latte for leyla - chapter one |
The first time Leyla Robinson heard about that spring’s Keep Surfside Swell Expo was at the weekly beach bonfire.
She'd taken her short board, Rainbow, out to catch some sunset waves, and noticed the group gathered around their usual fire pit as she came up out of the water. Laughter, chat, shared coolers and blankets as the Pacific crashed into dusk.
Her besties Sally and Noah insisted she was more than welcome at the Friday night bonfires, and it was true that people made room for her when she showed up. Even if she did basically just sit there with less than half an idea of what to say once she and Noah, who owned her favorite surf shop, had caught up on surfing, and she and Sally, who was an academic librarian, traded whatever gossip they had from the world up on campus.
Okay: Sally told her the gossip. Leyla rarely had any.
What Leyla had was a routine. She had class hours, and lab hours, and work hours, and surfing on Surfside’s best beach.
That was her grind, day in and day out, and had been for years. And maybe—only maybe—she was wrestling with the tiniest of undercurrents about the impending end of her academic career. She was quietly mulling that over in her gentle post-surf euphoria when a conversation caught her attention.
Mateo, who’d recently taken over a seat on the city council, was explaining his latest initiative. “It’s an Expo to feature Surfside’s locally owned businesses and highlight the community. All I want is for someone at the university to return my calls, point me in the right direction to see if we can get them invested in promoting it somehow.”
Sally was shaking her head. “And this is why I shouldn’t have spent so long burning bridges in my quest to stay out of university politics. I know of a few associate deans who could get you to the right spot, but not one of them will do me a favor these days. And it’s nothing against your Expo plans, because I’m sure those are great and worthwhile. Let me think about it, though. I’m sure I can come up with someone who wouldn’t say no the second I walk through the door.”
Mateo dropped his head. “Ugh, sorry. I was mostly venting. I didn’t bring it up to pressure you.”
Noah laughed. “You are a terrible politician. You’re supposed to leap on her offer to help.”
It was thoroughly outside of Leyla’s character for her to interrupt everyone’s chorus of joking advice about how Mateo could be a more ruthless mover-and-shaker, to say, “I think I can help.”
Sally gave her a look like, “Girl, why is your mouth open? Let somebody else fight this fight.” She just shrugged at her friend because, honestly, did Sally really think that she would, for once, not add something else to her plate?
Even though—and the realization was burrowing deep into her chest like a clam into the sand at low tide—helping Mateo meant eradicating a line she’d managed to hold firm throughout her years in Surfside.
Because thing was, as soon as Mateo and Sally discussed the problem, she’d put together a few pieces of info and come up with a potential solution. It meant dealing with the associate dean who’d been her undergrad thesis advisor and was now an inescapable part of her Masters in Coastal Science and Policy. Dean Tyler was a skilled networker, which meant he was invaluable to grad students like her who relied on his connections. But it also meant his constant schemes to increase his own social capital.
So if she went to him on Keep Surfside Swell’s behest, presenting it as a chance to strengthen his own ties with the city government, and maybe impress others within the university administration, she thought he would go for that. But he would also seize the chance to call this an exchange of favors, and she knew as well as Sally did what the quid for his quo would be.
Dean Tyler wasn’t subtle. He wanted the School of Earth and Marine Sciences to be perceived as diverse, no matter the actual, slowly changing, demographics. And instead of working on better pathways to encourage a more representative base of incoming scientists, like she’d suggested more than once, he wanted to make Leyla the face of the program.
She'd spent years edging past his suggestion, aiming a bright smile and long list of research obligations his way whenever she sensed the subject weighing down the air between them. She didn’t mind her pic accompanying her academic work, or any kind of candids that represented reality. She minded being used to fabricate a story the university hadn’t yet earned.
Sally was still eyeing her skeptically.
Leyla wrinkled her nose at her friend. “It’ll be what it is. Besides, it’s been almost seven years without my bright diverse self appearing in a single brochure. That’s gotta be some kind of record.”
They’d been friends since Leyla’s freshman year, so Sally knew Leyla’s flaws nearly as well as Leyla did herself. Not least among them was her drive to charge forward and fix things as soon as she saw a need she could fulfill. Some ex once sent her a meditation about not saying yes to everything that was asked of her. It was seriously the last straw proving that she was in the wrong relationship.
