15 | Gelatin Cups

I absolutely hated Twenty-Four Hour Tuesday.

To explain it simply, Twenty-Four Hour Tuesday was the day of the week when the shop was open for – you guessed it – twenty-four hours. It began precisely at twelve a.m. on a Tuesday, and ended very late that night. Hence, Mom had to split shifts for the staff, so obviously I got to work for a few hours. Meaning, my sleep time was taken away from me brutally.

No, Mom didn't wake me at twelve midnight, but instead I got to work before sunrise, at five in the morning. Twenty-Four Hour Tuesday was a wonderful idea, really, because it was a time when one could get chocolate in the middle of the dark hours without wondering where to go. But when it meant working way before my wake time, I despised the event.

It was a day when coffee was a supply high in demand for both the staff and the customers.

During one of my first Twenty-Four Hour Tuesdays, I had stayed up later than my usual which resulted into my face dunking itself on a beautiful bowl of batter when I was nodding off. I had worked like a zombie those times, cooking in a daze and walking around aimlessly. I had to be thankful I haven't worked in the bathrooms during these times or else I would've napped in the stalls, my head gurgling into the toilet bowl.

Yawning, I laid my head on my fist and leaned on the counter. My eyelids were as heavy as lead, and my body refused to cooperate. Workers darted around me in the shop's kitchen, fueled by either coffee or sugar. I repeatedly slapped myself on my cheeks; I needed caffeine pronto.

Towing my feet and slouching low, I approached Mom, who was barking orders behind outside the kitchen. "I proclaim this a ridiculous idea and that I should go back to sleep," I told her straightforwardly.

She looked at me up and down, "Clip your eyes open, Ollie. It might scare the customers."

"But mother!"

Mom grabbed both my shoulders and fixed my posture to be straight. I felt like a robot. She tucked strands of hair away from my face and smoothed the wrinkles and edges of my tucked in shirt. "Go to the bathroom and wash up – and you better not take your time. Then go back to cooking. You don't want another accident, do you?"

I knew she would forever hold that against me.

But I held myself from arguing back and marched to the bathrooms, which was thankfully empty. I had already taken a hot and a cold shower, hoping one of those two could wake me up, but it was useless. I should've bathed in coffee, instead. I had even shaken my head vigorously and did a little one-minute exercise, followed by pinches on my arms.

They were all useless.

I ignored my reflection on the mirror; I already knew I looked hideous, anyway. I turned on the tap and started splashing water on my face, getting my shirt a little wet. Then, I rested my forehead against the sink, making sounds the average human was probably incapable of producing.

Finally, I was slightly awake after the stress release. I madly ran out of the bathrooms, almost knocking down a customer on the way and stopped in front of Mom, who was staring at me in amusement. She motioned to her face and I huffed and pushed the wet hair clinging to my nose and cheeks.

"You should really give me a raise, Mom," I told her, "And now that I don't look like a walking corpse – sort of – I can debate with you."

"Oliver," she tossed me an apron, "You have a new job and your shifts here are lessening. Should I really give you a raise?"

"Yes!" I exclaimed exasperatedly, "You should! I didn't wake up at three a.m. in the morning to work a job I don't like for a few dollars!"

"You complain in front of me and you woke up later than the others," she motioned at the staff doing their work, "Look at them, Ollie, they're doing things right." I took a peek at Mel at the cashier counter, bouncing up and down on her heels. She was currently seventy-five percent coffee, and the rest sugar, I knew it.

"Okay, but I have crucial arguments to defend myself," I followed Mom as she entered the kitchen and promptly took a cold and fresh milkshake from the freezer. "First of all, they had half the day off yesterday to sleep, remember? You gave shifts to each of half of your employees, so the ones that didn't work yesterday came in early today."

"And they're zipping around because they have had coffee, which, until now, you won't let me drink," I continued.

Mom spared me a glance, "You could've slept early yesterday if you weren't up all night studying and homework." She paused. "Oh wait, you weren't studying at all! You were browsing some of that angel junk!" She gasped overdramatically.

Inner Oliver was not impressed.

I gawked at her, "Destiel is not junk, Mom! And I wasn't focusing on the ship – I was looking for that Destiel cat on my dashboard."

