Free The Things You Kiss Goodbye by Leslie Connor Page B

He thought for a moment. Then he glanced up at the whole class. “That means the same opportunity is open to any of you. Fair is fair—”
    “Yes!” I heard Bonnie say. “Oh, so cool!”
    “But, but, but! If you choose to go your own way, I want more. And you have to get it right.” He began to address me for the benefit of others. “So, for a coffee shop, you still need a logo, but let’s also see you design a menu, a paper cup—and signage for the front of the shop. It’s more work,” he warned. “Think it through. But also, feel free to go the extra mile on this.” He gave me a nod. “By the way,” he said, speaking just to me, “I think that’s ‘gears’ on the grinders. Not ‘wheels.’ Just a thought. I like it,” he added.
    I had only minutes to start before I had to leave for that stinking dental appointment. I began to mock up a menu. I didn’t get very far. I flashed my med pass at Mr. T and he nodded. Big Bonnie tagged my arm as I headed out. She whispered, “You just made this project a ton more interesting.”
    I paused beside her chair with my backpack over one shoulder. “Oh . . . good.”
    “I can’t wait to see what you design!” she squeaked.
    “Yeah, me either,” I said with a laugh. “I’m probably a fool.”
    Halfway down the hall I realized that, in truth, I couldn’t wait to see what Bonnie came up with. I wished I’d said so.
    I thought Momma was all set to pick me up and take me to the appointment. So, when it was Bampas who met me in the school office, I was surprised.
    “I have quick business in the area,” he said, and punched the button for the automatic door. “How was your morning?” he asked in a perfunctory way.
    “Fine,” I said. “We have a new assignment in Commercial Graphics and we—”
    “Hold,” Bampas interrupted, and that’s when I heard the buzzing sound. He thrust his hand into his pocket and drew out his phone. He was on the line all the way from school to the dentist. I was used to his business calls. I often wrote the dialogue for would-be conversations between Bampas and me inside my own head. This time he might have really been interested. Business and design coming together—that would be his thing. Oh, well. I watched the buildings go by and wondered which ones I could turn into coffee shops.
    In the hygienist’s chair, I kept running ideas. With my mouth wide open, I watched the overhead lamp on that impossibly cool swinging arm. I imagined ideas beaming into me and I had to try not to laugh.
    No cavities. Good hygiene. Rinse. Spit. I was out of there and back into the car. Two short blocks away from the high school on Green Street, Bampas pulled up in front of a tiny, mustard-yellow building. “I have to take a look,” he explained. I was not surprised. He often stopped and peered into empty buildings while we waited in the car. But this time he pressed a key into the lock and went inside.
    I sat looking at the place. It looked like a toy that someone had left outside—misshapen with its bumped-out windows, the mismatched clapboards. The old brick chimney had a tile with the number 66 set into it.
So, 66 Green Street
, I thought. A metal stack popped through the roof with a top-hat cap that made it look like it would cough a puff of steam at any second. Out loud I said, “The Steam & Bean at 66 Green.” I hopped out of the car.
    “Hey, Bampas?” I called to him. “May I come in?”
    “Yes, yes,” he said, but he sounded irritated. At first, I thought it was because of me, but then I heard him say, “They leave it such a mess. They want their security deposit returned. But they give me no choice. . . .” He went on talking, more to the slightly rotten-smelling air than to me.
    “That’s too bad,” I said. “So, Bampas, you own this building?”
    He didn’t answer. But if he was arguing about security deposits, he must be the landlord. I tried to remember what I had seen here in the past. I followed him into