“If he thinks I'm going around saying yes when I mean no, he can't grip the slightest of nuances about me,” she’d told Sally. Looking back, that was one of their first long chats that solidified their friendship. “I’m constantly saying no when people ask things of me. Hell, I turned down like nineteen attempts to recruit me for free labor before I even got to my first set of midterms up here. It’s the things no one asks of me that I'm too prone to volunteer for.”
Sally had snorted in understanding and offered the first of many high fives that would punctuate their friendship. She’d also offered up advice from her perspective as another Black woman in academia, including to be thoughtful about how others might approach her to improve their own optics. Which explained the raised eyebrows look the librarian was shooting at her now.
She shrugged back at her. In truth, she never expected to get this close to the end of her academic career without having to give in once too often when someone wanted her on a poster or panel or paper with no regard to her own interest in the subject. And not incidentally, to feel free to downplay her many solid and impressive achievements as just another diversity checkmark for the institution.
Which is why she spent so long determining exactly which opportunities were the ones to aim for as she built the career of her dreams. Was co-authoring a paper on hiking and camping trails on the alluvial plains going to help her save the oceans and get her the job offer she wanted? No, so why would she devote her time, her brain, and her lovely face to the effort, when instead she could accept the invite to speak on a panel about establishing regulatory best practices for tide pool tourists.
The lingering skepticism on Sally's face was probably because persuading the university to play nice with the Keep Surfside Swell Expo wouldn’t help drop Leyla’s dream job in her lap. But her resume was already a beauty of bullet-pointed perfection. Every move she and her advisors could come up with, she’d already made.
Now it was a long slog of applications and interviews and the need to destress while attempting to outmaneuver her Machiavellian academic rival, Chad.
She may as well get that relief by helping her friends and this community she’d come to value so dear.
And it wasn't like Mateo and his partner Alicia would be hard work with. She’d liaise a bit with them, let Dean Tyler get up in her business with his entirely unhidden agenda, and everyone would be happy.
Easy as cutting into a corduroy swell during a daybreak tide with an offshore breeze.
* * *
Leyla was at bonfire.
Someone coulda fucking warned him, but no.
Austin Wells halted just outside the ring of lights and worked to get his face under control. His cousin Noah flashed him a Shaka sign, all casual and harmless, like he hadn't broken his promise to give Austin a heads-up if Leyla showed.
He had laughed his fucking head off at Austin’s ongoing need to practice how to talk to her without gibbering, even after all this time knowing her. But he had promised.
Yet there she sat next to his sister Alicia. Casual, but, to Austin, not even a little harmless as she sprawled on a serape, t-shirt slapping loosely over the pulled down top half of her wetsuit. Her surfboard was propped just far enough from the cluster of people that only the flames bouncing glimmery reflections off its yellow stripes alerted him. It was like the dimmest reflection of Leyla’s own brightness, which nothing outshone.
As always, she was magic. A magnet, collecting every micron of the steel he tried to sneak into his weak-ass bones. But every bit of his mettle flew out of him and collected around her, adding to her value even as he stumbled to stand up without the help of his bones.
So, yeah, he was a fucking disaster area, head to toe. A jellyfish instead of a spine. Hearts surely flying out of his eyes. Ears as useless as when he was standing over the machine frothing the hazelnut creamer she liked in her lattes. Pulse triple-timing like he’d downed three triple espressos in as many minutes.
She was so perfect. How the fuck was he always so ruined by sitting within ten feet of her? And not to put too fine a point on it, how the fuck was he coming off just then, sitting all glazed and probably drooling. Unable to hear what anyone was saying, to see anyone but her, or act in any way like he had a single spark of chill tucked deep within his soul.
Something cold hit his leg and he jumped. Noah had lobbed a beer his way, surely knowing he wasn't paying enough attention to catch it. His grin proved how unrepentant he was about how frothy the drink would now be.
“Heard you got that elevator install scheduled,” his cousin said, which at least was a topic Austin could discuss without going up in embarrassed flames. So one point for Noah.