"I could still hear your squeals and heavy breathing from the other room," she reprimanded, "Why don't you focus on school, huh? Don't you want to graduate?"

"So you're saying I sacrifice my soul to earning a piece of paper and a handshake I didn't even ask for?" I told her.

"That piece of paper will get you out of this sweet shop and have you a proper job," Mom moved to another counter to knead some dough, "And don't say that being a singing cupcake baker doesn't need a diploma."

"I don't even get why we need Twenty-Four Hour Tuesday."

"There are people out there who need freshly baked cheesecakes in the middle of the night," she shrugged, "Have respect for them. We all need our sugar."

"By people, do you mean the horde of sleep-deprived college students sitting outside this kitchen?"

Her face molded into a frown. Whenever I debated with Mom, it was just a session of her failing to see my perspective and point and me bringing out my sass gun. It was like last-minute studying – you knew it was useless but you still did it.

"If I let you drink coffee, will you leave me alone?" she questioned.

I pulled on my thinking face, "For now." Putting my fingers to my lips, I zipped up my mouth and went straight for the coffee maker. I poured the beverage in a mug that could hold probably three cups and downed it all in one go.

I shut my eyes, savoring the bitter-creamy taste. I even tipped the mug to make sure every drop fell into my mouth. Satisfied with that, I moved over window of the kitchen, to watch the tables. More than half of the chairs were occupied, and those stressed out college people made up the whole population. There was one who stood out, though.

While the others were clad in sweatshirts and pajama pants, Mitch was wearing her nightwear – a too tight Big Bang Theory shirt and shorts. She walked towards me in her bedhead, muttering 'caffeine' over and over.

"One artsy cup of coffee, coming up," I laughed, moving towards the counters to work on it.

"Put in my baby Destiel on the top!" she called after me, referring to the cat.

I wasn't left alone in peace when I tried to make the coffee, though. Shamelessly, Mitch burst into the kitchen, coming up beside me to watch. She sat on the counter and started humming, lolling her head from side to side.

"You know, you're not supposed to be here," I smiled tiredly at her. She seemed as exhausted as I was.

"You know, I really don't care," she shook her head. "And don't say anything about the outfit. I had enough stares at the early morning bus."

"I wasn't going to," I told her, "What are you doing here anyway? Wasting precious hours of sleep? That is an insult to me."

Mitch took out folded pieces of paper from her pocket, "See, I got these coupons from the last Twenty-Four Hour Tuesday." She waved them in front of my face, "But you could only use them during another Twenty-Four Hour Tuesday, so suddenly felt like coming here. We could be tired and grumpy together!"

Yesterday, coming home from work and that haunting episode from Swissybuns, I went ninja thief to get Mom's laptop and contact Mitch right away. I told her everything, even my mixed feelings towards Jackson. In turn, she told me about her afternoon, how her cousins visited from abroad.

"That dog sounds like me on my period – on steroids," she had told me over Skype, while Destiel the cat was on full view on my screen.

"But Jackson," I had spilled to her, "I'm worried about him."

"He's complicated, honey, but you should act more complicated."

Those were the golden words from her. I had committed them into mind as I handed Mitch her cup of coffee, complete with Destiel art on top. I wished I could relax with her, but orders were still piling up and only three cooks were present in the kitchen, including me. I shoved in an unbaked pie into the oven and took out sweet ingredients from the cupboards.

Mitch suddenly shrieked, so loud and piercing that I feared the coffee cup would drop and chatter. "I remembered I forgot to tell you something!" she looked at me in alarm, and I could tell it was as urgent as Supernatural's new episode.

"Something from yesterday?" I hurriedly delivered three plates of toppings to Reg, who needed them.

"Yes!" She let out a scream similar to that of a vulture's. I moved nearer to her to listen. "So I went to Zafra Bernardo yesterday to talk to her about her top-secret information gathering about Brennan and she told me Rita Skeeter – Scott, sorry – went to her last Saturday and asked about you. Bernardo didn't give her anything, because we both know they hate each other, but she told me she knew Rita was going to find another way to get that information."

It took me a while to process the garbled words from her mouth. I thought the Rita Scott problem had been long gone, but she was up to something. "What did you tell Bernardo?"

"Told her if there was something we could do to stop Rita. She said she was going to look for something and she was going to keep an eye on her."

