The Latte Rebellion Read Online Free PDF

wafting on the breeze, and the faint aroma of eucalyptus leaves.
    “Are you nervous, Asha? You’re unusually quiet,” Carey said.
    “Nope, not even a little. This is going to be amazing .” I turned onto Oak and started looking for a parking spot. “I can’t stop thinking about how it’s going to feel to be somewhere else next summer … I mean, think about it. No parents, no school … just relaxing … shopping …”
    “… ogling tasty guys,” Carey put in.
    I grinned. “And getting them to take us out for coffee.”
    Yeah, we were a little obsessed.
    At the last minute, a car pulled out right in front of Mocha Loco, and I swerved into the space. Here we go, I thought to myself as we got out of the car, making sure we had our flyers as well as pushpins and scotch tape for any contingency.
    The green plastic patio tables were full of people studying. None of them paid any attention to us as we wound our way through and into the café. Inside, the tables were packed with more college students and professor types, buried in fat textbooks or having deep philosophical discussions. I felt … out of place. My excitement dimmed a little as we squeezed past tables and chairs, and I was convinced that I was going to bump into somebody or knock someone’s coffee over with my butt. My round butt.
    There was a two-piece band in one corner playing folk guitar ballads, and everyone was conversing at an even louder volume as a result. The hubbub of voices was giving me a headache, and I could feel nervous sweat prickling at the back of my neck.
    “Now what do we do?” I stared at the throng of people and finally located a bulletin board—already crammed with flyers—on a stand next to the cash register.
    “No problem; we can handle this,” Carey said, grabbing one of the flyers out of my hand and marching up to the cash register. I trailed behind, not wanting to get trampled by caffeine-crazed college students.
    “Here’s the plan,” Carey said in a stage whisper. She pulled on my wrist and I leaned toward her. “You buy a coffee from that guy. Just act normal. I’ll ask him about the flyer.” This was the upside of Carey’s control-freakishness: she always had a Plan B. I’d seen it in action on the soccer field, as she shouted strategic maneuvers out to her teammates, but it never ceased to amaze me. I was more of an idea person, a motivator. I was no strategist.
    I went up to the counter, trying to project more confidence than I was feeling. The guy behind the register was kind of cute, with dyed-black hair, dark eyes, a nice tan, and an eyebrow ring.
    Make that very cute.
    I could see a tattoo of some kind of Chinese character on his upper arm, disappearing under his T-shirt sleeve. Definitely a potential Rebellion Sympathizer. I gave Carey’s arm a little squeeze and took a deep breath.
    “Can I get a large iced latte, please?” It came out a lot quieter than I’d planned, more like a whispery squeak than a confident request for coffee.
    “What was that?”
    Carey elbowed me. I tried again.
    “Um, an iced latte?” I smiled and tried to make eye contact.
    “Whipped cream?” the guy asked in a bored voice. Leonard , his name tag read.
    “No thanks, Leonard.” I elbowed Carey.
    “Excuse me.” Carey looked up at him—he was pretty tall—and put on her cutest smile, blinking at him a little. “We were wondering if we could put a flyer for our …
um … organization on your bulletin board?”
    Carey has really striking hazel eyes, which was why Jonathan Burmeister wouldn’t leave her alone. And before that, Kendall DeSoto, Eddie Green, and about twenty zillion others. I could see what was coming. I wasn’t blind.
    “Sure, go ahead,” Leonard said. “It’s a student organization, right? Not a corporate thing?”
    “Uh—”
    I nudged Carey again.
    “Yes,” she said stiffly.
    It wasn’t a lie. We were students. We were organized. Kind of.
    “I’ll have to have the manager take a look at