My dad walks through the shop, his eyes searching the tables for me. I didn't want my dad and Trent to meet like this, when my dad drove me here because they wouldn't let me drive alone. Not that I thought the blond barista would ever meet either of my parents anyway. Trent must be at least eighteen to be here working during school hours.

"That's my dad," I tell Trent before my dad reaches our table. My dad is dressed in his typical sandals, old canvas pants and a band t-shirt. His peppered hair is long at the sides, my mom tells him to cut it at least once a day.

Trent stands as my dad approaches and holds his hand out. "I'm Trent, nice to meet you," he shakes my dad's hand and I watch as my dad's skeptical eyes are clearly impressed by Trent's manners. I'm equally as impressed. It's something that I shouldn't be surprised by, but I'm used to the boys at my school saying, What's up instead of shaking parent's hands.

"You too, man," my dad says to Trent and then looks at me. "I thought you fell into the toilet or something," he teases me. Trent laughs and I shift uncomfortably in my seat. I'm not embarrassed that my dad talking about toilets with him, I'm embarrassed that he thinks his joke was actually funny.

"Ha-ha," I respond, standing to my feet. When I check the time on my phone it's past nine. I won't get to school until at least ten. I get the feeling that if I would have driven myself, I would have stayed much, much longer.

Trent offers my dad a coffee and my dad takes him up on it. Trent left my notebook unguarded on the wooden table. I grab it and shove it into my bag before he returns. His praise over my work repeats through my mind as I watch him make my dad a coffee to-go.

My dad wraps his arm around my shoulder and whispers, "he seems okay." I roll my eyes and my dad laughs, letting go of me. "A little too old if you ask me," he adds.

"He's only..." I try to correct him but I don't know how old Trent is. I look at him behind the bar and he's already looking at me. I smile and try to look at him until he gives in. He keeps his green eyes on mine until it's uncomfortable for both of us and his face breaks into the sun, laughing and bright. I keep my face as flat as I can when he loses. I'm more reserved, proving that I'm the winner of our staring contest.

"Chaucer, Chaucer, Chaucer." My dad whispers, shaking his head slowly. I had forgotten that he was here. Trent holds up my dad's coffee and walks out from behind the bar.

Out of paranoia, I check my bag one more time for my notebook one last time before we go.

My dad thanks Trent as a group of college students enter the café. Only one more year, I remind myself. "Are you heading out?" Trent asks us.

My dad looks at me, waiting for me to answer. I'm glad he didn't say, yes, I have to drop my only daughter off at day care, which is something he would totally do. "Yeah, I have to get back, I have school," I catch myself, "I'm a senior," I add, rambling. Smooth, Chaucer, smooth.

Trent smiles and makes eye contact with me. I like that. Trent looks at my dad next, "I was just telling Chaucer that if she wanted to perform here she can, anytime."

What? My stomach fills with butterflies, my hands sweat. "I..." I look over to the stage that Maya Crawford stood on just last night and my heart races at the thought of my words flowing through the air, quick and doubtless. I can't imagine it, but I want to feel the adrenaline, I want to see the faces of the crowd as each line of my work sinks into them, taking their breath away.

"What? Really?" My dad interrupts. "What about that Chaucer?"

Trent's white t-shirt has a coffee stain on it and I get a little bit of satisfaction from this. He's not perfect. He is perfect.

I shake my head, "I'm not even close to ready for that." My dad frowns, his knowing eyes on me.

Trent pushes his hands into the back pockets of his jeans. "I've been working here a while and I've heard countless performances. I haven't seen you perform, but the words on those pages..." Trent lifts his hand, almost like he's reaching for mine, but drops it before he touches me. His cheeks are blushed and his eyes are bright, convincing.

"I've never performed outside of my bedroom," I tell them. I can feel the two of them teaming up as I speak. Ideally, I would love to someday. Maybe next year. I'm just not ready.

My dad opens his mouth to speak but then closes it again. I know him well enough to know that he's going to continue this conversation in the car. The café is filling up quickly and at least ten people are in line.

Trent frowns apologetically. "I better get back to work. Uncle or not, he will fire me," he jokes.

I don't want to leave but I have to. I wonder when the next time I will see him will be. "Okay, thanks for holding my book for me?" The end of my sentence rises into a question and he nods.

"Don't thank me, it was the highlight of my week," he says with certainty and a smile. I like how often he smiles.

My dad says his goodbye and Trent walks toward the bar, tying a blue apron around his waist. I wish I could stay all day.