I blew out a breath, "Thank God for Zafra Bernardo."

"Thank God, indeed," Mitch nodded in agreement, "But in my opinion, you should focus more on figuring Jackson out. What if he's planning something and he's trying to get close to you?"

"That's exactly what I'm worried about," I gulped, "There's no telling what his motives are."

At that moment, Mom walked past me and flicked my head. "Wear your hairnet," she told me as I rubbed the aching spot.

I released a long sigh and threw Mitch the hairnet from my pocket. "Tie me up, please." Then, I began to slice the cinnamon rolls into pieces.

"Ollie, I didn't know you were into that kind of thing," she teased, leaping from the counter and moving behind me to retie up my hair in a high ponytail. I snorted and gently slapped her arm as she pulled back the strands from my face.

"Make it tighter," I commanded, "Tighter, Mitch!"

She laughed out loud pushing the tie up, "My butter, babe, keep it down before the customers get ideas."

She finished up, gathering all my hair into the small net. I thanked her and she started giving me a hand, delivering the cinnamon rolls to the kitchen window for the waiters to pick up.

"You have no idea how sleep-deprived I am right now," I glared at nothing in particular when she went back to me. "Coffee is like this temporary power-up, but when it wears off, you're tired than ever."

Mitch enveloped me in a tight warm and comforting hug, "I'll cover you up during English Lit, don't worry. And if my eye stickers don't work, I'll gladly accompany to you detention."

"Good," I mumbled, "Wait, you're leaving now, aren't you?"

She pulled away, "Sorry, Ollie, but I was drunk on Destiel the cat yesterday, too. There's this script I have to work on for the group. And you know the rest slack off and I'm the one who has to do everything."

"Fine."

"You need a ride to school?"

I shook my head, "You might be late. I'll take the bus, okay?"

She nodded, "I'll hang around for a few minutes so I could help out." She picked up two mocha smoothies, narrowed her eyes at them, and blew out air kisses to the two glasses before putting them on the kitchen window.

♫ ♫ ♫

Mitch was being absolutely helpful in the kitchen and I wasn't being sarcastic. She was this little assistant who took away the desserts for the customers whenever Reg or I would finish making them. At the same time, she would narrate about her four cousins and I would half-listen to her.

"Mitch can you get my phone?" I pointed to a ledge near the sink, "It's over there."

She took it and handed the phone to me, which had been blasting out a remix of Supernatural's intro tune and Gravity Falls' theme song to signal a text. "Why do you put it there, anyway? It might drop into a cake batter."

"I'm not my mother," I told her pointedly as I glanced at the message. My face twisted into a frown, seeing the words from Lawrence: Mama Mia, mama mia!

"Mama mia, let me go! Beelzebub has a devil put aside for me, for me, for me!" By cue, an obnoxious voice exploded in the shop. I peeked through the window to see Lawrence belting out the song. The other customers looked up for a brief second, blasé, before turning back to their businesses.

My eyes rolled up to the sky. Trust Lawrence to suddenly turn up during Twenty-Four Hour Tuesday. Beside me, Mitch gave a small laugh before facing me, "I have to go now, Ollie. I'll see you at school."

I saluted her and she went out of the kitchen, running into Lawrence, who was coming into the room. She threw him a smile and a wink, before disappearing through the doors.

"Who was that?" Lawrence stared at me, dumbfounded.

"Mitch." I realized they rarely saw each other, although they were both my closest friends. They also rarely spoke of the other whenever they talked to me. "You know, my best friend," I said to Lawrence.

"I thought I was your best friend!" he sulked.

"Shush, she took the privilege first," I went back to decorating a little cake, "And nobody gave you the permission to go inside here. Shoo."

"But I knew you first!" Lawrence protested.

He wasn't wrong. I knew Lawrence ever since I was fifteen, when he would frequently visit the early years of the shop. "But she became my friend first," I defended Mitch.

"I remember I didn't have the courage to talk to you until I was sixteen," I squeezed some more icing onto the top of the sweet dessert, "I'd hide behind the counter and watch you order from Mom and I was all shy because I thought you were kind of cute."

"You thought I was cute?"

I stuck my tongue out, "But not anymore, no." After the first time we spoke to each other, the next ones were rare moments. It wasn't until summer before senior year when we really got to know each other and I entrusted him about the secrets of my family. In exchange, he expressed his desperation for a girlfriend.

