First-Time Roaster (First-Time Reader)

Roast Refill (Re-Reader)

***

It was day eight of resisting the urge to squeeze a singing orange into a pulpy oblivion. Of course, Cora Chun—who was definitely not a murderer...yet—wouldn't act on her violent distaste for the zestful citrus mascot, but there was nothing wrong with thinking about it.

The only problem was when her emotions showed on her face.

"Excuse me," a voice snapped. "Is that a frown I see?"

Cora felt her frown jump into a peppy smile as she tore her eyes from the dancing cartoon orange across the shopping mall food court. "Huh?"

Only then did she notice her forty-something-year-old manager, Darlene, on the other side of the counter, in the middle of taking inventory of the pastries in the display case beside the registers.

"You know what I'm talking about," Darlene said, her eyes returning to her clipboard as she scribbled down numbers. "Remember: no one likes a grumpy bean."

Just then, Angie the Orange's peppy singing echoed from the other side of the food court: "If you wanna be fantastic, take a big sip of Fruitastic!"

Cora felt her smile twitch. "I was just...thinking of ways to promote the new fruit drinks. No one seems interested in trying them."

Darlene didn't reply right away, too focused on counting the blueberry scones.

"Are you suggesting them at the end of every order?" she asked as she wrote.

"Yup!" Whoops, too much energy. "And asking if they want anything to eat."

"Then you don't need to worry about it. Corporate is in charge of marketing; we focus on making drinks." Darlene's eyes darted to her. "And smiling."

If Cora smiled any harder, her face would probably split, but that didn't stop her from trying. "I'm just worried corporate doesn't realize we're a coffee shop trying to sell fruit drinks next to a smoothie place. If we want people to notice us, we're going to have to match..." the animated citrus's song started up again, louder than ever, "that. Their new TV screen has been attracting so many customers. All we have is a banner that falls over every time the air flow gets a little weird."

Darlene didn't bother restraining her sigh as she tapped the display case with her pen. "Fill out a Beannovation with your grand idea and submit it to corporate—on your own time, of course. Who knows? Maybe you'll get a bonus next quarter."

Cora barely prevented a grimace from weighing down her smile. She had lost count of the suggestion forms she submitted, each received with as much enthusiasm as Darlene's monotone. For all she knew, her annoying persistence kept her from getting the promotion she was aiming for.

"But right now, you're on the clock, and if you have time to daydream, you have time to prep for the next rush." Darlene nodded at the two coffee machines on the back counter. "Are those full? Did you check the creamers? Sugar? Napkins?" Lastly, she frowned at Cora, eyeing her up and down. "And stand up straight."

Cora straightened her posture and stood tall—as if her nearly six-foot stature wasn't tall enough.

Darlene held her frown for one more second before leaving Cora with nothing to do but busywork. She already knew the coffee machines were both topped off and warm—no one had stopped by since she brewed them half an hour ago—but she still did a cursory check of them and the rest of Darlene's demands for good measure. With not much else to do, Cora did her best to stuff a few more napkins into the dispenser while her gaze drifted across the food court.

While Cora was tending to sugar packets and coffee stirrers in the empty Cool Beans, the workers at Fruitastic were in the midst of a neverending rush. Their citrus mascot continued to dance above them from her new ceiling-mounted TV, oblivious to her workers tripping over their feet to thin out the line snaking through the crowded food court. Did they not realize another store was selling the exact same product just a few yards away? Or maybe they could see the banner, and that was the problem; they probably figured a store with such a tacky advertisement would give them food poisoning.

As if on cue, the cheap banner in front of Cool Beans tipped over, and the plastic poles clattered against the vinyl floor. A slight hush muffled the chatter of the food court as dozens of eyes turned towards the banner, then Cora.

Well, that was one way to get everyone's attention.

"Cordelia!" Darlene snapped from the backroom.

Cora smiled as wide as she could, even if Darlene couldn't see her. For all she knew, Darlene had a hidden camera in the nearby milk carafes. "On it!"

She abandoned the napkins and rushed over, beaming at the patrons still looking her way while she knelt as gracefully as her fitted black jeans and brown coffee-stained apron allowed. Thankfully, some of the staring came from Fruitastic's customers, and Cora made a point to stretch the fabric banner across her lap to smooth out the nonexistent wrinkles. Then, she turned to the potential patrons, batted her eyelashes a couple times, then smiled wider than before.