"You'll come back, yeah?" he calls from behind the bar. The entire line turns to look at me and I smile at him, nodding. I don't think I'm ready to perform, but I will be back.

When we get to the car, I buckle in and prepare for my dad to give me some version of "the talk". He buckles his seatbelt and pulls out onto the road. "Did you get his number?" He asks.

I roll my window down a little and pretend I didn't hear him, even though he knows I did. "I'm not answering that," I laugh and he doesn't push me. I actually like that Trent didn't ask for my number. I barely know him yet and if he wants to get to know me, the worst thing to do would be to cheapen it by being a typical guy and asking for my number so soon.

I would like to know what he thinks of me. I'm still in high school and my dad had to drive me downtown. I didn't talk a lot and I'm too scared to perform a poem that I wrote. Does he find me childish or endearing? I don't know. I wish I did. How will I know if he likes me if he didn't give me his number or any way to contact him? Dating is so much effort.

Dating? Way to get ahead of yourself, Chaucer.

My dad turns the radio on and I pull out my bag and open my notebook. I open the cover and flip from page to page, letting the relief of having it in my hands flow through me. I click the end of my pen and touch the pen to the page.

I write at the top of the page,

FEAR.

And plan to come back to it later. I get to the end of the book and something catches my eye just before I close it. It's a drawing of a girl with shoulder length brown hair tucked behind her ears. Her full mouth is open slightly and words are scribbled around the detailed drawing of me.

I'm speechless. My heart is thrumming, beating aggressively under my shirt. I run my fingers along the pen lines, down the column of my throat and along the shape of my lips. I can't believe he did this. It's incredible. I want to ask my dad to turn the car around so I can tell Trent that he should pursue his drawing and tell his uncle that he doesn't want to take over the café.

I close the book so my dad can't see the drawing. It's mine and I want to enjoy it without my parents gushing and teasing. I get my quiet nature from my dad and I love that we can ride for forty minutes in the car without either of us forcing a conversation. When my dad pulls up to River Ridge High, I zip up my bag and open the door.

My dad puts the car into park and I duck down to look at him through the window. "I have to tell your mom about his offer so she can help me convince you," he says. I groan even though I knew he would, I still want to give him a little dramatic teenage reaction back to him. It's only fair.

"I know," I push my bag up my shoulders and turn away after I thank him again for driving me.

He rolls the window halfway up and as he drives away I hear him say, "He's an excellent illustrator."

My first two blocks have already passed so I don't see Crane until the end of the day. I'm hesitant but excited to tell Crane about my morning. She's dramatic but she's never over the top. I text her during my last class to make sure she could give me a ride home.

At the end of the day I find her standing with Jesse, his arms are wrapped around her but she looks irritated. I wonder if they are fighting again, but know that if they are, she will tell me as soon as he walks away.

On cue, he kisses her cheek and gives me a quick hello before he walks away. "He drives me nuts sometimes," she complains, still watching him as he reaches the end of the hallway and turns.

"What happened?" I ask her, pushing my news about Trent to the back of my mind.

Crane fluffs her blond hair and opens her locker. "Nothing really, I'm just having a bad day and took it out on him," she seems to realize this as she says it. "Ugh, I better apologize." She clicks her tongue against the roof of her mouth, "but not right now, I'll let him suffer just a little."

I laugh and grab her Bio book as it falls from her locker. I shove it back in and she slams the door before we cause an avalanche in the hallway.

"Where were you all morning?" Crane asks while we walk down the hallway.

I take a deep breath and explain the morning, not forgetting any details, up until the drawing I found in the back of the book. That's still mine, for a little while longer.

She listens with minimal interruptions and drives to my house while I repeat the days events at least three times. I tell her that I would do anything to be brave enough to perform in front of a crowd. I share the way it felt to have someone praise my work so much. I tell her that his eyes are the soft grass and talk about the small chip in one of his bottom teeth. She's eating up, but staying quiet. Suspiciously so.

When we pull into my driveway, she parks the car and holds up a hand. "I have to tell you something about Trent," Crane bites her lip and my blood runs cold. My mind creates a list of things she could be ready to say.

He has a girlfriend.. He's known for being a jerk...

Crane ends my misery when she says, "He's Jesse's friend."

The breath I was holding puffs out and I wait for more. Nothing comes. Crane just stares at me, her lip between her teeth.

"And?" I press. She already told me this.

