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“They’re putting sugar crystals on top!”

“Oh, no.”

“Hell, yes,” says Ian, covering his eyes in embarrassment.

I’m kind of mad he’s hiding his eyes and part of his face behind his big hand. But not mad enough to admit that out loud. I’m too cool and uninterested. I’m also spectacular at telling myself lies.

I stare at Ian’s shoes: loafers and no socks, much more interesting than Ian’s stupid face.

“Let’s get this party started!”

Trixie arrives with a tray of drinks. She’s a savior. For Lucy, an iced latte macchiato, not because she likes them, but because they’re aesthetically perfect for her Instagram feed. Trixie hands me a cold-brew coffee with thick vanilla cream swirling through it to create a marble effect. It’s called the Cold Body.

“It’s strong enough to raise the dead,” Trixie told me the first day she slid it into my hands. I agree. It’s also perfect for all-nighters during final exams.

Trixie passes Ian a big, round ceramic mug. “And the green stuff.” She wrinkles her nose.

Ian excitedly accepts it.

I don’t know if it’s the coffee or the brief of addition of Trixie to our little circle, but courage strikes a flame in my throat and I ask, “What’s that?” before I chicken out.

“Matcha latte.” Ian takes a careful sip. “I hate the taste of coffee.”

“But you work at acoffee shop.”

“Irony and I are old friends,” says Ian. He nudges his glasses up. “It’s just a job.”

“Watch it,” Trixie says warningly but with a rare smile. She flicks his ear, returning to her post behind the bar.

I turn back to Ian. “Just a job?”

“My dad is big on the whole ‘a busy mind keeps trouble away’ motto,” says Ian. “I’m not involved in any after-school activities, something he’s not too happy about. Clubs or sports look good for college and all that.”

My friends have all had jobs, mainly during the downtime of summer or holiday breaks. Rio worked part-time at Jo-Ann Fabrics. Zac and Alex got fired from Pizza Hut after only two weeks—apparently getting high behind the dumpsters slows down production. When football season’s over, Jayden picks up shifts at one of his moms’ auto shop. Brook maintains his job at Regal Cinema year-round.

The café’s speakers are streaming soft music. I don’t know the song, but the melody sinks its teeth into my veins. My foot taps along to the hand claps.

“What’s this?”

Lucy doesn’t answer. She’s sitting sideways, legs dangling off the chair’s arm. Her head is tipped back and her eyes are closed; the day is finally catching up with her.

But Ian stares at me as if I’m an alien.

“What?”

“You don’t know this?”

I shake my head.

“It’s Kim Carnes,” Ian says, awed. “You really don’t know ‘Bette Davis Eyes’ by Kim Carnes?”

“Sorry. Should I?”

Ian’s lips part, as though he might say something. He shakes his head. “No. Sorry.” His glasses edge down his nose as he stares into his drink. “It’s just on a lot of my playlists. I have this thing for ’80s music. The songs from that era are so legendary.”

I can only count about ten ’80s songs I know, mostly thanks to Dad.

“My dad likes classical. But my mom…” Ian’s voice softly fades.