"Can I have a coffee milkshake and cake?" he asked as I pushed him out of the kitchen. "A cheesecake?"

"You order and pay at the register," I waved my hand off to drive him away.

"But I need someone to talk to!"

I saw then that he was more hassled than when I saw him yesterday. My expression softened and I gazed at the clock on the wall. I had been working for almost an hour. "I'll take a break after I take care of your food," I told him and his face brightened up, "But it won't be a long chat. I have more work to do."

Nevertheless, he smiled and picked out a table, closest to the kitchen. I rolled my shoulders and stretched my back. The effects of caffeine were weakening so I needed to wrap up as soon as possible.

Mom stopped in front of me out of the blue. Her apron was rumpled up and on one hand she clutched a wooden spatula and on the other, a fork. "What's up with the dinglehopper?" I gazed at her cautiously.

"Can you go be cashier for a while?" Mom asked me, "Mel's covering for a waitress."

I hummed a 'yes' and told her, "But remember, Lawrence needs a coffee milkshake and a cheesecake!" I got out of the kitchen and slipped into the front counter.

Taking customers' orders wasn't my favorite task in Sweet Moments. It went behind scrubbing toilets in the list and it was there for valid reasons. Customers were infuriating, especially when you had to hold a smile in place in front of them. Plus, there weren't any chairs near the register, so I had to suffer standing up and alternate between talking to shop visitors and yelling orders towards the kitchen.

And just my luck, the first customer I had to take care of was maddening.

I squinted at his white shirt and perfect slacks. But as a push of habit, I glued on the faux grin, "Welcome to Sweet Moments, may I take your order?"

I could hear how stupid I sounded.

Jackson looked at me with a mix of enjoyment and curiosity, "That hairnet looks great on you."

I gave up and grimaced, "What are you doing here? In case you didn't know, there is an unspoken agreement that this place is Clevemore High territory. Your kind belongs to that fine dining gourmet restaurant uptown."

"Ah, I can't exactly order ice cream there at six a.m. in the morning, could I?" He smiled a little smile, "And they wouldn't know if I was from Acewell."

Behind his back, I looked at the people sprawled out on the chairs and tables. One guy was even on the floor, groaning and eating a dessert sandwich. "You have point," I pressed my lips together, "Now would you gladly order?"

As his eyes raked over the menu, I asked him, "This is your first time here, isn't it?"

He glanced at me, "You and I both know I'm here for more than ice cream."

"Wonderful, I thought you were just going to fetch dessert and scram," I said, "Tell me what you want from me."

"I just want to talk," he inched his hand closer to mine, but I pulled my fingers away. The doubts about him where going around in my head. "Let me talk to you, please."

My gaze turned towards Lawrence, who had his head down the table while he waited for his food to come. A pang of sympathy shot through my chest. He was the one who needed more attention from me. "Fine," the word came out harsher than I intended, "I'll give you a minute. Now what will you get?"

"Cookies and cream ice cream, please," he slid a bill towards me, "Large."

As I took the money and got his order jotted down, he said, "Make it extra large."

"You can't finish that by yourself," I scoffed.

He wagged his eyebrows, "You underestimate my abilities."

"Whatever. Just take a seat."

Looking dejected, Jackson sat on a table right next to Lawrence's. I sucked in a breath, because there was a feeling in my stomach that that thing was trouble. I didn't know why, but I felt anxious about it.

I took care of a few other customers and then I watched as Lawrence got his food. He didn't dig in right away, but he stared at me expectantly, waiting for me to go to his table before he started eating. Then, my gaze wandered towards Jackson, who was on his phone.

I looked out behind me to make sure Mom wasn't giving me the evil eye and when I decided the coast was clear, I skidded away from the counter and went to Lawrence's table.

"I haven't had a date yet," he whined, "And I'm starting to think it's all hopeless."

"But are you feeling better since yesterday?" I cocked my head to the side, "The macaroons . . . "

"Made me feel awesome, thank you," he beamed, "But the boys got me wasted and I almost threw the notebook out the window last night."

