Halston and Grace show up around noon while I'm on shift under the pretense to do some schoolwork, though I know Halston's here for the cupcakes and Grace is here to ogle Dres. Not that I blame either of them. The cupcakes and the view are worth it. At least I think so. I still haven't tried the cupcakes. Or Dres, for that matter.

     "Any new flavors?" Halston asks with hope in her eyes as she steps up to the counter. Grace has her nose practically pressed to her phone.

     "Jamie wants to quit the team," she says as acknowledgment to me.

     I say to Halston, "Just put out some new selections." And then to Grace, "Because she's not a flyer anymore?"

     Grace makes a noise and rolls her eyes, shifting her gaze from her phone. "She is being so melodramatic. I can't take it." I nod empathetically, even though I don't really know what to say.

     "So," Grace says as Halston pushes past her to look at the cupcakes. "I was thinking that maybe you-know-who just isn't into me. That I'm just not his type, right?"

     I nod and shrug slightly. "Okay..."

     "But the only way to confirm this for sure is for Halston," she glances at her, "to give it a go as well."

     "I told you already I'm not doing it," Halston says stubbornly.

     "Convince her, please," Grace says. "This is a foolproof plan. Halston and I have totally opposite styles. So if he's not into me and he's not into her, then he must be into dick. We all can get some peace of mind."

     I fail to see her logic on this one but Grace has never been very logical. She just says things with enough convinction that you don't want to challenge her.

     "I have peace of mind," Halston says. "I am totally at peace."

     "You have no back bone is what you have," Grace responds.

     I stare, shocked by Grace's comment. "Seriously, what is going on between you two? It's been World War III since summer ended."

     Halston says, "It has not."

     "I mean it has," Grace responds. "But you don't want to have that conversation."

     Halston and Grace exchange looks. Halston naws at her bottom lip, looking at Grace with a sort of plea in her eyes.

     "Do either of you want to shed some light on this?"

     "Anyway," Grace says. "Halston. Flirting with Dres. It's the best way to rule out his sexuality. And then my ego can return to its natural state."

     "Your ego was never at a natural state," Halston snaps.

     "Can we put away the claws for five seconds?" I ask. "If Halston doesn't want to do it, she shouldn't have to. And you should stop being offended he's not interested. People can just not be interested in you, Grace. Doesn't make them gay."

     Grace frowns. "I know that. Think of this an experiment. I'm not asking you to throw yourself at him. Just get a conversation flowing. Talk about the cupcakes. Compliment his baking skills. I just want to observe him. See how he acts."

     "Fine," Halston says through gritted teeth. "Fine. I'll do it. If it'll get you to finally shut up about this."

     "You act like flirting is such a hardship. How do you expect to get a boyfriend?" Grace is walking off before she can even see how her words land. I watch the expression on Halston's face though, the hurt that registers loud and clear. Before I can say anything, she walks off, too. Without even ordering herself a cupcake.

     A customer comes up and is ready to order, so I can't sit and wrap my brain around that whole incident. I'm going to dissect it, I decide. Figure out what's going on with the two of them, but I'll have to leave it for now.

     A line of customers start forming so I focus on that. One thing that's nice about a rush, the only thing, really, is that when Dolores is busy and Dres happens to come out he'll hop behind the counter to help out. It's a spacious area for one person but a bit of squeeze with two people, especially when that other person looks like they hail from Asgard. I'm not complaining. This is the opposite of a complaint.

     Things are going fine until a group of kids that I attend school with, and are also on my swim team, step up to the counter. James smiles at me in a way that's anything but a smile.

     "What can I get for you?" I ask trying to remain calm. James and I have history. Not the good kind.

     James frowns, slightly. "You don't sound happy to see me, ponyboy."

     I want to say Don't call me that and also ask him if he even gets his reference. But I'm lucky he hasn't thrown out any homophobic slurs. Yet. "What're you ordering?" I ask again.

     His friends make a comment I don't hear, and he laughs at it. "Uh, give the hottest cup of coffee you have." He emphasizes this.

     "Do you want room at the top?" I ask as I go to grab a cup. 

     "Room for what?" he snarks back.

     I hesitate, confused. "Cream? You know what nevermind. Are you getting anything else? Some cupcakes?"

     James scoffs. "Like I want your fruity ass cupcakes." His friends snicker behind him, making him grin like the comment was so funny.

     I refrain from rolling my eyes. It's better not to engage, especially when James has an audience. He loves to perform. I charge him on the register and then move to finish his drink. I hand it over, hoping he'll leave but he stands there and takes a sip.

     "I asked for it hot. This tastes like cold shit."

     I'm already annoyed by James's presence but now that he's going to be one of those customers I'm fuming. "Sorry," I force myself to say, taking the cup from him. "I'll make you another."

     "Fucking twink can't do shit right," James barks at my back.

     I turn around to the machines bumping into Dres as I do. "Sorry," I say quickly avoiding his gaze. I'm hoping he hasn't heard anything but unless he spontaneously went deaf in the last five minutes, I doubt it. It's not like James is trying to be discreet.

     I grab another large cup to start his drink again.

     "Could you take any fucking longer?" James screams at my back after approximately one second has passed.

     I'm literally incapable of going any faster and it's not helping that my hands are starting to shake. This is the kind of mortifying event that I'd happily die from. I'm not going to be able to look Dres in the eye after this.

     In retrospect, you know, I should've accounted for this occurring. It was bound to happen with the proximity of my school to this place. It was an inevitability that James would find his way in here.

