“Let him have it,” said Alice. “He’s almost got it contained.”
“One more minute,” said Jim as he and Alice watched Mr. Turner corral the foam into a neat circle.
There was always a little scum floating at the water’s edge this time of year, but this morning the entire lake had been coated with a mysterious layer of fluffy white cream. Mr. Turner was sent out to clean the mess before his coffee and had been grumbling the entire time.
Just as Turner finished, Jim pointed his finger. “Tempest.”
A whirling gust ripped across the lake, sending the foam flying. Turner threw his ball cap into the boat and shouted curses. His stomping rocked the craft, nearly tossing him into the water.
“I bet he never hassles another barista about low foam on his latte again,” said Alice, between bouts of laughter.
Jim felt heat flush his face just thinking about yesterday’s fiasco. Turner had called him a lazy inept kid who wouldn’t amount to anything. Being dressed down in front of the entire coffee shop and then fired wasn’t half as bad as the way everyone laughed.
Only Alice had stood by him. She always did. More than a best friend, she was the only one who knew about his magic.
“I still think you should have zapped some cinnamon on top,” said Alice. “You know that’s how he always takes his coffee.”
“It wouldn’t change anything,” Jim said, shaking his head.
“But it sure would feel good.”
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