"And maybe I knew you would like him so I maybe was trying to play matchmaker." Crane looks as guilty as sin, this can't be all she was going to say.

"That's it?" I ask. She nods.

"You're not mad? I know you hate being set up with guys."

The front door of my house opens and my mom waves to Crane. She's covered in blue paint and something that looks like balls of cotton stuck to her hands. I don't want to know what she's up to.

"If that's your news about him, then I'm more than okay with it. You didn't really set us up anyway, you just meddled a little," I explain. For Crane, this is light meddling. I'm okay with it.

Crane makes a Friend's reference about being the Monica to my Chandler and I laugh all the way up to my door.

Over the next few days, my mom drops subtle comments about me being ready to take my poems to the next level. I appreciate that she isn't pushing me too hard to do it yet.

I find myself standing in front of my mirror for hours each night. The days pass so quickly and by the end of the week I've nailed down the dictation and when to raise my voice, when to lower. I've watched Maya Crawford's performances on YouTube until I mastered the pauses, the breaks, everything. I convince myself that I'm ready, that I can do this. I tell Crane one morning and she squeals so loud that I may have to bill her for hearing aids before I turn eighteen.

Three days after telling Crane, she spills that she has outdone Monica Gellar and "may have" told Jesse to pass along my progress to Trent. It's not Trent's opinion that I'm nervous for. It's not anyone's opinions or critique that I'm worried about. I'm worried that I spent my life loving something and convincing myself that I'm good enough at it to take it to the next level.

I've scribbled words until my hand cramped, I've edited my words until they bled onto the page.

If I fail at this, my dreams will be crushed and my entire future will shift in that café. Either way, performing will change my life, either for good or bad. I'm not ready to lose the most substantial thing in my life.

I practice and practice,

And practice.

My parents hear me at night. I can hear my mom crying sometimes when I finish Refuge. A few times I've found myself in tears too, the emotions so drained from my body that I never want to look at the page again.

When I tell Crane that I'm ready, it takes less than a school day for her to come bouncing down the hallway, her long legs take three strides in one until she reaches me. "You're in! This Friday night!!" She shrieks. I raise my hand and cover her mouth as a group of freshman girls walk by.

"Okay, okay!" She says through my hand. I drop my hand but keep it close in case she starts inviting the entire student body.

"At seven pm on Friday Chaucer Peets is scheduled to perform," her attempt at whispering fails but I don't have it in me to bring down her excitement. "You're going to be famous one day. Can you imagine? I can. You can't leave me here to rot, okay? I'm coming to Los Angeles with you." Her words are rushed and happy and I'm happy too.

"I'm not moving to Los Angeles," I laugh. She loops her arm into mine as we walk to my car. "We are rooming together next year." I say. I promise her that if I do, she can come along. She would be my assistant she says. She would sharpen my pencils and fill up my tea, she promises.

I drop Crane off at her house and go straight home to tell my parents the good news. They are going to be so excited and with each second that passes I grow more and more excited. I'm practically singing and dancing as I walk into the kitchen.

"Guys! I have news!" I shout into the air.

"We're in here!" I follow my dad's voice to the kitchen. My mom is sitting at the table, her hair is down for once and her face is flushed. It takes me a second to realize that she's crying. I look at my dad and he's staring at her, the look on his face makes my stomach ache.

"What's wrong?" I ask them. My mom wipes at her eyes and a smile breaks through.

"Tell us your news first," she urges. Her eyes are bloodshot. She's been crying for a while. My chest aches.

"No, what's wrong? Tell me." I demand. My voice is high, worried, and every possible terrible scenario rushes to the tip of my tongue. I almost start naming them, but my mom ends my misery.

"Well," she looks at my dad. Her hands are trembling on the table. Her mouth turns into a smile, my nerves soften. "We are...well, we're having a baby."

A baby? "Like a real baby?" I ask without thinking. I look at my mum's stomach hidden under her baggy dress and then look at my dad. He's crying. My heart aches, but in the best way.

I don't know how to process this but I know I'm happy about it. I was imagining the worst when I saw her crying and this is nothing but good news.

My dad laughs through the tears in his eyes, "Yes a real one. We aren't that far along yet,"

"We didn't even know we could have more after you, this wasn't expected." My mom smiles and her hand moves down to her stomach. "Are you okay?" She reaches across the table and puts her hand on mine.

"Yes! Of course I'm okay," I tell both of them. I don't know what it will be like to have baby around but I'm happy that my parents won't be alone when I'm away at college, even if it's less than an hour away.

