Finn was already lost. They hadn’t saved him. His heart defect would not be repaired, and the lack of oxygen had already taken its toll. He would die, now or later, and we should prevent him from suffering.

I couldn’t remember where I had been when the papers were signed, only that it was prom night, and people who had no idea what was happening were sending me texts asking if we would get away for the night, if I had a dress to wear. Facebook was blowing up with pictures of corsages and hairdos and limousines.

The shadows of a couple customers darkened the windowed door. I had to move, stop thinking, and work. I wiped down the sugar jars and set them out on the coffee bar. Jason came toward me, lugging the first two coffee tureens of the day. “You can let them in,” he said. “We’re set up.”

I crossed the shop and twisted the lock on the door. Several early regulars in suits and work clothes hustled in. Jason waited behind the counter, and I rounded the pastry display to man the machines. I already knew what several orders would be.

In New Mexico, I had a cushy job working in the dean’s office, filing and answering phones. Sometimes here in San Diego, early in the morning, during the rush, when customers were late to work and we couldn’t make their coffee fast enough, I wished I had taken the risk to use my experience to get something better. I still could. If I went for an office job outside of the university, probably no one would look very close. And even if they did find out about my altercation on campus, the worst that could happen would be to get fired, and I could try the next place.

But I’d been too rattled when I first arrived. It seemed easier taking a job like this where no one cared about your past or even your present outside of the hours you were in the shop. Show up, do your job, and don’t steal anything. That was about as much as anyone asked. Baristas could be surly and still be considered just to have character. Friendliness didn’t necessarily get better tips, as regulars were set in their ways on ordering and dropping in change or adding to it. It was easy to be unmotivated.

The first three customers grew into a line to the door, and two hours passed before we got a break. The shop was still pretty empty, as the students who filled the tables weren’t up yet. Everyone had taken their coffee to go.

Jason leaned on the counter. “At least it goes by fast.”

I opened the back of the pastry case to see what needed replenishing. “I’m going to grab some more strudel,” I told Jason. “Be right back.”

Alone in the storeroom, my thoughts went right back to the star lab. I had to take great gulps of air. Gavin had brought all this emotion back to the surface. I’d have to do something about it soon, maybe really push. I kept all the plastic bags out of sight, but now, I didn’t think I could resist. I looked forward to the black. I wanted it, the one thing that always connected me to Finn.

I snagged a tray of strudel and headed back up front. Jason still leaned on the counter, his cell phone in his hands. “I’ve got news for Frozen Latte!” he said.

I tugged a plastic glove on my hand and began loading the strudel into the case. “What are you talking about?”

“Found something in my apron pocket and decided it was a sign to take some action!” He laughed.

Whatever. I started a new row of strudel, but something nagged at me. Apron pocket. Oh, God. That e-mail address for Austin, the boy yesterday. I must have left it in one of the aprons in my hurry to get back to campus.

I whipped around so fast that the last few strudels on the tray flew off, one of them bouncing off Jason.

“Pastry attack!” he shouted, still laughing. “Don’t panic, Latte, I didn’t act like the e-mail was from you.”

I snatched at his phone. “What did you say to him?”

I fumbled with the unfamiliar settings. I couldn’t afford a smart phone, so I had no idea what all the icons meant. The envelope seemed logical, but those turned out to be text messages.

Jason scooped up the errant strudels and dropped them in the trash. “All I said was that he should come by the shop today. That you were here.”

“Why did you do that?”

“He likes you. You need to get out more.”

“I want to be the one who decides that.”

“He’s a good guy,” Jason said. “We all approved.”

“What?” I looked around the empty shop. “Who’s we?”

“Pretty much the whole staff who was around last night.”

The phone dinged and I held it away when Jason reached for it. “I should be able to read it first if it’s him.”

Jason shrugged. “Okay, but if you get an eyeful of my sexting, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

God. I walked away from him and sat at one of the tables. After a bit of button pushing, I found the e-mail. It said to come by, as “the girl you gave your e-mail to” was working today. He hadn’t given him my name.

As I suspected, the reply was from Austin. He had class until noon, but then he’d come by.

It would be close. I got off at one to head to class at two. If he came right away, he’d make it. Maybe I could spend my last hour in the back, doing setup. Jenny would be here by then, not Jason, and she’d cover for me.

I stood up and slid the phone across the counter to Jason. “I’m going to stack mugs.”

Jason laughed again. “We’re going to get you laid whether you like it or not.”

Right. That’s exactly what I’d been avoiding all this time. I wasn’t going to break now. In the year after Finn died, I studied the failure rate of every form of birth control. All of them had chinks in their armor, including the shot, which I’d been on.