The Apocalypse of Elena Mendoza
The Apocalypse of Elena Mendoza
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Author(s): Hutchinson, Shaun David
ISBN No.: 9781481498548
Pages: 448
Year: 201802
Format: Trade Cloth (Hard Cover)
Price: $ 24.83
Status: Out Of Print

The Apocalypse of Elena Mendoza ONE THE APOCALYPSE BEGAN at Starbucks. Where else did you expect the end of the world to start? The man standing at the pickup counter lowered his cell phone and glowered at me. "Did you hear me say nonfat?" I''d heard him say it the first time. And the second, third, and fourth. I pressed the button on the espresso machine and lowered the steam wand into the pitcher of nonfat milk, blasting the surface with bubbles. "Hold up," I shouted over the hiss. "You wanted nonfat milk?" The name on his cup said "Greg." He looked like a Greg.


Or a serial killer. Maybe both. "Yes," said Greg. "It''s the milk with no fat in it." "Glad you were here to clear that up for me. Who knows what I might have put in your drink otherwise." My shift manager, Kyle, stood at the register and flashed me a quick grin while simultaneously rolling his eyes. I finished the man''s double tall nonfat with whip mocha and passed it across the counter to him.


He didn''t need to know I''d slipped him two shots of decaf, but I was sure whoever he was going home to would thank me for it. Fadil Himsi had been standing unobtrusively on the other side of the counter, waiting for me to finish. "What a dick," he said when the man was out of earshot. Fadil had thick dark hair, wide eyes accentuated by heavy black-rimmed glasses, and full lips that hid an almost buck-toothed grin. More geek than chic, he had a body built for running rather than fighting, which kind of worked for him. Not that he did much of either, preferring to spend his time playing his trumpet or tinkering with his computer. "I wish he was the exception." I washed out my milk pitcher and cleaned the area behind the bar.


I was a little overzealous about keeping my station orderly, and it bugged me when I took over from someone who left dirty spoons lying around and dried milk caked on the wands. "So what''re you doing here?" I asked. "Don''t you have band practice?" Living in Arcadia, Florida, meant that there was little to do aside from slowly develop skin cancer at the beach, complain about how there was nothing to do in Arcadia, or hang out at the only Starbucks in town and complain about how there was nothing to do in Arcadia. I both loved and hated my job. Loved because it let me help Mama with the bills and got me out of the apartment; hated because half of my classmates eventually showed up there at one point or another, and I wasn''t exactly popular at Arcadia West High. Fadil shook his head. "Mrs. Naam''s sick.


And I was kind of hoping to run into someone here." "Is it Gemma Darville? I''ve seen the way she gives you the googly eyes." "It''s not Gemma." "Then who?" Fadil didn''t get the chance to answer because a horde of customers, who must have coordinated their entrance to overwhelm us, rushed in all at once and I was distracted by cappuccinos and Frappuccinos and getting yelled at for not steaming the milk to exactly 173 degrees like I''d been ordered to. People take their stupid coffee way too seriously. It goes in the face hole and comes out an entirely different hole, but it probably doesn''t taste much different coming out as going in. Look, I know Starbucks is like the McDonald''s of coffee stores and that all I was really doing was pressing buttons and steaming milk, but when a rush came in and I was making three and four drinks at a time, I felt like I had eight arms. I lost myself in the rhythm of pulling shots and steaming milk and blending ice.


It was, in its own weird way, cathartic. Which is why I didn''t notice Freddie standing at the counter until I set her drink down--a caramel Frappuccino with whipped cream and extra drizzle on top--and called her name. Winifred Petrine--Freddie to most everyone--wasn''t paying attention and hadn''t heard me. She stood to the side, looking cute in a pink jersey top and jeans that hugged her hips, staring at her phone. Curls of sapphire-blue hair fell over her cheeks, and I couldn''t stop admiring her. Ugh! Just say hi already and stop mooning at her like an idiot. "What?" I said. Freddie looked up.


