Spanish Hot Chocolate

Jeez Lois... she should be here by now, Marcie thought to herself as she looked over her shoulder and to the front door of the coffee shop for the fourth time in the past ten minutes.

She took her gaze down to the table, her hands under her thighs to warm them back up after her walk to the coffee shop. Cecelia and Marcie's apartment was just adjacent to campus, and today, they didn't walk together as they usually did. At promptly a quarter to eight, Marcie began her walk to the coffee shop alone, anticipating Cecelia would make her arrival a minute or two behind her, likely being held up due to her frantic search for her American Literature textbook in the horribly disorganized pigsty she called her bedroom.

As Marcie sat waiting for her name to be called out, alerting her that her drink was ready, she chuckled to herself thinking perhaps Cecelia had become entangled in Hermes scarves getting dressed, or something equally foolish. While the two were impossibly close, they couldn't be more different. Marcie, white- blond and pale next to Cecelia's chestnut auburn locks and tan complexion. Marcie, the daughter of a long line of English potters, and Cecelia of the lineage of Grecian luxury ship merchants.

Just as the girl's ideas of cleanliness and timeliness differed, even their parent's money spoke different languages.

Cecelia and Marcie had been friends since the freshman year of high school, both daytime boarding students at their town's local, elite private school, Gillard Heights.

The girls hit it off at orientation, and stuck together like peanut butter did to fluffernutter. Some folks might say the two don't go together, but for them, the condiments flowed together as smooth as cashmere.

"Marty?" the voice rang out from behind the coffee counter.

Marcie rolled her eyes and turned to glare at the lanky guy holding her mug and saucer up towards the seating area.

Marcie stood up from her leather banquette and sauntered over to the counter.

"Are you really so dim that you still haven't gathered control over your tongue to remember that my name is Marcie? Mar-Cie. Repeat after me, Marrrr- Cieeeee. Idiot."

The young man's hand holding up her drink shifted, probably uncomfortable from the heat of the mug.

"I'm sorry, it's a busy morning as usual, of course I know your name is Marcie, everyone does. You've come here weekly for the past four years."

Marcie firmly grasped the mug and saucer and strutted back to her seat without giving the lanky guy another glance.

The frothy hot chocolate in between her palms was pristine, just the way she liked it. The whipped cream puffed up in cloudy billows above the deep chocolate drink. Its thickness reminded her of the Spanish hot chocolate she drank on her trip to Barcelona last winter with Cecelia.

For the fifth time, Marcie looked at the coffee shop door. She was familiar with her friend's tardiness, but this was a new level of unacceptable.

Six minutes? Seriously?

Marcie absolutely loathed having her time taken advantage of. She had a tight schedule to keep. She preferred to be in class no less than five minutes before lecture began to greet her professors, claim her coveted seat, and organize her notes before the rest of the students arrived.

Marcie sighed and took a tentative draw from her hot chocolate. The liquid was perfectly heated, cool enough to swallow in a large sip, but hot enough to leave a warm trail through her esophagus.

Marcie's cup was nearly half-full by the time Cecelia burst into the coffee shop, laughing and linking arms with another girl. Their matching haircuts curled into their lip gloss, and their Burberry scarves whipped in the wind, and almost got stuck in the door jam.

Marcie growled under her breath in frustration. She couldn't believe Cecelia was late again because she was so over-consumed with herself. It made Marcie gag. Her own style was so effortless, she barely needed a pinch of concealer to cover her few blemishes, while her friend needed her contouring and highlighting skills to hide the unfortunate beauty marks her Grecian lineage had handed down to her.

Beyond that, she couldn't believe that her friend had shown up late to their weekly coffee because she ran into her ditzy, wannabe, groupie, Francis.

How couldn't Cecelia see that Francis was so fake, copying her every move to try and get into her good graces. What does she need another best friend for anyway? Aren't I enough?

Marcie began to wiggle her body towards the inside edge of the banquette, preparing a warm space for her friend to sit, as she saw Francis and Cecelia untangle their arms and part ways.

"H-," Marcie began as she looked up from her mug to lock eyes with Cecelia.

At the same moment, Cecelia tripped on her own boot while power-walking towards the table.

"Oh, gosh, silly me!" she giggled to herself as she approached the seat.

Marcie could only wonder what excuse she'd have for being late this time.

Was it that she got lost in that vast, messy closet of vintage designer jeans and Double Zero outfits that she called a wardrobe?

Maybe, she stumbled out of bed, late to her alarm after drinking a tad too much bourbon at the Beta Theta Pi house yet again.

Cecelia refastened the buckle back on her CELINE boots.

My guess is the later option, Marcie guessed from her friend's bought of clumsiness.

Cecelia straightened back up, flipping her wavy, waist-length, layered hair on the way up, and finally met Marcie's gaze with a sigh.

"I'm sorry, I..." Cecelia began before Marcie cut her off.

"You should be," Marcie interjected.

"Excuse me?"

"You should be sorry," Marcie repeated before sipping her lukewarm hot chocolate, and dabbing the whipped cream off her upper lip with a napkin.

Cecelia's normally nonchalant manner tensed.

"This is getting out of hand," she spat back to Marcie.

