Step One

Forget names (who?)

My eye was twitching.

I had often made jokes about my eye twitching out of annoyance or anxiety, but today it had finally happened. My right eye was actually twitching.

Funny. I’d always thought it’d be the left. 

Meanwhile, Ms. Chatty, the completely oblivious cause of my discomfort, continued to prattle on. I didn’t actually know her name, and while 'Ms. Chatty' wasn’t the most creative, it was certainly the most fitting. She came to my desk every Monday to tell me about her weekend, as though I’d asked. 

I sat with my arms folded on my desk, staring up at her, willing silently for the twitching to stop. Why didn’t I know her name? She’d been coming to my desk every week for two months, you’d think I would have caught it by now. Then again, a lot of people came by my desk, each as forgettable as the last.

 
I continued to stare, nodding occasionally and wondering when she would go away so I could get back to work and avoid being fired. Didn’t she have a job to do? God, why wasn’t she wearing a nametag?

 
“But that wasn’t even the best part!” Ms. Chatty told me, clearly leading up to the exciting climax of her tale.

 
“Do tell,” I murmured.

 
Was it Rachel? Sarah? No, Sarah was someone else. Lisa? No, that was someone I went to college with. Darren? That was a boys name. Clara? Victoria? Who the hell names their kid Victoria anymore? Sheridan? Almost as weird as Victoria. Besides, Sheridan worked in accounting.

 
…We don’t have an accounting department.

 
Damn.

 
“Anyway, I should be getting back to work,” Ms. Chatty said, derailing my train of thought.

 
“So soon?” I asked.
 
“Yeah. Bates will have my head if I goof off anymore.”

 
“Can’t have that.” Maybe then you’ll finally shut up.

 
“See you around, Morgana,” she called cheerfully as she finally pranced away.

 
“Later.” Absently I wondered if I could get a door for my cubicle. Probably not.

 
I looked at my desk and sighed. I worked as an editor for a publishing company, and it’s nowhere near as glamorous as it sounds. There were four other editors in the building, and despite the cubicles, they all insisted on being friendly with each other. And, unfortunately, me. And for whatever reason, my boss saw it fit to encourage this behavior.

 
Despite the close quarters and too-friendly coworkers, however, I kind of liked my job. I didn’t have to deal with too many people, and I got to read all day.

 
I turned to the manuscript on my desk and started reading. I was halfway through it, and it wasn’t too bad; an epic romance with drama that made me pretend to grimace, action that kept me on the edge of my seat, and sentence structure that very nearly made my brain explode.

 
I sighed when I finished the story (a cliff-hanger, of course) and slid the manuscript into my ‘approve’ stack. It had been a decent story, and poor sentence structure could be fixed. That was my job.

 
By the end of the day, I’d edited the first six chapters of the book. It was almost seven by the time I decided to save the rest for tomorrow and clocked out. Tugging on my coat and slinging my messenger bag over my shoulder I made my way to the door, passing Ms. Chatty with a weary smile.

 
“Have a good night, Morgana!” she called cheerfully.

 
I merely waved, grimacing as the door swung shut behind me. How does she know my name but I don’t know hers?

 
The chilly evening air struck me as I left the building and I shivered, burrowing deeper into my coat and hurrying along the sidewalk. I’d never been the biggest fan of the cold, especially when the wind was blowing at 65 miles-per-freaking-hour, the chill washing over me like icy water, penetrating my clothes to sting my skin like a million tiny frozen needles.

 
…Okay, so I was exaggerating. But not by much.

 
On my way home, I decided to stop at my favorite café, a tiny place I had discovered a few months ago. It was quiet and peaceful and had good coffee, and best of all it was warm.

 
I reached the café, a sign hanging over the door reading ‘The Coffee Grind’ in large, elegant white letters. The bell chimed gently as I pushed the door open and slipped inside.

 
The café was almost empty, which wasn’t a huge surprise being that it was seven at night. The lights were dim and rock music played softly over the speakers. The tiles in the floor were alternating neon colors that formed a rainbow-esque image across the room. Two teenage girls were sitting together at a booth, a blonde and a brunette, talking over coffee and giant chocolate chip cookies that should have been famous for their deliciousness. There was a young man around my age sitting alone at one of the many small tables scattered about the place; he seemed very familiar, but that didn’t surprise me. I came here often, after all, and plenty of faces were familiar.