Until someone stepped in front of her, and Cora looked up.

Of course that had to be the moment she showed up. And of course Cora was still kneeling on the sticky vinyl floor with a cheap banner decorated with subpar graphics for fruit smoothies from a coffee shop.

She had the same boring outfit she wore every day for the last couple years: a fitted black shirt tucked into baggy waist-high jeans, cuffed to show off her shiny black boots. A small brown purse hung across her toned body; a neon green apron and orange polo shirt were draped on her tattooed arm, the former with a nametag dangling from the neck strap.

Fruitastic.

Farron.

Assistant Manager.

If Cora was standing, she would at least have nearly a foot of height over the woman. But even then, and even though they were about the same age, Cora would still feel small under the woman's cold glare, an expression Farron could freely wear without anyone ordering her to smile. How could they? She was the assistant manager, after all. She was basically the boss; all Cora had was a few cents over minimum wage. And at that moment, as Farron's narrowed eyes went from the banner to Cora kneeling on the ground, even Cora's height advantage was worthless.

As if it couldn't get any worse, Farron smirked.

Cora's face grew warm. She at least managed to maintain her smile, but it was a close call as she felt her own eyes narrow into a sharp glare. If Cora was trying to be threatening, she perfectly failed as Farron chuckled before procuring a bright green visor from her bag and sliding it over her short black hair.

Farron winked. "Good luck in the smoothie business, coffee cake."

As Farron's low, husky voice continued to ring in Cora's ears, the woman was already strutting over to Fruitastic. The remainder of the food court's attention followed her as she donned the apron over her normal clothes, seemingly not noticing or caring about her captivated audience. As soon as she rounded Fruitastic's counter, she tossed her bag and polo shirt into the backroom, then washed her hands and jumped over to the blenders. In the time it took Cora to struggle back to her feet with the flimsy banner, Farron had four of the blenders going and four more ready to take their places.

Cora fought to keep her smile up as she returned to the condiment station, shoving her black flat cap even further onto her head and tightening the ponytail securing her long dark brown hair. She didn't have any customers, but that wasn't going to stop her, not when she still had one important job left to do: busywork.

That's right. Cora was going to fit more sugar packets and coffee stirrers into their containers than anyone in Cool Beans history. Not only that, but it was going to look so amazing, customers would be awed by the tidiness. They would take pictures of it and share it on social media, tagging their shop as the source of such an impressive feat. It would go viral. Corporate would finally take Cora seriously. She, after eight long years, would finally get a promotion, all because of her expertise at refilling condiments.

She could see it now: Cool Beans Manager Cordelia Chun. Screw "assistant." She was twenty-eight years old already. She was going all the way.

Cora ripped open a new box of sweeteners and got to work. No longer was it busywork. Now, it was serious business. Now, it was war.

Minutes later, Cora was done with the white and turbinado sugars, each of the hundred packets facing the same direction and arranged in neat rows. She allowed herself a moment to admire her latest art piece before she glanced at the enemy's progress.

While the Cool Beans counter was still as empty as before, the previously stagnant line to Fruitastic was moving at a steady pace. No longer were the workers bumping into each other in a panic. Now, they were a well-balanced fruit salad, taking orders and handing off drinks with sweet smiles and zestful attitudes.

In the middle of it all, Farron's expression was in her perpetual frown as her sharp eyes and quick hands darted across the various ingredients. Her lethal glare was fitting as she tossed fruit into a blender before smashing down the lid and pulverizing the produce into a pulpy death. Occasionally, her gaze would snap towards the screen of orders hanging from the ceiling, and her hands would continue working as if she could see from her fingertips. While the crowd was in chaos around her, she remained indifferent, eventually turning back to the blenders to pour the minced fruit carcasses into cups. With every customer's name she called out, her voice was loud but lackluster, and her eyes were cold and murderous.

No one told the assistant manager to lighten up. It didn't matter how many customers she frightened with her glare or how much she hated her job. She could probably blend Angie the Orange and the mascot would still sing her praises.

Just then, Farron lifted her gaze and looked across the food court—at Cora—and winked.

Cora's grip tightened on a box of artificial sweetener packets. That was it. Cool Beans was staying in the fruit smoothie business. Next on the menu? Angie the Orange. Cora would crush that singing citrus to a pulp once and for all.