Two Coffees, Please

Every morning at 7:45, Itzel goes to a small coffee shop across from the university. Her first class is at eight. She always orders the same thing: one black coffee, no sugar.

The barista is a young man with a green apron. His name is on the apron: JOAQUÍN. On Monday, he smiles and asks, "Good morning! What's your name?" "Itzel," she says. He writes on her cup. In class, she looks at it. It says "Isel."

On Tuesday, Itzel spells her name for him at the counter: "I-T-Z-E-L." Then he writes "Etzel." On Wednesday, the cup says "Itsel." On Thursday, it says "Hazel." Every time, he says, "Sorry! Have a nice day!"

On Friday, Itzel has a plan. "Good morning, Joaquín," she says. "Two coffees, please. One for me, and one for you." Joaquín looks surprised. "For me? Why?" "Because you work very hard," she says. "But you can't spell."

Joaquín laughs, and his ears turn pink. "I can spell your name," he says. "But when I write it wrong, you stay and talk to me. That's my favorite part of the morning."

He gives her the cup. This time, her name is right: ITZEL, in big letters. Under her name, there's a phone number and a little drawing of two coffee cups.