of the Haight-Ashbury. The building was a run-down old place tainted with the smell of rent control.

About a month ago, our parents had been so ‘kind’ as to mail us the key to his apartment in advance, just in case. I suppose it speaks to their judgement of the kind of person Uncle Tasben was. And I suppose it speaks further that they wanted us to live with him anyway.

The door hinges were partially rusted shut. I tried the key and turned the knob to no effect.

“Let me try.” Xylia tackled the door once, twice, before it flew open, bashing against the wall behind it. The resulting bang echoed in the empty room.

It was completely dark. There was a crunch as Xylia stepped into the room. I looked down to see a pile of envelopes. She felt around in the darkness and flipped a switch.

A couple of light bulbs flickered to life. More than a few did not. I half expected to find a dead body. But no, rather than blood and gore, the apartment was covered in a layer of dust.

I picked up the mail; the oldest dated back to March. They were all addressed to ‘Tasben Uzual,’ so he was here, at least five months ago. Aside from one letter, it was all promotional garbage.

That one letter, it seemed, was hand-delivered. It was almost properly addressed, but had no stamp. I hesitated for a moment. It’s a federal crime to open mail that wasn’t addressed to you. But, again, it didn’t didn’t have a federal stamp, nor did I think Uncle Tasben would care. I tore it open.

Rental agreement… extended by a year? It was pretty recent, too, about a month ago. Someone had been sending in monthly rent checks, even in the five months that, clearly, no one had been here.

I set the letters down on the table. “Xylia.”

“Yeah?”

“It seems like Uncle Tasben is one of those legal guardians.”

“Yeah, it does.”

“Can you start wiping down the counter and the coffee table? Are there paper towels? Or a rag, or anything?”

She scanned the bathroom and around the kitchen. “Nothing.”

Add that to the shopping list. I opened up the cabinets. There were a few cans of non-perishables. The stacks were all of varying lengths, but I did noticed that one of them had less dust than the others. Presumably, the last time our uncle was here, he’d eaten a meal, and taken a can from that particular stack.

Xylia pulled the luggage into the sole bedroom. I grabbed the rest of the luggage from the walkway and did the same.

Not counting the closet space, the room itself was not much bigger than the bed frame that occupied it. I’d expected the apartment to be bigger, since it was supposed to house three people, but no, it was a kitchen that comprised of a stove and a sink, a bedroom--as in, a room that happened to have a bed--a bathroom, and a small living space (with a couch, thankfully).

There wasn’t even paper I could use to write a shopping list. I’d resigned myself to writing on the back of my train ticket.

“Xavy…” she tapped my shoulder. “Should we… call mom or dad?”

“Would it change anything?”

“You’re right.” Xylia lowered her gaze. “It’ll just be like when we were with Aunt Ophelia.”

Make the best out of a bad situation. It builds character. It’ll be a learning experience. Yeah, I’ve learned plenty: Xylia and I just aren’t important enough for them.

“It’ll be alright. We have each other.” I ruffled her hair and managed a smile. “It’ll be okay. Nothing we haven’t handled before, right?”

“Yeah… yeah.”

I shoved the train ticket into my pocket and made sure my wallet was still there. Aside from the (relatively nice) furniture, this apartment was barren. “We’ve got some shopping to do.”

“And food,” Xylia said. “We skipped lunch.”

As we exited the subway, Xylia charted a course on her phone from our location to the closest shopping center. Presumably, we’d be able to find a place to eat there. She sat at one of the benches as she punched away at the keypad.

I kept my gaze down. Don’t look at the flashing lights. Let’s not have two attacks in one day, shall we?

Still, though… thinking back to earlier, who was that person in the white robes. Was I dreaming? Was I losing it?

It was probably just all in my head. I shouldn’t worry too much about it.

“Okay, I got it,” Xylia said. “Follow me!” Exiting the station, Xylia looked up at the first street sign she saw. “Vermont Street. Well, this is our left.”

“Xylia, that’s an alleyway. Also, that doesn’t even look like a real street sign.” The sign in question was not nailed to a metal post, but instead to the side of a brick wall. “Are you sure about this?”

“Google maps seems pretty sure,” she said. “I mean, if we’re wrong, we’ll just turn around.”

I didn’t like the idea of walking down a shady alley like that, but she was right. No harm in looking. “Lead the way.”

About halfway through the alley, there was a small coffee shop, just hidden from view from the outside. It seemed to glow a faint orange.

Xylia tugged at my sleeve. “Can we just eat here? I’m starving.”

