It was Wednesday. As though scheduled by God, school children began filing into the coffee house at 2:05. Within five minutes, the number of people went from six quiet adults to six quiet adults and fifty noisy children aged ten through fifteen, at a guess. The volume rose. Their voices climbed louder. A fighter jet taking off would have been drowned out.
The cliques formed and routines were honored. Then one teenaged female raced back through the coffee house and out the front door. As she left, she screamed and then did a little dance. A girl outside ran up to her. The two surged into a long hug and began jumping up and down without releasing each other, joy overwhelming their expressions. Other girls in the coffee shop turned, saw the scene and ran out to join them. “Eva, Eva,” one running girl shouted as she raced out, answering one question.
Of course, other questions surfed his mind, like who was Eva and where had she been? She seemed very popular. It was like she was just getting back from prison, a hospital stay, or a very long trip.