My dad sits on the counter and turns to me. "What's your news?"

I tuck my hair behind my ears and tell them quickly. I don't want to talk about my poetry all night when they just shared such exciting news with me. I want to talk about them and the baby and happy things.

Their smiles are proud and my mom's arms are wrapped around me so tightly that I can barely breathe.

My dad climbs off of the counter and taps me on the shoulder, his own way of squeezing me to death, like my mom does.

"Friday! This Friday, like in two days?" My mom clarifies. I tell them everything they need to know and my mom only asks a few questions about Trent. My dad cuts in when she asks me if I'm going to date him. My mom tells me that she's posting on her Facebook, bragging about my performance. I hide my face and she tells me they are waiting longer to announce the baby. Facebook will be the first to know, I'm sure.

My dad starts talking about babies and rattles and puking. I love him.

My mom is worried about the baby, I can tell, but she will be okay. My dad will make sure of it.

On Friday morning my mom tells me that I can leave school early. Crane wants to leave early with with me, but her nanny won't give her a pass and my parents refuse to lie to the school for us. Crane's parents are in Spain for two more weeks and the nanny who takes care of her sister doesn't have a clue how to take care of a teenager.

While I'm brushing my hair back for the tenth time in a row, Crane texts me and tells me that she will be late. Her sister is sick and the nanny is overwhelmed. She's still coming, she promises. I finish getting ready and refuse to consider the possibility that Crane won't make it on time. She passed on the message from Jesse, who passed it on from Trent, that I need to be there an hour early to prepare and meet with the owner before I go on. It's standard, they say.

It's four-thirty when I walk through the kitchen. "Where's Crane?" My dad asks.

I take a breath. "She's at home, she's coming still but her sister is sick so she's trying to get her fever down first," my voice is shaky. My nerves are like firecrackers under my skin. I can't contain my excitement and I feel like puking. I can't decide if that's a good thing or not, but I choose not to have to decide right now.

"Oh no," my mom says, making me feel SO much better. "You have to leave soon Chauc." She reminds me.

I roll my shoulders and grab a cookie from the tray on the table. I lick it first to make sure it's not an art project. I nearly chipped a tooth on some sort of rock sculpture thing that looked like a pie once. "I'm going to be late," I say, hoping that I would feel better when I said it out loud. It made me feel the opposite of that.

My parents look at each other and I check my phone again. I have a text from Crane saying she will be here in thirty minutes. When I tell my parents this, my mom looks at my dad again. "You go ahead and go honey, we can pick up Crane."

I look at my dad, waiting for him to agree. My relief is instant when he nods and digs his keys out of his pocket. "Take our car at least, it's bigger."

"You mean safer?" I tease him. I look at my parents, the wacky and supportive pair are my favorite people in the world. And Crane, even when she's late.

"That too," my dad admits. He drops the keys into my hand and I kiss them both on the cheek. My mom gives me a list of traffic hazards to remember during the drive. I don't complain, because I know it makes her feel better and they are saving my night by finally letting me drive to The Quarter alone.

I grab my bag and rush out of the door, yelling another thank you to both of them. I set my music to the most calming, creative songs I can think of and pull out of the driveway. The traffic isn't bad on the highway, not like I thought it would be at this time, on a Friday evening. My music is loud and my head is ready to explode as I recite my lines while I wait in traffic.

I'm going to be a sister to a tiny baby with tiny hands and my parents trust me enough to drive alone. All of this in one day, and it's only going to get better tonight. Trent will surely be there, pleased that I took him up on his offer.

As I make it through the traffic and my speed picks up, I make a deal with myself. If I don't bomb this performance, I'm going to ask Trent for his number. I can make the first move and he's obviously interested in me. I look over at my bag, smiling to myself. Tonight is going to be great.

I know it.

I look down at my phone for a second and read a text from my mom. They are leaving now to pick up Crane. My excitement soars. I turn the music down and focus on the road. Another ding comes through my speaker. It's a Facebook notification from my mom. Of course she posted about tonight. The post has twenty comments already. My grandma who lives in California is proud of me, my aunt Tracey wishes she was here. My mom promises everyone she will record it for them and they tell her that they can't wait.

I refresh the page and read the two new comments. My neighbor Chris says him and his wife want to come too but they might be late. Another notification dings, mixing with the sound of screeching tires and I drop the phone as my car spins out of control. Everything is happening so fast, the green of the tree blends with the yellow of the setting sun as metal crushes, severe and chaotic.