     I try to go faster, not to appease James but to hopefully get him out of here. I'm trying to get his drink as hot as I can get it, though but then it's actually too hot to hold so I grab a cardboard sleeve for it before I pass it off to James.

     "It's very hot," I warn him. He's glaring at me as he flips the lid open and takes a sip.

     "Jesus!" he cries, throwing the cup down on the counter hard. "What're you trying to do? Set my mouth on fire?"

     The cup tips when it hits the counter, the lid flying off as it falls over, drenching my hand in scorching hot coffee. I start to cry out in pain as I draw backwards but I shove right into Dres, which makes the sound dry up in my throat. I'm dizzy, my vision fading in and out, and think this is the worst pain I've ever been in in my life.

     Dres grabs my shoulders and turns me around, pushing me over to the sink. He moves swift, clapsing his hand around my forearm as he guides it under the running water. The pain dissolves into the cool water.

     My ears are still ringing but I can distantly hear James screaming obscenities at my back. "You'd think a fucking fairy would know how to make a decent cup of coffee."

     Dres is still beside me. He goes, his voice sort of strained, "Just keep your hand under the water." I think I may nod. He disappears behind my back. I hear him go, "You need to leave."

     Dolores comes up behind the counter and touches my shoulder gently. "Are you okay?" I nod my head, turn the tap off, and then move so I'm staring at Dres and James. "Are you sure? That doesn't look good," she says as she points to my hand. It's red and sort of blistered. I've never burned myself before but I don't suggest it.

     I'm too focused on Dres arguing with James to even really feel it. "You need to leave. You're no longer welcome here," Dres says calmly but his voice has a lethal edge to it.

     "Yeah well I want to speak to the fucking manager because he needs to be fired," James responds.

     "I'm the owner," Dres says. "And I'm asking you to leave. I won't say it again." Dolores has moved and is cleaning up the counter while the customers in line stand awkwardly.

     "This place isn't worth my money," James snaps meeting my gaze. "Like I want him touching my drink, anyway." James' friends knock over things on the counter as they follow James out, slamming the door as they go.

     I can't catch a proper breath. I'm going to be fired for this. Because James is a prick and you can't outrun history no matter how badly you want to.

     Dres goes, "Sorry about that, folks. Dolores, here, will take your orders and everyone in line can have a complimentary cupcake on the house."

     Dres is suddenly back to facing me. "I thought I told you to keep your hand under the water." I go to give some excuse but he simply grabs the sleeve of my shirt and tugs me toward the employee room.

     So this is it. I'm being fired.

     He lets go of my sleeve and I watch him cross the room to a closet. Maybe he's getting termination papers or a nondisclosure agreement. My hearts beating in my throat so fast it's making me nauseous. "Am I fired?" I ask.

     Dres turns around with a red First Aid Kit in his arms. His expression is hard to read. But I can make out anger. He must be pissed at me. I don't blame him, really. James's show was because of me. I'd fire me because of it.

     He says something I can't hear, mumbles really.

     "I understand if you have to let me go. And I'm sorry about all that out there—."

     "I'm not firing you, Calvin." His tone is exasperated. 

     Oh yeah, he's definitely pissed. He never calls me Calvin.

     He walks back to me, puts his hand on my shoulder as he pushes me back towards the table and into a seat. He sits down across from me and sets the kit on the table.

     "You're not firing me?" I repeat.

     "That wasn't your fault," Dres responds as he opens the box and takes out a small white jar.

     "Yeah, but if I'd made his drink the way he wanted maybe that would've been avoided."

     Dres puts his hand out, palm upwards, and says, "Let me see your hand."

     I'm hesitant. Pretty sure my palm is slicked, no covered, in sweat. I place my hand down slowly and he dips his finger into the jar before spreading a white cream over the top of my hand. It instantly soothes the burning sensation.

     "I was watching you," he says softly. "You made his drink correctly. He was just an ass." I don't say anything; instead, I'm stewing over the fact Dres was watching me. He glances up at me. "He knew you?"

     I clear my throat. "We go to school together." Dres continues to massage the cream into my skin. It feels nice and my body goes slack in the chair.

     "Does he always act like that?"

     I don't say anything. I wonder if he's asking if he's always an asshole or a homophobic asshole? I wonder if Dres knows I'm gay now. I wonder why I care.

     "Cas?" Dres is staring at me intently when I look up and meet his gaze.

     I flush and say, "We don't really cross paths at school so I don't really ever deal with him."

     Dres gives me a skeptical look before reaching for some gauze and wrapping my hand. We're both silent as he weaves the gauze under my palm in between my thumb and back. When he's done, he doesn't let go. He glances up at me and asks me something I don't hear.

     His thumb rubs back and forth, soothingly, over my hand. "Hm?" I say distracted.

     "Does it hurt?" he repeats himself, fingers still running across my hand.

     I can't focus, not with his hand and mine together and sitting this close to him. My whole body heats up. "Oh uh," I stutter, "it's not too bad."

     He looks as if he has no clue what he's doing to me. None at all. But his touch is causing a very particular sexual response. "Do you want the rest of the day off?" he asks as I try to think away the erection that's forming.

     I jump up, too quickly, too anxiously, and our hands detach. I rake my other hand through my hair, stumbling towards the door, "Yeah, you know, I think that's a good idea. Thanks yeah, I'll see you Monday."

     Well, I think. If he didn't know I was gay before, he certainly knows now.