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“Is there a problem?” His voice was distant, but his fingers still tapping that constant, rapid-fire staccato.

“Um, no. Of course not.” I fled, flustered, jamming my hip into a nearby table edge.

Ouch. I suppressed yelp of pain. Crap. The bruise that would show up tomorrow would serve as a stern reminder of what happened when one gave in to adolescent urges. Cripes, even Norma had noticed my condition. I’d let this silly crush get way out of hand.

I put the order in and began assembling his lunch. Norma glanced over with professional interest. “The usual, I assume?” she asked.

“Unsurprisingly.” I popped a roll into the toaster grill, and scooped an enormous serving of Knorma’s Knockout Coleslaw onto a small plate.

“You’re ruining me with those portions, hon. Trust me. The fella’s not worth it.”

“Give it a rest, Norma,” I snapped, arranging the thick slices of tomato, radish rosebuds and carrot curlicues onto his plate.

I tossed on a handful of alfalfa sprouts, hesitated for the barest instant, and cut a substantial slice of sweet onion.

I added it with a flourish, since his breath was neither my responsibility nor my problem.

I scooped some oven-roasted rosemary potatoes onto the plate. Then added a few more.

The toaster pinged, and I pulled out the roll, still avoiding Norma’s gaze.

“What soup did he want?” Norma inquired.

“He doesn’t care. I’ll give him the three-bean. It’s good today.”

“Really? I don’t know, hon. Chicken might be safer. You know … gas?”

I snorted as I ladled his bowl full of soup. “He can learn to express a goddamn preference if he doesn’t like it.” I hefted the tray, and the soup slopped dangerously near the edges of the bowl.

“Easy does it, Nelly. He’s not going anywhere without his lunch.”

I gave her a withering look and carried out his soup.

When I brought out the rest of Mr. Hyper-Focused’s lunch, the only place to put the sandwich plate was the extreme edge of the table, which looked precarious.

He hadn’t even touched the soup yet. His big hands chattered ceaselessly on the keyboard.

I had to hand it to the guy. Nothing distracted him. It seemed almost pathological.

“That’ll be all.” His voice was cool and distant.

I backed away, still staring. I’d been summarily dismissed. Now that I had brought his sustenance, like a silent and dutiful handmaiden, the time had come to melt silently and unobtrusively into the walls. God forbid I disturb the grand master at his important work.

His refusal to look at me was really bugging me today.

I was getting genuinely pissy about it. I headed back to the kitchen, mentally ticking off the various issues I meant to cover in tonight’s discussion section on Emily Dickinson’s poetry.

The plight of women in nineteenth-century America.

Powerlessness. Arid celibacy. Secret, unrequited love.

Constraint. Corsets. The life of the imagination. Agonizing sexual frustration.

Things could always be worse. And yet, this reflection did not comfort me.

“Did everything go smoothly?” The smile in Norma’s voice drove me nuts.

“Smooth as silk.” I loaded ice water on a tray, marched past Norma with my chin up, and tripped over the edge of the plastic mat.

Crash. Glass broke, heads turned, water sloshed and spread, ice cubes rolled.

I took a breath to contemplate the extent of the damage, then got the dustpan and started picking up glass shards and ice cubes. Eyes down, mouth tight.

“Nelly. Honey.” Norma put her hands on her substantial hips, her eyes full of dismay. “You have got get out more.”

“Norma, I am in no mood for a lecture,” I said, through gritted teeth.

“My sister was almost murdered by a slobbering maniac. I’m short my rent because of all the lost work afterward.

My thesis adviser is on my case night and day to get damn thing finished.

I can’t get any sleep. And Lucia ... oh, God. Just let me be, okay?”

My face was dissolving. Norma tugged me up to my feet and wrapped me in a big, smothering hug.

“Oh, honey, I’m so sorry. What happened to Lucia was so shocking and horrible for you girls.

I didn’t mean to stress you out. And your sister getting attacked was really scary, but things have worked out, am I right?

She’s got that big, nice, tough-looking guy looking after her now, and he’s down for watching her like a hawk day and night, so things seem to be calming down a bit.

I’m sure that if Lucia would want you to have some fun, move on with your life! You know she would!”

I put my glasses back on, sniffling fiercely.

“I’m not in the mood for fun, Norma, no matter what Lucia might have wanted.

And I don’t mean to be rude, but I don’t have time for this lecture, either.

I need to get dessert for table six, table eight needs their check, and Monica is taking another cigarette break. ”

“Yes, yes. I’m sorry. Forget I said anything. But truthfully? I’m glad to see you taking a healthy interest in a likely looking man. All in all, that’s a good sign.”

I grunted something bad-tempered in response to that, and headed out to dump broken glass into the trash.

I had to struggle to compose myself to go out on the floor once again.

My eyes were red and puffy, but who cared?

Mr. Hyper-Focused would never notice. When I refilled his coffee, I asked, “Care for dessert?” I was just throwing it out there, because what the hell. If the sky fell, I would barely notice.

“The usual,” he said flatly. Not looking at me.

I hesitated for a moment, then let ‘er rip. “Are you sure you don’t want to try something new? We have fresh strawberry shortcake on sweet hot butter biscuits today, and the pecan fudge brownies are wonderful, too. Served with whipped cream.”

His hands froze over the keyboard. “I’m sure they’re all good. Give me the usual.” ‘And no back talk’ was the subtext. He was impatient with me. Huh. That alone was more attention that I’d gotten from him thus far in the past several weeks.

I sighed, and went to get him his goddamn apple crumb pie with vanilla ice cream.

As always, when he finished, he closed his laptop, dropped bills on the table that covered the check as well as a very generous tip, and left without a backward look. The guy had the imagination of a cement block. And the manners of a molting snake.

To hell with him. I was embarrassed for myself. Crushing out on a meat-headed, insensible, uncurious, indifferent, soulless, gearhead dweeb.

At least he tipped well, so there was hope for him as a human being.

The rest of the shift was a tired blur. I helped Norma start the dinner prep, and went to the bathroom to freshen up before going uptown to my discussion section. I took off my glasses, leaned close to the mirror, and squinted at myself. A critical onceover.

Norma was right. The round glasses were very eighteenth-century.

I think I’d been going for a Bronte sister vibe when I picked them out, but it was not a look that flattered me in the third millennium.

And my long, thick unstyled mop of black, curly hair was juvenile and nondescript and dowdy. And very heavy.

I twisted my hair up into a knot, letting curly wisps fall down around my ears and jaw.

Marginally better, but I didn’t have the technology to make it stay up there.

My eyes were my best feature. They were big and dark, with long lashes and thick eyebrows that I had to pluck regularly, or else they did a coup d’etat and took over my whole face.

A nice mouth, I conceded, if a little large for my jaw.

Norma and Monica kept nudging me to wear lipstick, but I always ended up wiping it off whenever I tried it.

All that bright red, ka-boom. My lips, taking over my face. It literally scared me.

I should be braver with lipstick. And maybe try contact lenses. And do something to my hair.

Most importantly, I should get my ass moving, or be late to my discussion group.

I splashed water on my face, hefted my heavy shoulder bag, and headed for the downtown bus. Why stress over my looks? What difference did it make? Who cared?

I had more pressing things to worry about … like staying out of the clutches of our nemesis, who Nancy had named Snake Eyes.

And who knew if I could pull that off.