Count to three Marcie chanted to herself. Don't let your emotions get the best of you.

Marcie could feel her anger rising and she began tracing the loop of  her mug to calm down and focus.

"I've told you to stop following me, what on earth is your problem?" Cecelia questioned.

"I don't know what you mean," Marcie mocked back with a subtle smirk, "What, do you think you own this coffee shop or something?" Marcie joked.

"This is not funny, I don't understand what your deal is." Cecelia retorted.

It felt like everyone in the entire coffee shop hushed at the same moment, and Marcie felt all eyes on her.

Francis, Cecelia's latest groupie appeared at the table, wiping her wet hands on her wool coat.

"Are you kidding me? Again with this freak?" Francis accused in an exasperated tone.

"I know, I know, I'm handling it." Cecelia urged.

"No, you're not Cecelia, this is so freaking creepy, how don't you see that?"

Marcie gulped the last cold dregs of hot chocolate and scooted her way out of the banquette.

"No way am I letting you slip past like you weren't just waiting here in plain sight, like you haven't been stalking us for absolutely ever," Francis challenged.

"I have not, what are you talking about?"

Cecelia stood behind Francis, letting her fight her battle for her.

"I know you've been stalking Cecelia, we're not stupid you know. I swore I saw you across the street from the Beta Theta Pi house last week. I told myself I was just seeing things, but I know it was you now. You need to leave Cecelia alone. She's already told you that you're not friends and to give her some space."

Marcie drew in a quick breath, steeling herself for the verbal assault that was taking place in the middle of the coffee shop. She shifted her eyes to meet the hazel ones of Cecelia's, hoping hers communicated a pleading that would cross through her friend's cerebral cortex like they were clairvoyants.

Francis' own angry, hazel eyes suddenly cut off Marcie's path to Cecelia's.

Marcie shifted her focus back to Francis, noticing how the only thing that distinguished her from her twin sister was a muted scar on the tip of her chin.

Marcie fingered the scar on her own chin, one she put there after meeting Cecelia for the first time in ninth grade at Gillard Heights. She wanted to match her new friend down to the cell, so she nicked herself with her razor, refusing to let her mom put vitamin e oil on it to avoid a scar. It was a week later that she realized she did it for nothing, because it was Francis who had the scar, not Cecelia.

Marcie had even tried to keep her hair the same lovely hue of brown as Cecelia, but her mother fought her for months, insisting the brown made her pale skin look washed out. Even her spray tan stayed too orangey compared to Cecelia's effortless bronze glow.

The glint of blue and red lights outside the coffee shop window brought Marcie back to reality. She whipped her head to look at the lanky guy behind the counter, who was now directing two police officers to Marcie's table, pointing and talking with his hands.

Marcie's pulse quickened, Cecelia's class began in five minutes, and she was going to be late if she stayed in the coffee shop a minute longer.

Marcie tried to dash out of her seat, and knocked her mug to the floor, ceramic shards bursting in all directions, the sprinkles standing out in dark contrast against the gray marble floors.

The twins jumped back, and the two officers stepped forward abruptly, stopping Marcie in her tracks.

All of these years, Marcie had been able to watch Cecelia from afar, never letting their paths cross, simply observing from a distance. It was easy to do in prep school, as Marcie had a different course load to catch her up to speed after staying back a year to repeat eighth grade.

Her vigorous studying to put her on Cecelia's level helped ensure she had the academics to get her into any Ivy League she wanted, especially Princeton, where Francis always bragged she and her twin sister were destined to go after graduation.

Marcie appreciated Cecelia's polite attitude compared to her sister's abrasive, bossy one. Francis was so protective over her and her sister's family name, status, and perception from their social crew. Cecelia wasn't like that. Her grace transcended her looks, and her spirit was simply intoxicating.

For years, Marcie had kept her head down and her lips sealed. She rushed into a good sorority, keeping up the impression that she wasn't a total loner, even though she hated those stuck-up girls with a passion. It wasn't until Cecelia met her boyfriend, Garrett, that Marcie couldn't bear to keep quiet.

She needed Cecelia all to herself, and in her distraction, started making silly mistakes. Now, she would pay for it, because there was no way sweet Cecelia was going to let Marcie off the hook for a third time.

This time, Marcie had crossed a line, and she knew it.

As she was led out of the coffee shop, being read her Miranda Rights, she glimpsed at the counter, where two identical hot chocolates sat undisturbed on the countertop, waiting for their buyers to claim them.

"Marty?"

Marcie shook her head, clearing her mind from her anxious daydream.

She checked her watch as she stood up to get her coffee from the counter.

The lanky loser who worked at the university coffee shop never got her name right. No one did.

Marcie was a nobody and she knew it.

She also knew she had about two minutes before Cecelia and her twin, Francis came through the door. She made her way back to her corner booth behind the monstera plants and sheltered herself behind her textbook.

Like clockwork, the two girls entered the shop, bringing a gust of chilly winter wind in with them.

Marcie shivered as the breeze reached her, carrying with it the scent of Cecelia's Guerlain Jasmin Bonheur perfume that was so familiar to Marcie. She lifted her scalding hot chocolate to her lips and took a shallow sip.