“Yeah, I guess,” Sarika said grudgingly. “That guy is a tool.”
“Tool!” Leila exclaimed at this, getting off the couch. She turned to Sarika, who stared at her quizzically. “Well, tools. Before I heard, well, you know”—Sarika winced—“I was planning to go plant Major Willow in the yard back here. Want to help me?”
“Oh yeah, totally!” Sarika said, grabbing her phone and stuffing it in her pocket. “You have any work gloves?” She held out her hand and wiggled her wingers, displaying bright-magenta nail polish decorated with bits of glitter.
“I’ve got you,” Leila said. “Let me grab Major Willow, and we’ll head out.”
_____
Leila wiped the sweat from her forehead and stretched, feeling pleased with herself, and resisted the urge to flash Sarika a scowl. There hadn’t been any gloves in the box of gardening tools, and she wasn’t about to waste another minute leaving Major Willow in that pot, even if it meant having to dig in the yard herself while Sarika gave her a mini photo shoot.
“I really like this one,” Sarika said, pushing herself off the small porch swing in the yard, eyes set on her phone as she walked over, smirking. “See?”
She held out the phone, which showed Leila bent over fussing in the dirt, her butt up in the air.
“Give me that!” she shouted, laughing. Leila grabbed Sarika and wrestled the phone out of her hand, the two of them laughing, and then flipped through the remaining pictures. She stopped and smiled at one as Sarika looked over her shoulder.
“See, now this one isn’t bad,” Leila said, smiling and nodding. The photo showed her squatted down in the yard, digging in the small patch out back with one of the trowels. She was smiling, her hair looked great, and even her simple outfit, jeans and a loose-fitting, upcycled t-shirt from a nearby local thrift store, looked good.
“Maybe we can post that one on the board. I bet Toothless would be into it,” Sarika said with a wink.
“Oh hell no.” Leila rolled her eyes.
“What?” Sarika shrugged, her face a feigned expression of innocence. “I’m just saying, you are kinda nice to him sometimes. You guys direct message ever? Hm?” Her voice went up higher and faster with each little accusation. “Little private chat sessions? Just the two of you? Swap a few pics?”
“Sarika, please don’t make me bury you under the tree.”
“Okay, okay,” Sarika said, hands up. “Maybe we post it for the others, though, just a little update on your sapling.”
“Still no,” Leila said, shaking her head. “Just a photo of the tree, thanks. I prefer to keep things anonymous on the Internet.” She didn’t need a bunch of faceless strangers knowing what she looked like, especially when a lot of them lived here in the city—at least, according to the board and the sub-space they posted in.
She grabbed her trowel, walked back over to the sapling, and patted the soil down before staking the tree in place so it wouldn’t move on a rainy or windy day. She gently tugged at the small willow tree, and, satisfied it wouldn’t move, clapped her hands together to shake all the dirt off.
“She looks good,” Sarika said, walking up behind her, placing her well-manicured hand on Leila’s shoulder.
“Yeah she does,” Leila said, smiling. She reached back out and ran her fingers through the young willow’s leaves and thin branches, still bunched up in a green ball. For a moment, just a moment, she thought she felt the little tree rustle, like it was stretching up to greet her touch.
“Looks kinda like your hair, only green,” Sarika said, before Leila could say anything.
“Oh wow, shut up,” Leila said, playfully swinging at her best friend.
The wind around her whispered, the tone almost playful, whimsical, merry. She closed her eyes and shook her head, trying to block it out.
“You okay?” Sarika said, taking a step forward.
“I’m fine,” Leila said. “I’m fine, it’s alright. It’ll pass.”
Sarika hugged her close, and Leila whispered.
“Tree. Soil. Wind.” She paused. “Friend.”
Sarika gave her a little squeeze.
If she could survive uprooting, she could survive this new home.
She looked over Sarika’s shoulder at the tree, and her best friend held her tight.
They would both survive.
Sarika Paprika
@TheSarikaPaprika
Heading to @AdamsPhillyCafe with my girl @WithouttheY for the morning until lunch-ish. Come and get it! #SarikaTheBarista
8/9/17, 7:47AM
37 Retweets 87 Likes
Chris @ChristoferYurie 9m
@TheSarikaPaprika @AdamsPhillyCafe OMG @LaurenGibs you see this? Let’s go!
Leila @WithouttheY 7m
@TheSarikaPaprika @AdamsPhillyCafe Why you gotta put me on blast? I’m getting like a million notifications.
Leila @WithouttheY 6m
@TheSarikaPaprika @AdamsPhillyCafe WHY DID YOU RETWEET THAT NOW IT IS EVEN WORSE.
Sarika @TheSarikaPaprika 5m
@WithouttheY @AdamsPhillyCafe LOL
Adam @AdamsPhillyCafe 2m
@TheSarikaPaprika well the place is already starting to fill up. Great work.
III
Leila tossed her backpack onto a polished wooden table in Adam’s, a nonprofit café on the edge of Philadelphia’s Brewerytown neighborhood that employed foster kids. She slid onto the upcycled wooden bench, a reclaimed church pew, that sat along one of the windows. Adam’s had a hip, earthy feel, and the entire café was painted in warm colors and decorated with art made by its patrons and workers, who were almost always one and the same.
Exceptions to the regular clientele came when people knew Sarika was behind the barista station, whipping up creations that otherwise weren’t on the café’s menu.
Like right now.
“Listen, I’m not judging or anything,” Sarika shouted over the roar of the café’s ancient, dying expresso machine. The old, metal, box-shaped monster made a cacophony of hisses and squeals as steam pushed out a valve on the opposite side. “Oh my God this fucking thing!”
“Sarika! Serenity, please,” Mr. Hathaway snapped, peeking his head out from the small kitchen behind Sarika. The little, blonde mustache under his nose was already pushed up to the side as his mouth shifted up irritably. “Remember, we’re here to learn how to communicate with—”
“With people,” Sarika said. “Not with dying machines that refuse to let me finish this double mocha latte with a triple shot of expresso.”
“Well if you would stick to the menu of—” Mr. Hathaway started.
“If I stuck to the menu of just plain coffee, iced coffee, and tea, we wouldn’t do any business!” Sarika exclaimed while pressing an espresso bean holder into the whining machine, and cranking it in.
Leila stifled a laugh, watching the scene unravel from her seat, as Sarika shouted back at poor Mr. Hathaway. She made herself comfortable as the two of them battled, locked in their usual routine. Adam’s was practically their second home, and not just because Sarika worked here, slinging coffee whenever she could, but because it was meant to feel like a second home for teens like them.
Leila nuzzled into the hard wall along the back of the once-church-pew-now-coffee-table-bench, and sighed as Sarika fussed with something behind the machine, causing steaming hot water to burst from the front. The steam hissed with an explosive smell of espresso beans and misty water, like someone had spilled a cup of coffee in the summer rain.
“Hey!” Sarika shouted at a random customer waiting in line, who looked up at her in surprise, pulled from his staring-at-his-phone trance.
“Would you come in here, if it was just plain coffee and tea?” Sarika asked. A number of anxious-looking people stood behind him, and Leila held in another laugh as their eyes darted about awkwardly in that trying-to-look-casual but please-don’t-talk-to-me kind of way. Sarika leaned over her countertop, staring at everyone, and Leila smiled at the sight. Her best friend, intimidating a room full of people, leaning over the wooden countertop like a beautiful gargoyle.