"Maybe you need to take a break with the girls for a while – "

"No! I can't, Ollie. I'm starting to go crazy with the deprivation of dates!" He ranted, "But I don't want to be known as a playboy, either! I am so done with my life, that I need a break from my break! I'm tired, I'm sleepy and I'm wearing MLP boxers – my motto in life could be FML!"

"I don't want to talk about me." His radiance and usual energy depleted. "What's going on with you?"

"And don't look," he whispered, "But Mister Grouchy face is right behind you."

"You do know who he is, right?" I asked him.

"Jackson Dale, the boy you always gush about," He bobbed his head.

"I do not gush about him!"

He propped up his chin on his palms, "Why's he here? Isn't he like, Acey spawn?"

"Acey spawn?"

"Slang for Acewell people. Looks like he has something going on about you because when he went in, he was smiling like crazy, but it looks like you hurt him when he talked to you. And now, he's giving me the grouchy face." I fought the urge to look back at Jackson behind me when Lawrence said this. I was a little surprised Lawrence knew a lot about the topic of romance – he was observant.

"We had a bit of fun yesterday, I guess," I nonchalantly shrugged, "Chased a dog, got wet, talked for a while. He even apologized, but I'm not buying it yet."

"Got wet," Lawrence snickered and I pinched his arm.

"He wants to talk to me now – "I sighed.

"Then talk to him," Lawrence took a sip from his milkshake, making a sound of contentment. "Come on, he's literally sulking behind you and eating that ice cream so fast. Whoa, I've never seen anyone eat ice cream like that faster than you."

"For the record, I eat ice cream slowly and you know the reason why," I told him, "And I don't want to leave you here."

Jackson cleared his throat all of a sudden. I jumped out of my seat and turned to face him as he gestured me over, holding the ice cream and spoon in his hands. "Can we talk now?" The look on his face was pleading.

"Okay," I agreed, "But you don't have forever." I still kept an eye out for Mom when I led him from the tables and into the stock room, which I knew would be empty.

"I still don't trust you after you said those things about me," I locked the door of the small room. It was usually packed with boxes of ingredients, so the scent of sweets deliciously drifted around. "Saying sorry won't cut it."

"I know," Jackson sounded so desperate as I looked at him now under the dim light, "But hear me out when I say that I want to apologize for everything. You see, I've never lashed out on a person like that and I've never made a girl cry. I want to make up everything and maybe start over . . . ?"

"You can't start over what's already passed," I said dully.

"I know, and I understand why you can't forgive me – "

"Of course I can't forgive you!" He winced. "You said to me I was going to bring your whole family down and now you're saying sorry. Do you expect me to believe that? How do I make sure that you're not just trying to get close to me so you could ruin me in the end? Isn't that your plan? To find where it hurts the most for me and use that?"

"No," he said hoarsely, weakly, "I'm not doing that. If you just give me a chance to – "

"Give you a chance," I mimicked, "Okay, give you a chance. I can't give you one because obviously, you're going to try and win me over anyway. Is that right?"

He merely nodded.

"You can go on," I said lowly, "And make sure food is involved because that's a necessity. But that doesn't mean I'm going to put my guard down."

"I promise, sweets, I'm not going to disappoint," he said determinedly. He took my hand but he looked so troubled and awkward about because he knew he can't touch me anywhere else.

"You're a mystery, Jackson Dale. What's going on inside your head?" I mumbled to myself.

"I'll be more interested in what's going on inside you," he said and immediately after, he blushed, "Shoot, I wasn't supposed to say that. Oh God, I screwed up – delete that Ollie." He rubbed his face, begging me silently.

He was so cute sometimes.

"Later . . ." I trailed off.

"Later, I'm treating you everything you wanted," he said breathlessly, "I have cakes ready, I have chocolate and Brennan said your favorite flavor was Rocky Road so I got that for the ice cream. . ."

Jackson suddenly stopped because I had an involuntary look of distaste on my face. "Brennan's wrong," I began slowly, "My favorite isn't Rocky Road – I like all ice cream flavors. Ice cream is ice cream, any way it is. And also, ice cream isn't my number one favorite food."

"But I was sure – "

"Pizza, Jackson," I told him bluntly, "We can't have a food fest without pizza."

He nodded furiously, "I'll call Domino's later on. We'll have boxes and boxes . . . I'll get everything right, I promise." It made me smile that he was so focused on pleasing me.

