New Amsterdam: Tess Read Online Free PDF Page A

It’s all yours.
    Kip: Tess is a New Yorker now. She’s escalated to snorting lines of coke on the subway.
    Shelby: Love ya.
    Tess: xoxo
    Kip: Pest
    Tess: Jerk
    Laughing quietly, Thessaly places her phone on her lap and peers between the layers of grime plastered on the backseat window. As the taxi picks up speed across the Brooklyn Bridge, the fading sunlight drips through the rusty cables and casts hues of sepia on the cars below. It’s a timeless photograph waiting to be captured. But like the millions of people before her, and the generations that will undoubtedly follow her, Thessaly Sinclair is merely one story – an immigrant taking the ceremonious passage to the island once known as New Amsterdam.
    “Fulton and Water,” she instructs.
    Following her orders, the cab swerves into the left lane without signaling, prompting the customary honk salute. One time, a few months back, Thessaly counted the seconds that elapsed over a single pressing of the horn. It’s become a backseat game – the current record being seven seconds.
    As the cab idles at the corner of Water Street, Thessaly drops her phone into the large bag on the seat next to her. She removes two twenty-dollar bills from her wallet and waves them through the partition. He doesn’t seem thrilled with the small tip, but she wants to see if he’ll help with her rolling bag in the trunk before offering more cash.
    The cab driver doesn’t move, but instead, pops in a cassette of creole music. Thessaly exits the taxi and slaps the trunk. It pops open with a loud creak and a rush of a strong citrus smell. She chucks her suitcase on the sidewalk, slams the trunk, careful not to smash the bags of navel oranges, and then proceeds to the cobbled street of Fulton.
    Late afternoon is the least crowded in Lower Manhattan, especially on a Monday, but the Seaport is always packed with people enjoying the casual thrills of an urban playground. The newer restaurants, resurrected after Hurricane Sandy, serve light meals with some of the best happy hours Downtown. One of Thessaly’s favorite places, atop an original boat slip, celebrates the summer with ice cream waffle cones for three-dollars between five and seven.
    Needing some caffeine and a dose of sugar, she makes a quick stop in the Seaport’s trendy coffee shop. She rolls her suitcase up to the counter and smiles, recognizing the barista.
    “Hey, Tess! Usual?” he asks, grabbing a Sharpie from a coffee can.
    “Hi, Noah – extra caramel and skim milk.” Thessaly enjoys all things sweet. In fact, if coffee beans were rolled in sugar and dipped in honey, she’d still add the swirl of caramel. “And extra ice, please.”
    Noah scribbles her drink order in shorthand on the side of a plastic cup. “Five-fifty,” he says, starting the espresso drip. “Did you hear about the bees?”
    Thessaly rolls her suitcase to the end of the counter to make room for more customers. “I read an online article – a bee swarm is really cool to watch.”
    “Really? People down here are freaked!” Noah exclaims, scooping ice into the coffee shop’s signature orange plastic cups.
    “A swarm can be terrifying, but honeybees couldn’t care less about humans. And people are scared of things they don’t understand.”
    Swirling caramel on top of the skim milk, Noah passes the coffee across the butcher-block counter and announces in his best theatrical voice, “Iced latte with skim milk. Extra caramel. Extra ice. And extra love.”
    “Thanks, Noah.” She slides a few bucks across the counter with a smile. “For your mint-green Vespa fund.”
    Taking the money and shoving it in his apron pocket, Noah laughs. “How’d you know about that?”
    “Meg,” she answers, walking backwards out of the coffee house with a sly smile.
    Removing an orange dishtowel from below the bar, Noah shakes his head and laughs. He clears a plate and then wipes the counter. “Fare thee well, milady,” he shouts.
    It’s no secret that Meg