New York: Allie's War, Early Years

Laughter sparked through the crowd.

"President Caine!" My eyes followed the petite female avatar as she pushed her way to the front. "What will your response be to the terrorists?"

He smiled at her.

"Donna," he said. "You know I can't give you details as to the exact nature of our plans." He winked at the camera. "...But rest assured, harsh language will be involved. Very harsh language indeed..."

Another collective laugh rolled through the crush.

I leaned my back against the espresso machine, frowning.

Folding my arms, I focused on the dark-skinned African-American avatar standing just behind Caine. High cheekbones rose above full lips, below cat-shaped, amber eyes. His was an undeniably handsome face, one I had also heard mirrored the handsomeness of the man behind it. The female friends of mine who didn't have a thing for Caine definitely had one for Ethan Wellington, his new Vice President. My reactions to him were more mixed.

The man had something, definitely.

Again, I just couldn't decide if I liked whatever it was.

"...I truly believe that we are now laying the real foundations for peace and prosperity in the future," Caine spoke out over the crowd. "Paving the way for a time when human being will no longer fight human being..."

A low hiss emanated from the espresso maker at my back...just before it sprayed wet steam all over my uniform. Jumping forward with a yelp, I saw the metal filter belch water and coffee grounds through a warp in the seal. I was still staring at the machine, trying to decide how to proceed, when my best friend, Cassandra Jainukul approached.

Everyone but her mother called her Cass, but when we were kids, it had been Cassie.

"Hey." Cass took in the issue with the espresso maker with polite disinterest. "Jon's here. So's your buddy."

Gripping the filter's plastic handle with a resolve I didn't feel, I gave it a jerk. More steam and water vomited, drenching my shirt.

Cursing, I leapt back, soaked to the skin.

"You want me to call Jon over?" Cass folded her arms, bunching up the uniform under her breasts.

"What for?" I muttered. "He sucks at fixing things."

"No, dummy." Cass pushed shocking, dyed red hair out of her dark eyes. "Not for that."

When we were kids, I would have done anything to look like Cass. Her dad had been Ethiopian and Thai and her mom something like Scottish and Indian. Cass ended up with a blend of all four that made her beautiful and unique-looking with a delicate face, high cheekbones, full lips and giant, liquid eyes. Her figure had always been better than mine, too. She blew stray bangs out of her eyes.