you.” Ari has had a schoolgirl crush on Carlos since we started coming here. Which might seem a little weird, given that he’s got to be close to forty, except he looks an awful lot like a young Antonio Banderas. That, plus the Puerto Rican accent, plus the man can cook. Who can blame a girl for being a little smitten?
“You three are always welcome,” he says. “But try not to take too much advantage of my free-refill policy, yeah?”
We thank him for the chips as he saunters off to tend to another table.
Jude sits back and dusts off his hands. “Done.”
I look up from a photo of an anglerfish. “What? Already?”
“It’s only two hundred and fifty words. And this assignment isn’t going to count for anything. Trust me, Pru, this is just the tyrannical overlord’s way of testing our loyalty. Don’t overthink it.”
I scowl. He and I both know it’s impossible for me not to overthink.
“That’s a good one,” says Ari, gesturing with her chip toward the book. A speck of salsa lands on the corner of the page. “Oops, sorry.”
I wipe off the splotch with my napkin. “I do not want to be an anglerfish.”
“The assignment isn’t to say what you would be,” says Jude, “just what sort of adaptation could be useful.”
“You’d have a built-in flashlight,” adds Ari. “That would come in handy.”
I hum thoughtfully. It’s not terrible. I could work in something about being a shining light in dark times, which may be a bit poetic for a science paper, but still. “Okay, fine,” I say, pulling the laptop back in front of me. I save Jude’s document before starting my own.
I’ve just finished my first paragraph when there’s a commotion at the front of the restaurant. I glance over to see a woman wheeling in a handcart stacked with speakers, electronic equipment, a small television, a stack of thick three-ring binders, and bundles of cords.
“You made it!” says Carlos from behind the bar, loud enough that suddenly everyone is looking at the woman. She pauses, blinking into the dim light, letting her eyes adjust from the bright afternoon sun. Carlos rushes over to her and takes the cart. “I’ll take that. I thought we’d set up right over here.”
“Oh, thank you,” she says, pushing back a long fringe of hair that’s been dyed candy-apple red. Other than the bangs that nearly cover her eyes, her hair is tied into a hasty topknot, showing her natural blond growing out at the roots. She’s wearing clothes that demand attention: worn and faded cowboy boots; dark jeans that are as much shredded holes as they are denim; a burgundy velvet tank top; enough jewelry to sink a small boat. It’s a far cry from the flip-flops and surf shorts that usually populate Main Street this time of year.
She’s also beautiful. Stunning, actually. But it’s kind of hard to tell given the coating of black eyeliner and smudged purple lipstick. If she’s local, then we would definitely have noticed her around, but I’m sure I’ve never seen her before.
“How’s this?” says Carlos, ignoring the fact that most of his customers are staring at the two of them.
“Perfect. Lovely,” says the woman with a bit of a southern accent. Carlos often hosts live music on the weekends, and they’re standing on the little platform where the bands perform. She takes a second to inspect the area before pointing at the wall. “Is that the only outlet?”
“There’s another behind here.” Carlos pulls a busing station away from the corner.
“Excellent.” The woman spends some time turning in a circle, inspecting the TVs that hang throughout the restaurant, almost always showing sports. “Yeah, great. This will work. Nice place you’ve got.”
“Thanks. You want help setting up, or…?”
“Naw, I’ve got it. Not my first time at the rodeo.” She shoos him away.
“All right, fine.” Carlos takes a step back. “Can I get you a drink?”
“Oh. Uh…” She thinks about it for a few seconds. “Shirley Temple?”
Carlos laughs. “Sure thing.”
He returns to the bar, and the woman starts moving tables around and setting up the equipment she brought. After a few minutes, she grabs the stack of binders and approaches the nearest table. Our table.
“Well, don’t you all just look like some upstanding Fortuna Beach youth?” she says, taking in our textbooks and computers.
“What’s going on?” says Ari, nodding toward all the stuff she brought.
“Weekly karaoke night!” says the woman. “Well, this is actually the first, but we’re hoping it’ll become a weekly thing.”
Karaoke? I’m