Uneven cobblestones drift around a collection of shops and street lamps like the subtle waves of a lake. Wires crisscross over head with dangling, conical paper lanterns of bright whites, deep purples, and verdant greens that sway in the fall breeze. A circular plaza sits in the center of it all, filled with benches, trees, flowers, and buzzing crowds.

Nerves and butterflies. They rack Avery's body and her stomach floats about inside her chest. She scans over the sea of people from her perch on a concrete planter that's home to a sprawling tree, where her words come as a whisper meant only to fend off her nerves. "Any minute. Any minute now."

Check your calendar. It's not today, you made a mistake.

Tendrils of fear and compulsion wind around her arm, pulling the limb along to the reassurance of her phone and her calendar. She's checked six times already, but one more can't hurt. Wait, no. Resist.

Come on, check. You're going to disappoint her if you don't.

The tendrils wrench her stomach full of butterflies down into a pit deep enough that even a dragon would get tired trying to fly out of it. Exaggerating may help. She'll have a good cup of tea if she's here on the wrong day? It's terrible! And the tea will probably be poisoned!

Not going to work. You'll be drinking tea all alone for the rest of your life if you don't make sure.

She snakes her phone out of her pocket. Without conscious effort, her inner struggle squeaks out her mouth in strained words. "Don't do it y—you... dirt bag!"

Faux suede, navy blue sneakers with strips of brown step into the corner of her vision. Whoever the shoes belong to, they speak in a tone just as bright and just as smooth as a clarinet. "Who are you talking to?"

Shivers rush down Avery's spine and tingle throughout her body, making sure no inch of her being escapes the embarrassment. Even then, sparkles of excited static tag along and veil her with an odd, comfortable warmth wherever it goes: upturning lips, loosening shoulders, her stomach floating out of that pit with the furious flapping of countless butterflies. Avery darts to her feet. "Oh, no one! Don't worry about it. Sophia, right?"

Sophia comes into focus and she looks exactly like how she did in the photos: her hair cascades from a middle part in dense black coils that sweep just above broad shoulders; her hazel eyes dart between Avery's own and the surroundings; her height. A whole couple inches taller putting her mouth at nearly eye level for Avery. She stays silent for a moment, but settles her eyes back on Avery's. "So do we hug? Shake hands? I haven't done this much."

Avery's heart flutters, her chest tightens. "A hug would work for me." A moment of hesitation, then all the possible interpretations of what she said crashes into her mind. "But only if it works for you too! I don't want to pressure you or anything."

All pretense of calm and collection disappear. The coils of Sophia's black hair almost seem to puff out and her shoulders shoot up: like a distressed turtle-porcupine hybrid trying to hide in her shell. "No pressure here! I don't feel any pressure. You don't do you? I'm sorry, I shouldn't have brought it up."

"No, no, no. I'm glad you brought it up. We've been talking long enough that it makes sense, right?"

Sophia lets her shoulders relax. "Yeah, exactly. Exactly."

Then they embrace, but only in a quick, polite hug.

Parting with Sophia, Avery's heart soars and heat flushes her face. She did it. Absolutely no room for any awkwardness to squeeze into that hug. Well, there was room for other things: like Jesus if he could fit inside a can of those stacked potato chips. With a sweeping gesture, she starts toward a cafe set among the brick buildings. "So do you want to get some tea? That's the place I told you about."

Sophia scrambles after Avery, limbs flailing in awkward directions like she's putting too much thought into the movement. "Yes, please. Do they have chamomile or something? I could use some for the nerves and caffeine will make me make a bigger fool of myself."

"Oh yeah, they have tons of options. Bubble tea, decaf coffee, herbal stuff. London fog's my favorite right now. Oh, but that has caffeine... So don't order that! They'll definitely have chamomile, I think."

A sign dangles from a metal bar poking out from the cafe's facade: "New Interlude; Coffee & Tea" in modern, blocky font with etchings of ivy twisting around the letters. Inside — past the shop's large glass window — plants of all variety line the sill. Snake plants, monstera, swinging strings of ball-like succulents that Avery doesn't know the name of. Other's too, but the succulents are cool. People mill about from the counter to the tables where they sit in plush armchairs with warping wood and the occasional bit of torn fabric.

Avery pulls on an antique, brass handle and the wooden door scrapes along the threshold with a banshee-like screech and halts. Stuck. She pulls again: it refuses to budge. From the counter, a woman wearing overalls pauses her cramming of soap-laden sponges into coffee cups and twists her neck around to the door. "It sticks! Lift up a little when you pull!"

Heat tingles along Avery's nape, her hands seem to swell to clumsy mittens under a slick of sweat. She laughs a curt, nervous laugh and pulls up on the door this time. The chunk of wood swings free of the threshold and cold waves of relief wash over her head. Everything's fine. Pulling the door with her, she backs up to give Sophia enough room to pass. "After you!"

Sophia shuffles past sideways despite plenty of room. "Thanks."

