My tea is hot. The mint is slightly overpowering but the aftertaste is so fantastic that it makes it even more enjoyable. The bright orange cup is warm in my hands and brings a level of happiness along with it, chipped porcelain handle and all. The energy in the room is already brewing. The slow build of electricity is felt with each body that walks through the open door. Voices chat excitedly over the soft music playing. It's sensual, calming.

I nod a simple goodbye to Trent, noting the way his smile grows when he looks at me. I don't look back at Trent as I step into the crowd, getting lost in the sea of dreads and crop tops. I search for her Crane's blond hair amongst the crowd. She's taller than most people our age and older, standing at five-foot-ten.

I'm having the best time already. In a room packed full of people, all near my age, all loving the same thing that I love. The strangers seem to all be able to feel the energy that I feel, taking in every word with the emotion as I do. For the first time in seventeen years, I feel like I belong somewhere. It feels pretty damn good.

When I find them, Crane is staring at her phone and my dad is wiping some thing off of my mom's face. I scrunch my nose and my mind goes to Trent, wondering if he likes the poetry here or if he only sees it as part of his job. I secretly hope he appreciates what he gets to see every week. I stand between my mom and Crane and look toward the stage. They managed to get a really great spot in the center of the room, just slightly to the left of the stage. Our view of the stage is better than I was hoping for and I'm counting down the minutes before Maya Crawford takes the stage.

"He's cute, right?" Crane leans into me, suddenly remembering there's a world outside of her phone, not that I do the same. She wraps her arm around my shoulder. I roll my eyes, nudging her off and she raises her finger to give it to me, but my mom gives her "the look" and she drops her hand faster than I can laugh.

"For who? You or me?" I ask, half teasing, half genuinely wondering before I make a fool of myself. I know she's dating Jesse so I don't want to be too quick to assume anything.

Crane rolls her eyes, huffing, "Obviously you."

I don't say anything to her. I just smile and purse my lips slightly. I don't know when I became the single friend who everyone tries to set up, but I can't find it in me to complain. Not yet at least. Not unless Crane gets out of control. The lights dim and I turn my focus to the stage.

My adrenaline rushes as Maya Crawford takes the small stage. If she's nervous, she's hiding it well. Her eyes are sharp under the bright lights and her bright red lipstick against her brown skin is stunning, making a point.

She doesn't appear to be anything close to nervous as she walks past the high top chair in the center of the circle. She wraps her hand around the wooden seat and pushes the chair to the side.

Her eyes are small crescents, barely opened, as she takes one last step to stand in front of the microphone stand. She doesn't touch the stand as she begins. Maya Crawford is even better than I could have imagined. Her words roll off of her tongue, she transforms them into more, into air. They seem to float through the space, filling every listener's ears and making their skin hum. My body feels alive, sparking under my skin, as she speaks about what makes us who we are. She delivers lines about her single mother, the incredible hours her and her siblings spent working since they can remember. Her voice is so fast toward the end that she's almost rapping about work and faith and having ambition and letting it fuel you.

I'm immediately inspired, it's impossible not to be. She speaks with such passionate conviction and her voice sings to something inside of me. I look around the crowd of silenced listeners and see that it's not only me who's affected by her talent.

I can't imagine my performance being anything close to as magical as hers, but one day I want to try it. I have to, I've realized that in the last twenty minutes.

Maya finishes her set on a hopeful note and I can't believe it went so fast. I wish she would come back on stage.

"That was... wow!" Crane sings and looks toward the stage. I know spoken poetry isn't as interesting as music or fashion to Crane but I love that she makes the actual effort to be engaged in the things that are important to me. When we were twelve, she auditioned for River Ridge Junior High's remake of Grease with me. I wanted to be Sandy but barely got chosen for Jan and Crane got the part of a waitress, after ten minutes of begging the director. Our friendship goes both ways, I attended a makeup seminar with her last summer and even hearing the word "contour" tricks my body into sleep. I smiled the whole way through, even though I spent most of the day with a pen in my hand, writing lines, instead of bronzing my face within a sliver of looking like I rolled in dirt.

Crane and I are aware of out differences and neither of us try to force the other to change anything about themselves. That's the mistake most girls my age make and that's why most of the friendships don't make it past ninth grade.

But ours did and I couldn't be more thankful. Even times like now when she's patting under her eyes and pretending to sob.

My dad steps closer to us. "That was incredible!" he pushes his hands out in front of him and pretends his hands are exploding, sound effects and all. "She was amazing!" My dad wraps his arm around my mom and she leans into him.

As the crowd starts filing out, we make our way to the front of the shop and I try to fight the urge to glance toward the coffee bar. I have no self control though, so when I give in and look at the bar, Trent is no where to be found. I scan over the other employees and flinch when I find Trent. I'm only flinching because due to my thorough eye scan, it was obvious that I was looking for someone.

He's still looking at me. His green eyes are still as enchanting, his crooked nose still looks too big in the most adorable way. Crane hooks her fingers around my wrist and pulls me through the door. I try to wave to him, but I'm not sure if he was it. Maybe he did and I looked like a craze person. Maybe I'm overthinking this.

Am I overthinking this? I'm definitely overthinking this.

During the walk to the car, my parents gush about my taste in poets and I enjoy their breakdown of their favorite parts.

"I can't wait for you to perform there. Can you imagine, all those people will be there to watch you. Even more, I bet," Crane's voice is so sure, so solid. I can't imagine it, it doesn't seem realistic, no matter how exciting it would be.

I climb into the car and sit behind my dad. "Here, let me type it in," my mom takes the cell phone from my dad's hands. He's known for trying to use his navigation while driving, neither of which he's actually good at.

I direct the conversation back to tonight, "Weeping Willow is really picky about who they have performing," I tell them. I know Crane doesn't see limits in the same way I do, but I don't want her to think it's that simple to perform there.

"Yes, I know, which is why you will." Crane responds and I stare out the window, imagining how it would feel to take the stage at Weeping Willow. I would be nervous, I know it, but I also know it would feel incredible to have people take their time to come watch me. I can imagine my name being like Maya Crawford's, and people driving hours to watch me.

Traffic is daunting when trying to leave the Quarter. While my parents try to come up with the fastest way out, Crane and I talk about Jesse. She tells me that he text her a few times while we were gone and that she misses him even though she just saw him today. The idea of missing someone after being away from them for only a few hours makes me nauseous, but this smile looks good on Crane. An hour later we finally make it to Crane's house, it looks the same as when we dropped her off. Empty. I ask her if she wants to stay with us but she declines, telling us that her mom is supposed to be home early in the morning. I hope she makes it.

When we get home, I turn down my parent's offer to go out for pizza and go to my room. I'm exhausted and inspired and I can't wait to write. I reach for my notebook but can't remember where I put it. I look on my desk, my bed, my dresser. It's not here. I walk downstairs, check the counter, the couch, the car. No where to be found. I start to panic, trying to remember everything about the night and the last time I saw the book. There are so many poems written inside, too many words to disappear. I take the stairs quickly to reach my phone. I'll ask Crane when she saw it last. I've never done this before, I can't imagine just leaving it sit somewhere.

Trent and his dirty blond hair pops into memory. He held his hand out to shake mine.. I sat the notebook down. That's it, I left it at the coffee shop. I check the time and groan when the numbers read 11:00. I have to wait until tomorrow and find a way back to Weeping Willow to get my notebook. What if someone found it? What if they read it? Or worse, what if he's the one who found it and read it?