 
The only other person present was the barista, a girl of about twenty whose name I knew was Hailey.

 
…Why did I know her name but not Ms. Chatty’s?

 
Hailey glanced up from a magazine she’d been reading and smiled as I reached the counter. “Hey, Morgana,” she greeted, sliding off her stool and tucking a lock of black hair behind her ear. “The usual?”

 
Did I mention that I come here often?

 
“Yes, please,” I confirmed, and dug through my bag for my wallet while Hailey went to fetch my order. It wasn’t long before she returned, wielding a Styrofoam cup of hot chocolate and a giant cookie. Yum

 
“Thanks,” I said as I paid and picked up the treats. I turned to find a table to sit (hot chocolate and cookies are so not walking food) and jumped when I nearly ran into someones’ chest. Unfortunately my jumping sloshed a little hot chocolate from my cup, the steaming liquid burning my fingers.

 
“S**t!” I hissed involuntarily; it was all I could do to avoid dropping the cup and spilling hot chocolate everywhere.

 
“Oh, sorry!” the man in front of me yelped, green eyes widening. “I didn’t mean to scare you!” He carefully took the cup from my hand, setting it on the counter.

 
“Than what the hell were you doing standing so close to me for?” I snapped, accepting some napkins from Hailey and drying my hand. I recognized the guy as the one who’d been sitting alone when I walked in, and up close he looked even more familiar.

 
He was silent, and when I looked at him for an explanation, he merely stared at me for several moments. Finally, he cleared his throat and gave an awkward smile. “I’m sorry. You just smell really nice.”

 
I stared at him, too stunned to react. From the corner of my eye, I saw Hailey shoot him a disturbed look as she cleaned the hot chocolate from the counter.

  

The three of us were silent, my hand slowly cooling. The man was rocking back and forth on his feet, smiling at me. Britney Spears’ ‘Womanizer’ was playing on the radio, and if I hadn’t been so distracted I probably would have drowned myself in the hot chocolate to avoid having to listen to that drivel.

 
“So,” the guy said abruptly. “Come here often?”

 
Briefly I was distracted by my own thoughts; hadn’t I just been mentioning how often I come here? Weird.

 
“If I say no, will you go away?” I asked, an eyebrow raised in challenge.

 
“No,” he replied. “If you said no, I’d call you a liar, since I’ve seen you in here like, every night.”

 
I frowned. “If you know I come here, why did you ask?”

 
He shrugged and smiled. “Just making conversation,” he said innocently.

 
“You’re weird.” I picked up my hot chocolate and retreated to a booth I’d spotted. Much to my disdain, he followed me.
  

“I’m really sorry about scaring you, Morgana-”

 
“How do you know my name?”

 
“I heard Hailey say it.”

 
I set my food on the table and scowled at him. “What’re you, some crazy stalker?”

 
To my surprise, his face lit up in a smile. “Nope. I’m perfectly sane.”

 
I felt my eye start twitching again. “I see.” I slid into my booth. “Do you know where I work, too?”

 
“No,” he said. “How would I know that?”

 
“Nevermind.” I rubbed my eyes and plucked off a piece of my cookie, eating it warily.

 
The man lingered by my table, smiling stupidly at me. “I bet you don’t know my name,” he said finally.

 
“Quite a gambler, aren’t you?”

 
“It’s Alex.”

 
“Fantastic.” I rested my chin in my hand, picking at the cookie absently without eating much of it. I glanced up at Alex and observed him.

 
He was tall, a few inches taller than me, with choppy blond hair and big, cheerful eyes. I’d thought that they were green, but I could see now that they were a light gray, flecked heavily with bright emerald shards.

 
“Is there a reason you’re still standing here?” I asked reluctantly.

 
“Can I sit with you?” Alex asked pleasantly.

 
I raised an eyebrow, wondering which part of my sentence had been an invitation. “I guess…?”

 
“Cool.” He sat down across from me, still wearing that stupid smile. He didn’t say anything, merely staring at me.

 
I tried to ignore him, eating my cookie and sipping my hot chocolate while doing my best to pretend he wasn’t there. I was good at ignoring people, and since he was so quiet, I thought it would be easy.

 
About as easy as advanced calculus.

 
“Can you please stop?” I hissed finally. My skin was crawling under his constant stare, and ignoring him seemed to have no effect.

