Bright Side by Kim Holden

favorite female singers.” Her eyes are narrow and twinkling. “And so help me God, if you say one damn pop princess you’re fired.”
    I laugh at the threat. I could answer this question in my sleep. “Top three? Number one: Romy Madley Croft from the xx. Number two: Alison Moyet from Yaz. And number three: Johnette Napolitanos from Concrete Blonde. Honorable mention, because I’ve been listening to them a lot this week, goes to the chick from Royal Thunder. She can wail.”
    “How about best guitar player?”
    “My best friend.”
    She looks doubtful. “All the great guitar players out there and you’re going to say your best friend?”
    I smile back. “Absolutely.”
    “Okay. Best bass player?”
    “Easy. Silversun Pickups’ Nikki Monninger. Her bass lines are wicked. Plus she wears pretty dresses when she performs—so she’s badass and classy at the same time. I like that.”
    “Best punk band?”
    “Teenage Bottlerocket. Their live shows kick ass. So much fun to watch and the mosh pit is always raging.”
    “Most underrated band?”
    “Hands down, Dredg.”
    “Who?”
    “Exactly. It’s a travesty. Dredg should be a household name.”
    “If you could meet any band or musician, who would it be?”
    “I think it would cool as shit to hang out with Dave Grohl. He seems so nice, humble. You know, just a normal dude. Except that he’s crazy talented.” Shelly smiles at this, and I smile back.
    It’s 7:00 when she unplugs her dock and hands me my iPod. “Well Kate, I do believe I’ve found the ultimate dealer.” She’s got her list in hand. “I’ve got to pick some of this up.”
    I appreciate the compliment. “I’m glad you liked it.” I bow. “My job here is done.”
    She rolls her eyes. “You wanna grab some pizza tonight? The Boyfriend and his roommate and I are going over to Red Lion Road later for beer and pizza. We can pick you up.” And just like that Shelly’s no longer intimidating. She doesn’t take shit from anyone, but for some reason she’s warmed up to me. And the truth is, I like her, too.
    “ Dude, I’m sorry but I can’t. I’ve got homework and I promised Clayton I’d eat with him tonight.”
    She smirks. “A date with the raver?”
    “Nope. Just an evening of platonic fine dining at the cafeteria.”
    She pulls her apron over her head. “Well, you’re no fun.”
    “I really am sorry, dude, thanks for asking. Another time, okay?” The truth is I don’t have any extra money. I’ve got five dollars that needs to last until Friday when I get paid. That probably wouldn’t even buy me a slice of pizza and the beer I’m not old enough to purchase. But I can’t tell her that. I won’t become the charity case. And the cafeteria is free. Besides, I can already taste the $1.57 cup of coffee from Grounds, the one I’ll grab on my way to Literature tomorrow morning. Since the dorms don’t allow coffee makers (even the Holy Grail), and the cafeteria coffee tastes like mud, I’ve got my heart set on that cup. I need those five dollars.

Tuesday, August 30
    (Keller)
    The bell rings and it’s instinct to look. It’s not so much a trained reaction as it is involuntary curiosity. Since Romero had an appointment early this morning, I’m working the coffee bar solo until he returns.
    The first thing I notice about her is how utterly tiny she is. Then I notice her clothes, her whole look; she’s not from around here. The third is the scowl on her face, pointed at the bell hanging from the door. I get the feeling she has history with th is bell. She’s the cutest thing I’ve seen in a long time. The kind of cute that makes you smile, even if you don’t want to. As she approaches the counter, the scowl vanishes, replaced by the most genuine, sincere smile. Smiles aren’t always happy, but hers is. It’s open, content, and confident. She looks friendly in the most literal sense of the word, like you’d swear you’ve known her for years and she knows all your