He nodded with begrudging gratitude, slurped the head off the beer, and launched into a description of the project they’d undertaken to increase accessibility for their auxiliary business.
She'd taken her short board, Rainbow, out to catch some sunset waves, and noticed the group gathered around their usual fire pit as she came up out of the water. Laughter, chat, shared coolers and blankets as the Pacific crashed into dusk.
Her besties Sally and Noah insisted she was more than welcome at the Friday night bonfires, and it was true that people made room for her when she showed up. Even if she did basically just sit there with less than half an idea of what to say once she and Noah, who owned her favorite surf shop, had caught up on surfing, and she and Sally, who was an academic librarian, traded whatever gossip they had from the world up on campus.
Okay: Sally told her the gossip. Leyla rarely had any.
What Leyla had was a routine. She had class hours, and lab hours, and work hours, and surfing on Surfside’s best beach.
That was her grind, day in and day out, and had been for years. And maybe—only maybe—she was wrestling with the tiniest of undercurrents about the impending end of her academic career. She was quietly mulling that over in her gentle post-surf euphoria when a conversation caught her attention.
Mateo, who’d recently taken over a seat on the city council, was explaining his latest initiative. “It’s an Expo to feature Surfside’s locally owned businesses and highlight the community. All I want is for someone at the university to return my calls, point me in the right direction to see if we can get them invested in promoting it somehow.”
Sally was shaking her head. “And this is why I shouldn’t have spent so long burning bridges in my quest to stay out of university politics. I know of a few associate deans who could get you to the right spot, but not one of them will do me a favor these days. And it’s nothing against your Expo plans, because I’m sure those are great and worthwhile. Let me think about it, though. I’m sure I can come up with someone who wouldn’t say no the second I walk through the door.”
Mateo dropped his head. “Ugh, sorry. I was mostly venting. I didn’t bring it up to pressure you.”
Noah laughed. “You are a terrible politician. You’re supposed to leap on her offer to help.”
It was thoroughly outside of Leyla’s character for her to interrupt everyone’s chorus of joking advice about how Mateo could be a more ruthless mover-and-shaker, to say, “I think I can help.”
Sally gave her a look like, “Girl, why is your mouth open? Let somebody else fight this fight.” She just shrugged at her friend because, honestly, did Sally really think that she would, for once, not add something else to her plate?
Even though—and the realization was burrowing deep into her chest like a clam into the sand at low tide—helping Mateo meant eradicating a line she’d managed to hold firm throughout her years in Surfside.
Because thing was, as soon as Mateo and Sally discussed the problem, she’d put together a few pieces of info and come up with a potential solution. It meant dealing with the associate dean who’d been her undergrad thesis advisor and was now an inescapable part of her Masters in Coastal Science and Policy. Dean Tyler was a skilled networker, which meant he was invaluable to grad students like her who relied on his connections. But it also meant his constant schemes to increase his own social capital.
So if she went to him on Keep Surfside Swell’s behest, presenting it as a chance to strengthen his own ties with the city government, and maybe impress others within the university administration, she thought he would go for that. But he would also seize the chance to call this an exchange of favors, and she knew as well as Sally did what the quid for his quo would be.
Dean Tyler wasn’t subtle. He wanted the School of Earth and Marine Sciences to be perceived as diverse, no matter the actual, slowly changing, demographics. And instead of working on better pathways to encourage a more representative base of incoming scientists, like she’d suggested more than once, he wanted to make Leyla the face of the program.
She'd spent years edging past his suggestion, aiming a bright smile and long list of research obligations his way whenever she sensed the subject weighing down the air between them. She didn’t mind her pic accompanying her academic work, or any kind of candids that represented reality. She minded being used to fabricate a story the university hadn’t yet earned.
Sally was still eyeing her skeptically.
Leyla wrinkled her nose at her friend. “It’ll be what it is. Besides, it’s been almost seven years without my bright diverse self appearing in a single brochure. That’s gotta be some kind of record.”
They’d been friends since Leyla’s freshman year, so Sally knew Leyla’s flaws nearly as well as Leyla did herself. Not least among them was her drive to charge forward and fix things as soon as she saw a need she could fulfill. Some ex once sent her a meditation about not saying yes to everything that was asked of her. It was seriously the last straw proving that she was in the wrong relationship.
