Young Writers Society

Kade gripped a charcoal pencil between their fingers and narrowed their eyes. This was it. The final stroke.  An eyelash on the lower line of the left eye. Pencil met paper and drew a curve with a satisfying scratch. Finally they exhaled, releasing the tension they didn’t notice building up in their muscles. Yes, it was just a drawing, but they were invested. They wanted it to turn out well. As they eyed the whole of their creation in the sunlight from the window, they felt a sense of completion.

It was a stylistic portrait of a girl with messy buns and shiny star-shaped hair clips. Her hair hung wildly and she gazed from the sketchbook page with the slightest of smirks. This was nothing remarkable for Kade’s style. Regardless, they were proud of how it turned out. They admired the expertly shaded button nose, the perfect rows of eyelashes, the-

Goddammit. They had done it again. They had drawn the exact same face on a different body. They laughed to themself as the realization dawned on them, even as genuine frustration crept in. This so-called same face syndrome had plagued them for so many years that it was a little bit hilarious. The worst part is that they never realized they were drawing the same features until after the drawing was complete. They blamed it on the fact that they never had interesting references.

Sighing playfully, they tossed the sketchbook on the living room couch. Lawn mowers droned from outside and the sound of their father on the phone bled through the walls. He was undoubtedly arguing with his brothers again, which made the house feel tense and heavy. It was a beautiful summer day and here Kade was, cooped up among creaky floors and ugly wallpaper. God, this house is so uninspiring. I need to get out of here! They thought.

They ran through their living room and up the stairs, which creaked noisily under their feet. Swiftly they swung open their bedroom door and grabbed a green cross-body bag off of a peg on a nearby wall. It was made using fabric from an old pair of cargo pants, complete with external pockets and a plaid star sewn onto the middle. Some of the stitching was visibly sloppy, and the star was lopsided. It didn’t exactly look like the online tutorial Kade followed, but they tried their best and they liked it regardless. It was unique. It had character.

They unzipped one pocket and shoved their hand inside on their way to the kitchen. Thankfully, they could feel a few crumpled bills between their fingers. Then, they noisily rummaged through the junk drawer until they found the spare set of house keys. After pulling on a pair of novelty cat socks and green Converse that were practically on their deathbed, they were ready to go. They were halfway out the door when they realized that their sketchbook was still on the couch. Oh fucking hell, they thought to themself, unable to suppress a grin. They raced back inside and tucked the spiral-bound papers under their arm.

It was the kind of summer day where the sun’s warmth seeped into people’s souls and eased their wounds, like some sort of spiritual heating pad. That’s how Kade felt, at least. It could just be that they were born on one of the hottest days ever recorded in their town. They didn’t remember it, obviously. Still, they figured that the earliest days of their life, their very introduction to the world, had to have made an imprint on their subconscious. Point is: they were enjoying the late July weather. So were their neighbors.

Their entire suburban block was alive with activity. Children splashed their siblings back and forth in shallow blow-up pools. One girl sat on her porch while watching the sun transform soap bubbles into rainbows. She spotted her little sister behind their screen door and beckoned for her to come outside. Enthusiastic fathers played touch football with their sons. Middle aged women sat in circles of Adirondack chairs and gossiped noisily, wine glasses in hand. One man was mowing his vibrant lawn, the aroma of fresh-cut grass filling the air as Kade strolled by. They considered saying hi, but he wouldn’t have heard them anyways. An entire group of elementary-schoolers dashed after each other in a fervent game of tag.

One of them slipped on grass slick with sprinkler water. His name was Ryan, and he was six years old. He began wailing loudly. Kade knew that he would be back on his feet in under ten minutes. That was the beauty of childhood: shrugging off adversity in an instant. Drying your tears with colorful cloth handkerchiefs and forgetting why you were crying in the first place. Ah, summertime. Sweet, sweet summertime.

Kade raised their hand in greeting as they passed one of the countless Tudor-style houses. A single elderly man sat in a wicker chair beneath a massive oak tree. Dappled sunlight filtered through the leaves. In his lap was a book, no doubt one of the old classics that had occupied his bookshelf for decades. He was easy to miss, fading peacefully into the background of this cheery suburbia. This was Mr. Richardson, an old divorcee with an overgrown lawn. Strangely enough, he was also one of Kade’s best friends.