My sister didn’t look like she would last another half-hour. I was going to treat her to something nicer to make up for earlier, but I suppose this back alley coffee shop will have to do for now.

I pushed the door open. It was a warm little shop, but didn’t seem like the kind of place to get many customers, given it’s out-of-the-way location. But there were already two patrons there, a girl with long black hair, dressed in green, sitting in the corner, and an older man ordering in front of us.

The barista girl at the counter held one finger to her lip. She seemed to be just about my age.

“Don’t say it. A croissant and a latte with almond milk, correct?” She reached over and grabbed a croissant with a set of tongs. There were two croissant trays in the case. One of them, though, was empty.

“As always,” he said.

She began punching numbers into the machine, but paused, and fiddled with her ponytail. “Croissants are… Wait…” She leaned over to check. “Oh, right. Gotcha.” She rang up her order and looked to us. “Welcome to the Other Coffee House. I can help you whenever you’re ready.”

The guy stood off to the side. Xylia placed both hands on the counter and leaned over it. “I’ll have two croissants and two muffins! And, two blueberry danishes!”

“Sure. Will that be all?”

“Hm… Xavy, do you want anything?”

But you ordered two of everything just now. I’ll just eat what you don’t. I shook my head. There’s no way she’d be able to finish all of that. And, I’d stop her if she tried.

The barista rung up our order. I paid. “So, you two are new to this city, aren’t you?” As she spoke, I noticed another barista in the back, who made the guy’s drink and leaned over to look at us.

“Just because we’re not regulars? Don’t you think that’s a little presumptuous?”

She raised an eyebrow and tapped a finger against the countertop. Her fingers seemed kind of jittery. “Oh? But what if I can prove it?”

I just wanted my food. “Then prove it.”

There was a glint in her eye. I noticed that the edges of her eye’s sclera were tinged with red. “First, you’re not a regular here. But you’re here, in a coffee shop hidden away in an alley. Near the exit of the alley, there’s a Starbucks. If you wanted coffee or pastries, most people would’ve gone to the Starbucks. So, how did you end up here? Let’s do a little imagining.” The barista thought for a bit. “Why did you come here, instead of going there? Surely, an established chain would attract your eye more than an alley shop.”

I hadn’t even noticed that there was a Starbucks at the end of the alley. Maybe I hadn’t been paying attention.

“There’s a good chance that it’s because you didn’t see it, because you entered the alley from the other side. However, that raises another question. Why did you enter the other side of the alley? What’s there?” She grinned. “I happen to know that there’s a sign bolted to the wall, that reads, “‘Vernnont Street.’ It’s between the exit to the subway station and the actual, ‘Vermont Street,’ and tends to trip up people unfamiliar with Privid City’s geography. So then, given that you’re unfamiliar, you’re either a tourist, or you’re new to the city. But you don’t have bags, or cameras, or anything that would suggest that you’re a tourist, I conclude that you’re probably new in town.”

The barista struck a pose.

“How’s that?”

Next to me, Xylia started clapping. “Oh… that’s pretty good!”

“Half-decent.” There were a number of possibilities that she didn’t account for. It was founded on the idea that we didn’t go to the Starbucks because we didn’t see it. Therefore, I could pull that deduction apart by claiming that either Xylia or I had an aversion to chain stores. Or, that by claiming that we’d heard about this place, and thus headed directly here. But, it wasn’t bad.

“Oh? I don’t suppose you can do better?”

I exchanged a glance with Xylia. I probably could. Xylia grinned at me, as if to say, ‘Well, can you?’

Yeah, of course I could. I looked again at the barista.

She was wearing a white, collared button-up shirt underneath a uniform apron. She sleeves were wrinkled, even though the cuffs were buttoned. She’d rolled up her sleeves for some reason, at some point during the day. Her apron had creases that split it into fourths. That must be how she folded it when on the go.

The skin around her left wrist was kind of raw. She probably wore a watch there, but took it off for work. Probably right-handed, too. No guarantees, though.

Her hands...

“You shouldn’t drink so much coffee,” I said. “It’s no substitute for a good night’s sleep.”

“Oh?”

“Your fingers won’t stop jittering” I said. “A symptom of too much caffeine intake. Now, your eyes. The edges are red. Sleep deprivation.” There might’ve been dark rings around her eyes, but they might’ve been masked by makeup, so I left them out.

“Anyone could see that,” the barista said.

I held up one hand. “I’m not done yet. The croissants. Just now, you had the previous customer’s order memorized. You must be pretty familiar with you job. But I find it odd, then, that you momentarily forgot how much the croissants costed. Lapses in memory are a symptom of sleep deprivation as well. You could make the argument that croissants aren’t very popular, but turn your attention to the trays. There’s two trays croissant trays, and one of them is empty. This implies that they are, in fact, quite popular.”

