Small Steps - Louis Sachar [58]
The coffee was served in cups the size of soup bowls. The eternally crying girl sprinkled powdered chocolate over the whipped cream. Kaira picked out some kind of twisted pastry that was big enough for them to share, then took her coffee and pastry and went looking for a table.
“Nine dollars and twenty cents,” said the girl behind the counter.
Armpit was surprised by how cheerful she sounded. He paid with a ten and left the change in the tip jar.
Kaira was emptying a packet of sugar into her coffee when he sat down next to her. The remains of another sugar packet lay in a small coffee puddle next to her cup.
“Isn’t this place great?” she asked. “Beatniks used to read poetry and play bongos on that stage.”
The stage was a triangular space in the corner, raised about a foot off the floor. It was empty now, but there were small posters attached to the beams, advertising various folksingers and poets who would be performing over the next few weeks.
Armpit just hoped the beams were strong enough to hold up in an earthquake. If they’d been around since beatnik times, they must be strong, he thought. Either that or they were ready to break at the next little shake.
He tried to take a sip of his cappuccino but couldn’t quite figure out how to do it without getting whipped cream on his nose.
“I’d like to sing on a small stage like that. No flashing lights. No backup singers. No bloodsucking agents or business managers. Just get up there and sing, and then pass around a hat. People pay what they want.” Her eyes lit up. “You could be my guitar player!”
“That’d be great,” Armpit agreed. “Except I don’t know how to play the guitar.”
Kaira laughed. She tore off a piece of the pastry, dipped it in her coffee, and tasted it. “Oh, that is so good!” She dunked a second piece and fed it to Armpit.
The pastry was good, but her fingertips were even better.
“So, how’s Ginny?”
“The same,” he said. “Great.”
“You’re so good with her,” Kaira said. “I really admire that. I have a hard time around handicapped kids.”
Armpit rarely thought of Ginny as handicapped.
“Have you ever heard of the Make-A-Wish Foundation?” she asked him.
“Yeah, I think so.”
“In a couple of weeks I’m supposed to spend the day with a nine-year-old girl dying of some disease. I was her wish!”
“That’s really nice of you.”
He took a sip of coffee, then wiped the whipped cream off his nose with his napkin.
“I dread it,” said Kaira. “I know, that makes me sound like an awful person, but I just get creeped out being around someone like that. My manager says it’s good publicity. I don’t know what she wants from me! I’m just a singer. It’s not like I can cure cancer!”
“She’s not expecting you to cure her,” said Armpit. “Just look her in the eye. Let her know she’s real.”
Kaira looked deep into Armpit’s eyes.
“Just like that,” he said.
She smiled and said, “You are so wonderful.”
“No, I’m not,” he said.
“Yeah, you really are,” said Kaira.
He reached across the small table and held her hand. “There’s something I got to tell you,” he said.
“Oh, my gosh,” Kaira said playfully. “You look so serious.”
“It’s just that . . .” He wasn’t sure how to begin. “You know at the concert, how Ginny and I had counterfeit tickets?”
A man wearing a shirt and tie and one pearl earring suddenly approached the table. “You’re Kaira DeLeon, aren’t you?”
Kaira took a second, then admitted it. “This is my friend Theodore.”
The guy didn’t even glance at Armpit. “My niece plays your CD all the time. The Fountain of Youth, right?”
“Yep,” said Kaira.
“Only one of her CDs I can listen to without throwing up!”
“Uh, thanks, I guess,” said Kaira.
“No, really. For overproduced commercial pap, it’s not too bad.” The guy stretched his arm in front of Armpit’s face and said, “I’m very honored to meet you.”
Kaira shook his hand.
He handed her a napkin. “Would you mind?”
Kaira showed him her empty hands, but he gave her a pen.
She signed the napkin.
“Thanks. Thanks a lot. My niece will love it. Now will you do one for me?” he asked,