Teaser... Wednesday?

This is a bit off of the new novel that I'm currently writing. It's very rough, so pardon any spelling or grammatical errors.

Earlier today I threw a baseball over a fence into oblivion. I suppose that is what my existence has become, oblivion. Every day I go through the same routine. Wake up. Go to school. Go work at The Roxy. Do homework. Try to sleep. It’s like I’m dead to myself. I drone on through the day and hope to god I can make it through to the next. Today is no different from any other. I’m sitting on the counter at The Roxy, waiting for caffeine deprived people to come in demanding their hourly fix. I hear the bell ring, signaling that some desperate soccer mom is here to get her Americano. I look over to the door, it isn’t a soccer mom. It’s a boy.
But not just any boy, a boy that takes out all of the gray stillness in my life. His muscles seem more pronounced as he walks forward, he looks to be about my age . When he get’s up to the counter he looks at me with these deep, aquamarine eyes.

“I don’t want to me disrespectful, but isn’t it against health code or something to be sitting on a counter?”

I know I should probably respond to him. I can’t though. I feel as if my whole body has been paralyzed. Aquamarine boy has an accent. A British accent. He continues blankly staring at me. Crap. What do I say?


“ Oh, umm. I don’t know. What can I help you with today?”

“Well, for starters I’d like some coffee.” He looks down at me as his says this, a teasing smirk on his face.

“I see. And what kind would you like?”

“Large regular coffee, please”

“Anything added to that? Milk? Sugar?”

“No thanks. I like to live dangerously.” He flashes me a quick smile, drops a ten dollar bill on the counter and goes to sit down.

“Sir! You forgot your change.” I yell after him.

Aquamarine boy just looks over and winks at me. I try not to lose my grip on the counter, because if I do, I am almost guaranteed to fall flat on my butt*. After making his drink, I proceed to call out his name.

“Aqua… I mean, large regular coffee!”

When he comes to get his drink, he stares at me for a few seconds. He whispers “Aqua?”. All I can do is blush and wait for him to leave. It seems as if hours have passed since I first got here. After what seems like forever, I look at the clock. Finally. I can go home.
I hop into my red 1968 Mustang. I hear the gears roughly turning as the Stang’ glides down the endless streets of Andromeda, Washington. Every day my car threatens to break down and leave me stranded.
After about three minutes of driving, I finally reach my destination. Andromeda Town Cemetery. Coming here has slowly made it’s way into my weekly routine. I walk down a darkly lit path until I see a head stone that is oh-so-familiar to me. I read it aloud to myself for what must be the four hundredth time in the past six months.

James Isles
Lay to rest June 25, 2010. Age 23
Beloved son, brother, and friend


*Changed this word in case any kiddies are reading. :)