"Good, we're done here," I turned to open the door but Jackson gently touched my shoulder.

"Ollie, you have to know I'm really sorry."

I shrugged off his fingers, "I know."

I might have freely expressed anger and hatred for my father and sister, but I couldn't just stay mad at Jackson. Plus, I still wasn't sure about how to act around him. When he flushed red, I found that adorable but when he pulled on his smart mouth, I sassed him back. I wished he never found his way to the shop, and maybe I'd be relaxed while eating with Lawrence.

On my way out of the stock room and back to the tables, Melanie went past me and pushed a cup of gelatin to my hands. "We messed up an order – Raquel said to give it to you instead," she explained.

I stared at the wibbly-wobbly thing while Jackson and I sat at his table. "If Mom thinks I'm some garbage can to dump reject desserts," I hollered back at Mel then gazed back at the red jelly, "She's totally right!" I eagerly took Jackson's spoon from his discarded ice cream cup and scooped up the food into my mouth.

"I'll give you a ride to school," Jackson offered, "But you have to go over to cook breakfast."

I groaned, suddenly remembering my other job. "I forgot! Can I skip today?"

"Brennan will probably hunt you down."

I finally agreed to go with him after I finished my gelatin because it was breakfast, and I couldn't let them have their first meal be Maira's horrid cooking.

"So can I talk to you now?" Jackson asked but I didn't say anything. He must've taken that as a yes because he started blabbing, "Brennan's punishment yesterday was epic – "

Casually, in the middle of his talking, I turned my chair around to face Lawrence on the other table. And I certainly didn't miss the way his smile dropped from his face when I took my gelatin with me.

"Savage as hot fudge," Lawrence leaned towards me, his eyes glittering, "Ollie, that was brutal! The guy seriously likes you!"

And I might sort of kind of like him back, too – maybe.

I waved him off with my spoon. He motioned to his mouth and I chuckled, shoveling a spoonful of sweet jelly into his mouth. "You can say he's . . ."

"Oh my chocolate, Lawrence, don't say it!"

". . . A little jelly!" He exclaimed and I swore he had his Trolling face on.

I collapsed into loud laughter, probably waking the people dozing off in the shop.

"But," Lawrence's tone lowered down a notch, "He's kind of hot, though. You shouldn't let that boy loose."

"'Hot' isn't the word I'd describe him . . . " 'Complex', 'hard to read', 'similar to a Rubik's cube' would define him better.

"Oh yeah?" said Lawrence, "What would you describe him then? Scorching? Burning? A hundred thousand degrees sizzling?"

"Why are you complimenting him anyway?"

"Just because I'm attracted to the other gender doesn't mean I can't acknowledge the beauty of my own."

"I bet he made you boil inside that stock room," he joked.

"By the name of this gelatin, Law, shut up!" I hissed, but still laughed, "You know he can hear us!"

I have wiped tables and positioned the chairs in the shop to know for a fact that the tables were close enough so that one person could hear the other's conversation from another table if they listened well. I was an eavesdropper myself, too, so I knew a person like Jackson would definitely be interested in what we were talking about.

Lawrence looked genuinely surprised, "But I was whispering."

"Pretty sure he can still hear you."

"Then let him," he leaned back and pulled on a smirk, "So you coming over later?"

That sly boy . . . I knew what he was doing!

"But I just came over yesterday!"

"Look at me, Ollie, I need support," he begged, "I need you because college is hell wrapped in a flaming burrito, because I can't get a girl to like me and because I need food. I have a class later afternoon."

"Aw, but I have a food fest later sponsored by that hot guy you complimented," I poked the little piece of jelly left on the cup. Jackson did say we were leaving after I finished my food, so I should make it last.

"Please," Lawrence braved to grab both my cheeks and squeeze them. I pretended I didn't hear Jackson's heavy breathing from behind me, "Please, Oliver."

My eyes narrowed into slits. Points for him for proving that a certain boy was jealous. "I'll drop by the college later before I go to work."

"Jackpot! Bring some more cheesecake." he grinned, "No go on and finish your jelly and scamper with your, what's his name again? Jackie Chan, right – ooh, he looks so red now. Man, how does he do that?"

I laughed again and again.

♫ ♫ ♫