Coffeehouse Angel by Suzanne Selfors

Coffeehouse Girl. I already knew I wasn't good at anything. I didn't need to see it confirmed in writing.
    But I answered honestly, just in case some miracle occurred and the test's analyzer uncovered a hidden talent-- a diamond in the rough.
    I handed Mr. Prince the test.
    "Be sure to get started on that checklist," he told me. "Okay." I shoved the checklist into my pocket and went looking for Vincent.

Eleven
    I t's too cold to eat in my car," Elizabeth said as I closed my locker. "The windows are icy."
    Principal Carmichael had strict rules about not eating in the hall or in the gym, so that left us, on a nasty winter day, with one option. We stepped away from the locker and joined the hot, hormonal current of ravenous teens, pushed along like flotsam until we reached the cafeteria. I hadn't yet spoken to Vincent. He was still busy with interviews.
    Students squeezed onto benches, shoulder to shoulder. Conversations erupted, utensils clanged, paper and plastic crinkled. The overhead fluorescent lights washed out everyone's food.
    Elizabeth grabbed my arm. "Face is sitting over there. Look, he's eating french fries."
    "Do you wanna sit over there?" I couldn't imagine sitting at the same table as the golf team. Besides looking totally out of place, what would we talk about? Golf seemed like the most boring game in the entire world.
    "Sit by Face? Are you crazy?"
    We found a spot in the corner, on the floor near the vending machine. Except for the constant clunking of packaged snacks, it wasn't so bad over there. A guy walked by with his hand shoved in some girl's back pocket. Elizabeth shot them a nasty glare.
    "That's so demeaning," she said. "Why don't we have boyfriends?"
    I opened my thermos of carrot soup. "Because we don't talk to boys. Except for Vincent."
    "Are we talking to Vincent? Shouldn't we be giving him the silent treatment?"
    "Maybe." Soup steam drifted up my chin. "I want to know what he was doing with that cup."
    "I'm telling you, it's all about Heidi. I still think she likes him." Elizabeth pushed her gold bangles up her arm and opened her lunch bag. "If I asked Face to go to the Solstice Festival with me, do you think he would?"
    "I don't know." Seemed unlikely, but who was I to squash her fantasy?
    "Why doesn't anyone ever ask me out? Look at me. I've got style." She lifted the hem of her denim skirt, exposing her hand-painted tights. "And I've got good breath. Don't I have good breath?" She blew in my face.
    "Yep. Good breath." At that moment in my life, boyfriendlessness wasn't high on my list of worries. Last night, after my grandmother had fallen asleep, I had gone downstairs to snoop through the pile of bills. Quite a few were stamped Past Due.
    How do you pay past due bills if you don't have any customers?
    "And I've got boobs. I'm overflowing with boobs. So what's the problem? I want to go to the festival with a guy this year." She stared across the cafeteria, longing filling every cell in her body. For a moment, her longing infected me and I pictured myself standing beneath the decorated Solstice tree, holding hands with a boyfriend. My boyfriend.
    The Solstice Festival had long been my favorite holiday. It started with the decorating of an enormous tree, erected in the center of town. As a little girl I'd fill a pinecone with peanut butter and roll it in birdseed. Then all the kids would hang their pinecones on the tree. Each family would bring a worn pair of shoes and stick it under the tree--
    an Old World tradition to symbolize harmony throughout the year. St. Nick would come and hand out candy. And we'd sing carols and stroll the street, stopping at each shop for a special treat. Then we'd get dressed up and go to the grand feast at the Sons of Norway Hall. We'd eat some good stuff, like salmon and hot rolls, and I'd ignore the disgusting stuff like lutefisk and Jell-O salad.
    I stopped filling those pinecones years ago, when I started working in the coffeehouse, but I still got caught up in