Butterflies flap away in Avery's chest. She's never held the door open for a date before and it just feels... right. She weaves herself into the mesh of people. So many voices, so many people; fetching their orders, going to the restroom, searching for the right book or board game on the expanse of shelves near the counter. Talking and laughing over freshly baked sweets that fill the cafe with an aroma of sugar and bananas and bread. And tea! Flowery scents of all kinds float through the air like a late spring breeze.

Avery dodges and ducks between person after person swinging trays of disposable coffee cups on their way out the door, then she's there at a glass display of glazed treats and fresh, airy bread; steam sends streaks of fog dancing against the glass. She turns her head toward the cash register — cash tablet, whatever. Sophia leans over a menu on the counter with palms resting to either side of the slip of torn printer paper under too much tape. A grumble shifts Avery's stomach. She turns back to the display and floats toward Sophia, making note of each and every option marked vegan.

Sophia drums her fingers along the dark, wooden counter top and tosses a glance at Avery. "There are so many different things."

Avery makes special note of a couple of citrus scones with a tap of her finger on the glass. "Isn't it great?"

Sophia tucks a curtain of hair behind her ear, out of the way of Avery's view of the menu. A blue, glossy, crescent-shaped device sits behind Sophia's ear with thin tubing coiling around and into her ear canal: hearing aids.

Avery's mind wanders: are they heavier than earrings? Do they hurt her if she wears them for too long? Headphones always hurt Avery's ears after a while.

You're a terrible person for thinking about that.

A wave of panic crashes into Avery's chest. Breathlessness lingers for a moment, but the thrashing waves part around her, unable to find purchase. What? Oh god, stop staring. She darts her eyes to the menu.

Sophia puts her palm back on the counter, a smile tugs at the corner of her mouth. "Yeah, this is so nice. I never get to buy what I want at cafes, but now I actually have to choose something."

Avery slides in besides Sophia and pours over the list. "I think I'm going to be safe and go with a London fog and one of those citrus scones."

"I haven't had a macaron in so long; I'll go with that."

No barista in sight beyond the woman still scrubbing away at dirty stacks coffee cups. Avery coughs. "Excuse me! We're ready."

The woman glances over her shoulder. "Oh, apologies. One moment." She whips a cloth off a wall hook and whirls around. Fumbling the cloth between her hands more than drying them, water sprinkles the ground all the way from the sink to the cash register. Engraved black text reading "Lisa" sits inside a copper colored name plate that dangles from her apron. "So what'll it be?" Lisa says.

Avery taps at the display case's glass in front of the scones. "London fog and a citrus scone for me, please!"

Sophia runs a finger down the menu of teas. She hovers over the bubble tea section, then jumps over and runs a finger down the list of macaron flavors. "I'll get a chamomile bubble tea and... Can I get a raspberry macaron?"

A couple taps on the tablet and Lisa looks between the two of them. "Sure thing. Name for the order? Or is Avery fine?"

Avery exchanges a glance with Sophia.

Sophia shrugs. "Yeah, that's fine."

A few more taps and Lisa swivels the tablet around. "Alright, that'll be $19.77."

Avery's blood runs cold. Right, right, she should pay — or should she offer to split it? She fumbles her hand at the opening to the jeans pocket she stashed her ID and credit card in, only managing to look like she's never used a pocket before.

Sophia bats the card scanner over to herself and jumbles a debit card into the chip reader. "I got it."

Butterflies turn to a swarm of frantic, flapping wings inside Avery's chest. "A—Are you sure?"

"Yeah. You'll just have to get next time, right?" Her arms and shoulders lock up. "Not that there has to be a next time; you don't have to go on another date with me. I—It's totally fine if you don't."

Warmth flushes Avery's face along with a big, ridiculous grin; she whips around to hide it. "Totally! No worries! I'll just go get us a table while you do that —"

Napkins. You need to keep your hands clean.

Yeah, can't forget those. She flips back and pulls exactly four of the paper rectangles from a dispenser beside Sophia. "Eh — ha. Forgot napkins."

---

Only one table is open in the small cafe: right in the middle of all the noise and excitement of people playing board games, catching up, and making plans for the rest of the weekend. Avery drops into a chair and lets her oh so very important stack of napkins fall to the table. "I'll stop myself next time."

A minute passes, then Sophia inches out the chair opposite Avery and slips her body into the thin gap. "So how did the fish go yesterday?"

"Great, I think. Tamika hasn't yelled at me for anything yet. That's my boss, by the way. Though there is this little puffer fish in my section that can hypnotize people; he's hell to deal with. Especially before I figured out he needs eye contact to make the hypnosis work."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. Hold up. They keep fish with powers there? Isn't that one of the smaller aquariums in this area? I took some animal science courses in my graduate program and the certification for that kind of animal keeping is hard: not to mention wild expensive. Well, that was about zoos, but aquariums can't be that different."

Avery shrugs. "I wouldn't say it's small. It's plenty big, just not as big as the ones over in Windbridge or Rooterdale. I've got no idea about the bureaucracy behind it all."