"What?" "I didn''t say anything." "You said ''what.''?" Was I turning red? My cheeks were hot and I''m sure I was blushing like crazy. I pushed Freddie''s drink toward her. "Your caramel Frappuccino with extra drizzle." Freddie made this face where her right eyebrow arched up, her left down, and her lips puckered as if she wasn''t sure whether to thank me or check to see if I''d poisoned her drink. "Yeah," she said. "Thanks.


" I turned and glared at the siren logo grinning at me from the stack of cups to my right. "I don''t need your help." She''s only a girl, Elena. And one with horrible taste in frozen drinks. You could do better. "Shut up," I mumbled under my breath. I hated the siren logo, and not simply because she offered unsolicited relationship advice. She was creepy, all smiles with her two tails and boobs hanging out.


Fadil cleared his throat; I''d forgotten he was standing there. "Were you whispering to the cups?" "What were we talking about?" I asked. "That''s right. You were going to spill who you came here hoping to see since you obviously didn''t drop by for my entertaining company." Fadil knew more about me than any friend I''d ever had. He knew about my virgin birth, he knew I poured the milk into my bowl before the cereal, he knew I''d had a crush on Freddie since sixth grade, and he knew the fastest way to piss me off was for someone to drag their fork against their teeth while eating. He did not, however, know about the voices I''d heard since I was a young girl. There was only so much honesty a friendship could survive.


"Why didn''t you talk to Freddie? Wasn''t that the perfect opportunity just now?" I glanced toward the front of the store. Most of the café tables were occupied by Arcadia West students pretending to do homework or by the regulars who came for the free Wi-Fi, so Freddie had taken her drink to the patio, which was mostly empty because it was September in Florida and still ninety degrees. The only other person outside was a boy I''d seen hanging around before but didn''t know. "I think flirting while on the clock is against company policy." "Is that in the official employee handbook?" "Right under the section about not allowing friends to distract you while you''re working." A burst of laughter exploded from one of the tables in the corner where Tori Thrash and her friends were pointing at someone''s drink that had fallen onto the floor and spilled everywhere. Michael caught me looking and called out, "Clean up on aisle five, Mary!" which everyone at their table seemed to think was hilarious. Maya came back from her break reeking of cigarettes and nudged my shoulder.


"Kyle said to take out the trash and then go on your ten." "Great," I said, motioning at the coffee puddle, "then you get to take care of that." "Elena!" "Sorry, I''m on my ten." I turned to Fadil. "Meet me around back?" He nodded, and I quickly gathered the garbage and carried it into the stockroom. I stripped off my apron, hung it on my locker, and heaved the pile of trash bags out the back door. Whatever happens next, Elena, don''t be scared. The siren''s voice blasted me from every box of coffee and sleeve of cups stacked on the wire racks.


I even heard her from the cups in the trash. It was the worst surround sound ever. "It smells terrible, sure," I said. "But why would I be afraid of the garbage?" You''ll see. "Whatever." I''d grown accustomed to the presence of the voices. Sometimes they helped me, like when I was six and got lost in the mall and a horse on a broken merry-go-round told me what store to find Mama in. Other times they spoke in cryptic riddles, which I ignored.


Either way, the voices were an inconsistent constant in my life. I might go weeks without hearing them, but they never disappeared permanently. Fadil met me near the Dumpster and helped me toss the trash bags inside. "What''re you doing Saturday?" I asked. "Want to catch a movie and maybe hit the comic book store?" Fadil sucked air through his teeth. "Yeah. So I was kind of planning to go to the renaissance festival with some of the marching band crew." "Oh.


" "You should come," he said. "I swear it''s more fun than it sounds. I''ll buy you one of those giant turkey legs you love so much." I shook my head. "No, it''s all right." Fadil shoved his hands in his pockets and we stood by the Dumpster inhaling the fragrant scent of spoiled milk and old pastries. "You know what? Forget it. I can go with them next weekend.


Jack spent weeks working on his corset and gown and is determined to wear it as often as he can, so it''s not like I won''t have plenty of chances to go." "Really?" I perked up, a smile lifting my cheeks. "You don''t have to--" "It''s done," Fadil said. "Besides, I''ve been dying to see that indie film. The one where everyone gets a letter the day they''re going to die?" "You''re the best." Fadil squared his shoulders and he.


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