 
“Stop what?” he asked innocently.

 
I glowered at him. “Stop staring at me.”

 
“Why?”

 
“It’s freaking creepy.”

 
“Oh.” He ducked his head a little and averted his eyes, looking at the table. He began picking at a chipped part of the plastic surface with one fingernail. He looked at me, then down again. Then back up at me. Then at the table.

 
“What are you doing?” I asked stiffly.

 
He glanced at me and smiled, averted his eyes, and looked back at me. “Not staring.”

 
My eyes narrowed. “You’re weird.”

 
“Says the one girl in existence who doesn’t like being stared at.”

 
I sighed and stood. “I’m going home,” I muttered, gathering my trash.

 
“I’ll walk with you,” Alex offered, bouncing to his feet.

 
“What, so you can find out where I live and stalk me?”

 
He blinked, surprised. He started to answer, paused, and grinned. “You’re so unobservant,” he said, laughing. “We’ve been living in the same building for three years.”

 
I stopped halfway to the trashcan and looked at him, shocked. Was it really possible that I’d shared an apartment building with someone for three years without ever noticing?

 
Sure, I tried to reason with myself. You have lots of neighbors you’ve never met.

 
But he knew me.

 
Alex was still watching me with that dumb smile, waiting for some kind of reply. I wasn’t sure what to say, so I attempted to buy myself time by continuing my journey to the trashcan. When I returned to the table, I was still at a loss.

 
“Fine. We’ll walk together,” I said awkwardly, adjusting the strap of my bag.

 
His smile grew. “Cool,” he said cheerfully. “Hang on.” He scurried to the table he’d been sitting at earlier and gathered his jacket, scarf and backpack, which he’d left.

 
“You weren’t worried about that getting stolen?” I asked, stuffing my hands into my pockets as I followed him.

 
He looked at me and shrugged. “It’s like, thirty dollars worth of stuff all together,” he said, slipping the jacket on and zippering it before pulling the bag onto his shoulders. “Besides, who would steal it?” He gestured around the café, and I saw with a grimace that the two of us and Hailey were the only ones left.

 
“Whatever.” I turned on my heel and headed for the door, briefly submitting my left hand to the cold in order to manipulate the door handle.

 
Alex trotted after me, following me into the cold air. “It’s pretty tonight,” he commented cheerfully, walking beside me on the sidewalk.

 
“If by ‘pretty’ you mean ‘freaking freezing’, I agree.”

 
“Do you not like the cold?”

 
“No, I do not.”

 
To no ones’ surprise, Alex smiled again. “That’s cute.”

 
I blinked, caught off-guard. He was doing that to me a lot, and I wasn’t sure if I liked it. Why was it cute that I didn’t like the cold? Nothing I did was ever cute. I wasn’t cute.

 
Before I could question him, I was distracted once again as Alex suddenly draped his scarf around my neck.

 
“There,” he said brightly. “Better?”

 
I stared at him, speechless. The scarf was thick and warm, grey with black stripes, and it almost immediately helped to fend off the cold and warm me up.

 
Of course, that could have also been because of my blushing.

 
“Whatever,” I said again, and kept walking, glad for the dark so he wouldn’t see the red undoubtedly staining my pale face. I didn’t take the scarf off, though. Much to my displeasure, the garment did help quite a bit.

 
Alex seemed to sense this, and didn’t comment on my rudeness. He merely walked alongside me, watching cars go by and occasionally staring at me from the corner of his eyes.

 
I’d never been very good with names. I didn’t know half the names of the people I worked with and the people in my apartment had even less of a chance of being remembered. My parents friends were hopeless, and the authors I occasionally met with had no chance whatsoever.

 
So if I couldn’t remember the important people in my life, why did I remember Alex?

Author's Note

Please let me know what you think!

Reviews

[The Pack]

This was a remarkable introduction into your characters. The title of the story pulled me in and I'm glad I read this. It's filled with a fun mix of social banter between an odd mix of characters and comes across with allot of well timed humor. A very enjoyable chapter!

[perfectlymetiKulous]

Morgana is charmingly cranky. I think I enjoy her bluntness the most.
Alex is adorable. He's quite the perservering type - I can already see that.
But what's worth having is certainly worth working for, right?

I enjoyed it, it was a very well-written, light and easy read. Can't wait to see more.