“Hey Mr. Richardson!” they yelled. He looked up from his book and smiled with closed lips. It was small, but it showed all the way from the corners of his mouth to his eyes.

“Where to, Kade?” he asked in a raspy yet energetic voice.

“I’m going to Clover Cafe. I’m starved of inspiration! And now that I think of it, avocado toast! I’m hoping to find cool looking people to draw.”

“Well, I hope you enjoy your toast. That really is a charming little place, been around since my day.” Mr. Richardson smiled once again and returned to his book. Every word that he said seemed content and welcoming. Kade wondered how he did it.

The Clover Cafe was located on the corner of two busy streets just beyond Kade’s neighborhood. It was on the second floor of what was currently a fabric store, but the space was resold and bought every couple of years. All things considered, it was a terrible location. There was barely any pedestrian traffic and the nearest parking lot was at a laundromat a couple of buildings down. It was exceptional how long the cafe had thrived.

A small bell chimed as Kade pushed open the door. The woman sitting at the register had her wavy brown hair in a messy bun. She stared at them expectantly, silently begging them to at least check out some of the rolls of tulle and polyester stacked against the walls. There were no other customers as far as they could tell. Sounds and smells from the cafe drifted into the lonely storefront. They smiled awkwardly and hastily greeted the woman, whose name was Rosa. Hi, Rosa. They then hurried up the narrow staircase without looking her way. It felt like betrayal.

Kade felt welcome as soon as they entered the cafe. That was the effect it had on everybody, regardless of how many times they had visited. Familiarity enveloped them. This was their go-to space when things at home were difficult for… just about anything. Drawing, studying, lunch with friends. Cramming for the next biology test or inking a sketch of the stray cats that hung around their porch in the evenings. A jovial blend of conversations floated through the air, and the smell of coffee beans wafted from behind the counter.

They scanned the room as they waited in line to order. Nobody had caught their eye yet. It was busy that day, and plenty of people were tucked into corners and windowsills that were invisible from their vantage point. When it was their turn, they saw a worker behind the register that they recognized. They estimated he was around twenty years old, with a brown apron that exaggerated his scrawny figure and rectangular glasses that were far too serious for his face. He was a new employee. Kade was already familiar with him. Seriously, they were there a lot.

“Hi Frederick!”

“Hi. Uhm, what can I get for you?” he asked. He made no attempt at eye contact and instead stared at the pen and notepad he was holding

“Can I have a small latte with one avocado toast?” His ginger hair hung in his eyes while he scribbled the order down. “Actually, make that an orange marmalade toast,” they said after spying a new seasonal flavor on the blackboard menu.

“Okay.. uhm.. marmalade… toast… “ he mumbled as he crossed out and rewrote his notes. Then, he walked over to the coffee machine and pressed a few buttons. Instead of shooting a stream of coffee into their cup, it made a low rumble that sounded off even to Kade, who had never worked as a barista. The sound morphed into a frenzied screech before slowing to a stop. “Latte? Uhm, more like late,” said Fredrick nervously as he stared at the machine with confusion. Kade forced a chuckle at his sad attempt at humor. He was trying his best, after all.

“No, it’s not funny. I’m really sorry about this. Hold on- go stand over there.” He pointed to the area where customers picked up their orders. “Actually- wait- no.”

“Katie!” he yelled into the kitchen. “There’s- there’s a situation! The coffee thingy… yeah it uhm, it broke.”

“Didn’t I teach you how to fix it after your shift on Thursday?” yelled Katie. Her voice was strained, and she was simultaneously trying to sort out the coffee machine debacle and cook an egg sunny-side-up. Kade looked at Frederick and smiled.

“Don’t worry about any of this. I’ll just take the toast! I can have my coffee another time,” they said. Frederick pulled out the drawer of bills and handed Kade three dollars. He looked anxious despite their reassurance. They weren’t very disappointed about the latte, but as they turned around, they felt embarrassed. They had held up the line on a busy day, and now it was winding just out of the doorway. A few of the patrons, mainly men with ties and briefcases, looked impatient. Kade sat down at a table and waited for their name to be called.