Sophia's eyes dart down to the table and she traces a circle with her index finger. "Oh, okay. I should try to find time so I can go to the aquarium. Or cafes like this. I've only gotten to explore the block around my work so far."

Walls form around whatever part of Avery's mind comes up with words. What is she suppose to say next? The silence is going too long. People ask about jobs on first dates, right? "You told me that you do data science stuff. Do you like it? And if you don't mind me asking, who do you work for?"

She does mind you asking. She's going to run out and tell all her friends just how big of a jerk you are. You need to apologize.

The compulsion isn't strong, with weak, flailing tendrils that lash around Avery's heart for but a moment. She blinks it away without breaking eye contact with Sophia.

Sophia traces more circles, swapping between clockwise and counter clockwise. "I don't mind. It's a small company called Medmatters. They're not well known, but they're a subsidiary of Zava and I'm technically employed by them. Not Medmatters. I like it enough. Good benefits, not a lot of micromanagement — maybe too little management, actually. I'm not always sure what I should be doing."

An odd relief flows over Avery's body and the strain in her mind to come up with what to say next disappears. She throws her hands out in front of herself. "I feel the exact same at the aquarium! Tamika only gives me the big picture and I have to figure the rest out for myself. It feels like the owner is going to call me up any minute and ask what I've been doing all this time, then fire me when it's not enough."

Sophia looks up from her circling finger and into Avery's eyes. "That probably means you're good at it. If aquariums are anything like zoos or sanctuaries, they wouldn't let just anyone take care of other living beings. You've got nothing to worry about judging from our texts; you care a lot about those critters."

In the direction of the counter, Lisa yells above the raucous crowd. "Order up for Avery and friend!"

Avery's cheeks flush with a fresh wave of heat; she slaps her palms on the table and bolts to her feet. "I'll get it!"

---

Back at their seats, Sophia works a pencil against the pages of a small, faux leather journal. Avery slides an overladen tray of tea and sweets onto the table. "What are you writing?"

Sophia clenches up, then wipes at the markings with rabid abandon. "Oh, nothing! Nothing! I keep a bullet journal is all. It helps me plan out my day and remember what I've done. That's it."

The paper where Avery could make out bits of etching now glisten in utter blankness. Like a pencil never touched the surface. Avery's jaw drops. "Where'd the writing go?"

Sophia slams the journal shut, slips the pencil into a loop sewn across the top of the cover, and hides the whole package inside her green, cotton jacket. "It's back home. I can move writing between pieces of paper and I have a bunch of journals set up there so I never have to switch this one out."

Avery sits down on the edge of her seat. "That's so neat! Can you do other people's writing? What about printers?"

Sophia falls back against her chair. "Only my own, and maybe to your printer question? I've never had a reason to try it."

"Don't you want to though? I know they tell us to save experiments for when we're under medical supervision, but... they only say that because of dangerous powers and for insurance, right? Mom always yells at me about insurance this or insurance that for finding new ways to mess with mine."

"I can't think of anything that'd go wrong if I tried... It's not like I'm teleporting a person or —". Sophia's words fade into the noise of the crowd at the sight of a familiar bald man in an even more familiar costume peaking through the shop's window. Directly at Avery.

Barclay disappears from the window. A moment later, the door screeches as it tries to break free of the threshold. Lisa cups a hand around her mouth and yells toward the door. "Pull up a little! It sticks!"

The door swings open and Barclay blocks out the entrance in his full getup: a purple, u-neck leotard that end a little past his hips, a black belt around his waist with spectacular diamond-like gems sparkling in the sunlight, and — of course — his curly mustache with a fresh coat of oil. Behind him, a hero Avery has never seen before peeks around the bulging mass of muscle. A much shorter frame than Barclay covered in a green trench coat. She wears a helmet of pure, well-polished chrome that envelopes her eyes, ears, and hair. Where her remaining facial features should be is obscured by a pale, porcelain mask imitating a woman's lower face.

Dread pulls a rug out from under Avery and her stomach falls back into a pit. He'll ruin this if he sees her; she has to hide. With a flat smile at Sophia, she slides down against the back of her chair.

Sophia blinks a few times, confusion oh so apparent. "Are you okay? Was it something I said or..." Her words peter out as the cafe goes silent.

Barclay's words echo around the room in a deep bass. "I always forget about the door. Thank you, Lisa." Unknown hero in his wake, Barclay strides over to the counter. "How are you, Lisa? I don't come say hi as much as I should."

Lisa fixes Barclay with squinting eyes and a flat tone. "You were in here yesterday getting a cappuccino."

He scratches at the back of his head with a twist of his neck and a laugh. "Well, that wasn't in my official capacity! It's completely different. Speaking of, can you start one of those for me to-go? Oh! And anything for you, Scrypher? I'll buy."

The noise returns and everyone goes back to their board games and drinks and socializing. Except for Avery wallowing in her own personal pit of despair. He won't come over, he knows better. Just wish him away and he'll walk on out without embarrassing her. She closes her eyes for a few moments of blissful ignorance. Then comes his booming voice from far too close. "Avery! I thought it was you I saw from the window there. Who's your friend?"