12 THE CEDARVILLE REVIEW “Uhh,” I say for the second time in the same two-minute span. There’s a whip-topped, chocolateswirled creation pictured on the back menu, framed with a border of clip art snowflakes and ribbons. HOLIDAY SPECIALS. “Can you make the peppermint mocha…but frozen, like a frappe?” “Yup,” she nods. “What size?” “16 ounces,” I say, because I’m too ignorant of Starbucks’ lingo to call it grande. “Name for order?” “Haley.” And I find myself wondering which of the twelve ways it’s going to be spelled. “That’ll be…$6.75.” “Thank you,” I say, but she’s gone before I can even pull my credit card out. I add a $1 tip for good measure and step into the swarm waiting by the counter for their drinks. My back’s starting to cramp along the butterfly curve of my shoulders. Finals week weighs heavy in my bookbag. I tend to work well in spurts. Maybe the caffeine will give me a boost, and I can get some work done on my papers before boarding. A mousy little boy who looks to be about ten slips by me and grabs a drink carrier on the counter. His mom hovers over him, checking the names on the cups. Each one froths at the top with whipped cream and syrup streaks swirling down the plastic sides. Now I’m ready for that peppermint mocha frappe. I cup my hands under both sides of my backpack to
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