I pointed at her.

“Given that, I conclude that you’re sleep deprived, and have been patching it up with more coffee than you normally consume.” I said, “Good enough for you?”

The other barista handed a bag with the pastries to Xylia, then bopped the barista girl on the head with a mixing spoon. “See, Kotone? Even the customers can tell.”

“I’ll be fine, Jacob. Don’t worry about me.”

The older barista flashed a lopsided grin. “I’m your boss. That’s my job.”

She looked away. After a pause, she looked back at me and Xylia. “We’ll call it a tie. By the way. I’m Kotone. Nice to meet you.”

“I’m Xylia!” My sister extended a hand across the counter and grabbed the barista’s. Xylia looked at me for a good two seconds. I don’t give my name to strangers. She knows that. “That’s my brother, Xavier.”

Kotone and I exchanged a wordless nod. My favorite kind of interaction.

“We’re transferring into Mendax High,” Xylia said.

“Oh, Xylia and Xavier Uzual?” she asked. “I saw your files the other day.”

I was instantly on edge. “What do you mean?”

“There’s a student council program to show new students around. And since we’re understaffed right now… I am the reinforcements.”

That’s probably what’s keeping her from getting sleep. I felt a pang of sympathy for her. This is why I stay away group projects. Because invariably, everyone else is busy, but someone’s gotta get the work done.

“In that case, why don’t you guys exchange numbers?” I said.

“Oh, good idea,” Kotone said. “I’ll save us the trouble of having to do it tomorrow.” She spared a glance at her boss.

He looked the other way. “Oh, I’ve gotta go check on some inventory. I’ll be back in like a minute.”

When I turned my attention back to Kotone again, she had extended her hand with a number on the screen. Instinctively, I looked away. “Here.”

Xylia took notice of the charm dangling from the side. A ring with an eight pointed star in the middle. “Hey, that’s the key, from Cardcaptor, right?”

“Oh, you watch it?”

As they continued to talk, I excused myself.

The guy in front of us had found a place near the girl with long hair. So, not in their side of the cafe. Before I turned away, the girl with long hair brushed back a lock and pressed her ear. I noticed that she was wearing an earpiece.

It seems that Xylia’s getting along with the barista. That’s good. I don’t know how long it is we’ll stay in this city, but for what it’s worth, it’ll be easier on her if she’s got some friends while we’re here.

As for myself, though, it’ll be easier to pick up and leave if there’s nothing to gather. My epilepsy makes me hesitant to use my phone, anyways. Not like I had anyone to contact. I saw to it that that was the case.

I’ll be fine. You don’t need to worry about me.

Hadn’t that girl said the same thing? Maybe I weren’t like this, we’d be able to get along. I took another bite. Oh well. We’ll never know.

My gaze wandered to the clock hanging on the wall. I wanted to finish shopping and go home before it got too late.

“Xylia, we should get going.” I stood up and stepped towards the door.

“Okay.” She trotted over to where I was standing, and cast a wave back at Kotone. Out of courtesy, I did too.

The door shut behind me.

“New friend?”

Xylia paused for a moment. “Maybe.”

Maybe. You could say that about anyone, though. That’s just the way people are. No one is going to present themself as anything but friendly to a complete stranger.

So then, how can you tell if someone friendly is going to stay friendly? Or that they’ll stick around once you’ve moved away? Xylia phone jingled, again. She pulled it out of her pocket and flipped it open. Some junk text.

You never know. It’s a gamble with an infinitesimal chance of winning.

“You should give it a shot,” I said. I felt a little sick saying it. The hypocrisy was dripping from my voice.

But Xylia had a blank stare.

Finally, she looked up at me and smiled. “I’m a big girl now, you know? I’ll be fine.”

“You’ll always be my baby sister.” I ruffled her hair.

“Hey, stop that. Besides, like I said. I’m not a kid anymore. I think it’s about time I stop trying to be one.” Xylia said, “I don’t really need to keep making friends, huh?”

“That’s not…” My voice felt like it was caught. Stuck.

“Isn’t it the same for you?” She kept smiling, but it felt very cold. “I’ll be okay from here on out.”

I couldn’t say anything.

“Besides, who needs those guys when I’ve got a dumb older brother?” She laughed, reached up, and ruffled my hair. “Come on, don’t we have shopping to do?”

Finally, my voice came unstuck. “Yeah.”

I did this.