We Are Inevitable by Gayle Forman (read aloud txt) 📕

The three Lous have spent close to a thousand dollars. Not bad for a week’s worth of sales, and if I had thirteen more weeks, maybe it would work. But I don’t have thirteen weeks; I don’t even have two.

I’ve asked Lou for his boss’s number but he has suddenly stopped returning my texts.

Meanwhile, in the store, Ike continues to battle Gaga. He has taken her apart and put her back together twice, and still she explodes every time he tries to pull an espresso. All other work on the shop has slowed because Ike is too distracted by Gaga to boss Garry and Richie around.

I pace the store, running the numbers in my head. If I can’t sell the records to Lou and his friends fast enough, maybe I can borrow the remaining money from Chad. Pay him back once I sell more records, before he has to pay his second Stim installment.

“Son of a monkey!” Ike yells at Gaga. “I give up!”

“He’s never gonna give up,” Garry whispers. “Gaga’s his Great White Whale.”

I do a double take, which Garry clocks with a wry smile. “What, you think I’ve never read Moby-Dick?”

“I barely got through it myself.”

“I read it junior year with Mr. Smithers. You have him, or had he kicked it by the time you were in school?”

“I think he died.”

“Well, he was a gnarly old coot. Before he became a teacher, he worked on fishing boats in Alaska, so he was always telling us gruesome tales of people losing hands and shit. He mixed his stories in with Moby-Dick, so it made the book kinda relatable, I guess. Anyhow, I remember everything from that book. Like Ahab had a monomania.”

“What’s a monomania?” Richie asks.

“That is,” Garry says, pointing to Ike as Gaga explodes once more, sending a metal bit flying through the air where it nearly hits the door. “Fiddlesticks!” he shouts.

“Somebody lose this?” Hannah asks, picking up the metal bit as she walks through the door.

“Take it,” Ike says. “I give up!”

“Sure you do, Ahab,” Garry mutters.

“What is it you give up on?” Hannah asks.

“This hunk of junk,” Ike says. He pulls out his bandana and lovingly polishes the hunk of junk.

Hannah steps closer, skirting a quick glance at me before focusing on Gaga. “Is that vintage?”

“Vintage eye-talian,” Ike says.

“Mind if I take a look?” Hannah asks.

“Have at it, but you need an engineering degree to work this thing.”

“Let me see what I can do.” She inspects the machine with a practiced eye, making humming sounds. “See this projectile here.” She holds up the metal bit. “That’s your portafilter. Your espresso goes in it.” Hannah demonstrates, tamping the powder gently. “You have to be careful not to press it too tight or the water can’t get through.”

“Told you that you pressed it too tight,” Garry says.

“Shut up,” Ike says. To Hannah: “Go on.”

“The portafilter goes in the grouphead.” Hannah twists it into the spouty thing.

“Grouphead,” Garry repeats. “Ike, maybe we should be writing this down.”

“Richie, write this down,” Ike orders.

Richie grabs a pen and paper as Hannah fits the portafilter into the grouphead. “I think you pull down on the lever here.” She pulls down one of Gaga’s robot arms. The seal sounds like a kiss.

“Is there water in the canister?” She peeks inside. “Yep, and it’s heated up. Now, where’s the brew button?”

“Right there,” Ike says, tapping it gingerly like it might launch a missile. “If you want my advice, you better take cover. She has a tendency to blow.”

“I’ll bear that in mind,” Hannah says with a bemused smile. She places a cup under the drip tray and hits the button. Instead of making that terrible knocking sound, the machine gives out a long hiss and then a low hum, releasing a shot full of rich brown espresso.

“Look at the foam on it,” Richie says. “It looks like a teeny-tiny coffee beer.”

“It’s called crema,” Ike says admiringly. “You made crema on your first try.”

“Hardly my first try,” Hannah replies. “I spent six months working as a barista.”

“I didn’t know that,” I say.

“Yep. After I dropped out of college and moved up here from Arizona.”

“I didn’t know that either.”

“So many mysteries yet to be revealed . . .” she says as we lock eyes. And I feel it. The tingling. The knowing. The inevitable. It’s still there. Even if she’s an addict.

“Now let’s make some foam,” Hannah continues. “You want cold milk, right out of the fridge. It froths better and you get more aeration.” She flips the wand, and suddenly it sounds like an actual coffee bar in here. “You don’t want to overdo it, or you’ll scald the milk and alter the flavor. You should be able to drink it without waiting for it to cool.” She taps a metal canister lightly against the counter. “Now you let the foam settle.” She pours the milk over the espresso, topping it with a dollop of foam. “Voilà.” She holds the drink out for Ike.

He stares at the cup. I wonder if his pride is wounded. After all, he’s been wrestling this machine for days and Hannah figured it out in two minutes. But then he whips out his bandana and cleans a spot of milk off Gaga before accepting the cup from Hannah. He takes a sip, closes his eyes, and sighs. Then he opens his eyes again and looks at Hannah. “You think you can show me how to do it?”

Hannah spends the next hour teaching Ike how to make various espresso drinks. Each time I think she’s done, Ike has a new request. I watch, tapping my foot, clearing my throat. It’s not that I’m excited to have this conversation with Hannah but recent experience has shown the more I put something off, the more impossible it becomes.

“You think I can figure out how to make those designs? Hearts and trees and the like?” Ike asks after he’s mastered macchiatos.

“Maybe a bluebird,” Richie suggests.

“Bird’s gonna be hard,” Garry