The table they chose was small, circular, and wrought-iron. It was dark gray, with three legs that curled ornately at the ends. Kade leaned their face on the glass window beside them and watched cars pass by on the streets below. It was an endless blur of blues and reds, blacks and whites and neutral tones. They wondered about the lives of the people in these cars. They wondered why cars come in such a narrow color pallet. Why hasn’t anybody thought of making purple cars?

They turned their head back around towards the interior of the coffee shop, trying to refocus themself on why they came in the first place. Suddenly, they noticed a girl directly sitting diagonal from their seat. Kade had never talked to her, but they had passed her occasionally in the school hallways. Somehow, they hadn’t noticed just how stunning she was until now. They felt the corners of their lips turn up as they observed her features.

Her outfit was simple: a dark red t-shirt with baggy blue jeans. Somehow, it looked put together on her. She wore her hair in golden-blond box braids that perfectly contrasted with her brown cool-toned skin. A thin layer of mascara lengthened her eyelashes and her full lips were coated in cherry-colored lip gloss. Just below her defined collarbone hung a single silver necklace that matched the cuffs dangling from her hair.

What Kade loved most were her almond-shaped eyes that lit up every time she laughed with the girl sitting across from her. Some mildly humiliating thoughts flitted through their head, stuff about how they would never have a chance with her because of this femme in a pink cardigan. It didn’t really matter, because they were captivated. Sometimes, they liked to come up with imaginary backstories for the strangers that they encountered. It started with a name and an age, a profession, a birthplace, a reason for being at the train station or the duck pond or Clover Cafe. Before they knew it, it would branch off into endless directions that they feverishly scribbled down before they could be forgotten. These tales morphed into ideas for drawings.

Their latest muse was named Alana. She was seventeen years old. She was on a date with her partner, who was definitely a British girl named Sophie. Kade didn’t know how they arrived at this conclusion. It just made sense, somehow. Back to Alana. She played the flute. She really liked pickles. She had an array of houseplants in her bedroom. Her favorite animals were guinea pigs. She was a good kisser. Probably. God, what am I thinking! They needed to find out who this mysterious girl really was. They tuned out all of the other noises in the coffee shop, focusing on one conversation like a camera lens.

“Valerie, I told you, I’m not looking for a relationship!” said the mystery girl as she laughed playfully. Huh? Did she just reject her? Or are these two friends talking? Oh wait, what’s her name? Valerie. It’s Valerie.

“No! I was so ready for a cute summer romance between you and that girl from the Trader Joe’s! What was her name?” asked Valerie as she took a sip of her caramel macchiato in a very not-British voice.

“Eduarda. I don’t know, I just wasn’t feeling it. It’s complicated.”

“Raina, I think that you keep putting up walls because you’re scared of vulnerability. I mean, I’m just saying,” said Valerie. She shrugged her shoulders in a way that screamed “don't get mad at me, I just speak the truth.” Her words were caring and harsh all at once. Raina. Close enough.

“Girl, you’re more sad about my failed relationships than I am. Also, how are you gonna tell me what went wrong when you’ve never dated anyone in your life,” replied Raina. The two girls burst into laughter simultaneously.

“Okay- look,” said Valerie between laughs, “you know that I can’t pull, so I need to live through you. And like honestly, the drama is really fun to watch.”

Kade pulled out their sketchbook. They turned to a blank page and put pencil to paper. They drew who they now knew as Raina with an electrifying smile lighting up her face. Just as she was then, sitting with her buttery croissant and black coffee at a small table in the Clover Cafe. They were in one of those trances they often found themself in where they could not focus on anything but a drawing. Sketching and smudging and shaping and stealing glances at Raina just to memorize her face once more.

“Marmalade toast for Kade! Kade..?” Frederick’s tentative shouts knocked Kade out of their focus. They looked up from their drawing and felt their cheeks grow hot as they wondered just how long Frederick had tried to get their attention. They stood up to get their toast, leaving their sketchbook wide open on the table, Raina shining like a star in a midnight sky.