“If he thinks I'm going around saying yes when I mean no, he can't grip the slightest of nuances about me,” she’d told Sally. Looking back, that was one of their first long chats that solidified their friendship. “I’m constantly saying no when people ask things of me. Hell, I turned down like nineteen attempts to recruit me for free labor before I even got to my first set of midterms up here. It’s the things no one asks of me that I'm too prone to volunteer for.”
Sally had snorted in understanding and offered the first of many high fives that would punctuate their friendship. She’d also offered up advice from her perspective as another Black woman in academia, including to be thoughtful about how others might approach her to improve their own optics. Which explained the raised eyebrows look the librarian was shooting at her now.
She shrugged back at her. In truth, she never expected to get this close to the end of her academic career without having to give in once too often when someone wanted her on a poster or panel or paper with no regard to her own interest in the subject. And not incidentally, to feel free to downplay her many solid and impressive achievements as just another diversity checkmark for the institution.
Which is why she spent so long determining exactly which opportunities were the ones to aim for as she built the career of her dreams. Was co-authoring a paper on hiking and camping trails on the alluvial plains going to help her save the oceans and get her the job offer she wanted? No, so why would she devote her time, her brain, and her lovely face to the effort, when instead she could accept the invite to speak on a panel about establishing regulatory best practices for tide pool tourists.
The lingering skepticism on Sally's face was probably because persuading the university to play nice with the Keep Surfside Swell Expo wouldn’t help drop Leyla’s dream job in her lap. But her resume was already a beauty of bullet-pointed perfection. Every move she and her advisors could come up with, she’d already made.
Now it was a long slog of applications and interviews and the need to destress while attempting to outmaneuver her Machiavellian academic rival, Chad.
She may as well get that relief by helping her friends and this community she’d come to value so dear.
And it wasn't like Mateo and his partner Alicia would be hard work with. She’d liaise a bit with them, let Dean Tyler get up in her business with his entirely unhidden agenda, and everyone would be happy.
Easy as cutting into a corduroy swell during a daybreak tide with an offshore breeze.
* * *
Leyla was at bonfire.
Someone coulda fucking warned him, but no.
Austin Wells halted just outside the ring of lights and worked to get his face under control. His cousin Noah flashed him a Shaka sign, all casual and harmless, like he hadn't broken his promise to give Austin a heads-up if Leyla showed.
He had laughed his fucking head off at Austin’s ongoing need to practice how to talk to her without gibbering, even after all this time knowing her. But he had promised.
Yet there she sat next to his sister Alicia. Casual, but, to Austin, not even a little harmless as she sprawled on a serape, t-shirt slapping loosely over the pulled down top half of her wetsuit. Her surfboard was propped just far enough from the cluster of people that only the flames bouncing glimmery reflections off its yellow stripes alerted him. It was like the dimmest reflection of Leyla’s own brightness, which nothing outshone.
As always, she was magic. A magnet, collecting every micron of the steel he tried to sneak into his weak-ass bones. But every bit of his mettle flew out of him and collected around her, adding to her value even as he stumbled to stand up without the help of his bones.
So, yeah, he was a fucking disaster area, head to toe. A jellyfish instead of a spine. Hearts surely flying out of his eyes. Ears as useless as when he was standing over the machine frothing the hazelnut creamer she liked in her lattes. Pulse triple-timing like he’d downed three triple espressos in as many minutes.
She was so perfect. How the fuck was he always so ruined by sitting within ten feet of her? And not to put too fine a point on it, how the fuck was he coming off just then, sitting all glazed and probably drooling. Unable to hear what anyone was saying, to see anyone but her, or act in any way like he had a single spark of chill tucked deep within his soul.
Something cold hit his leg and he jumped. Noah had lobbed a beer his way, surely knowing he wasn't paying enough attention to catch it. His grin proved how unrepentant he was about how frothy the drink would now be.
“Heard you got that elevator install scheduled,” his cousin said, which at least was a topic Austin could discuss without going up in embarrassed flames. So one point for Noah.
He nodded with begrudging gratitude, slurped the head off the beer, and launched into a description of the project they’d undertaken to increase accessibility for their auxiliary business.