Chapter 5 – Misfits Healing Misfits

The little bell above La Vida Dulce jingled as Minnie stepped inside, wrapped in the familiar scent of cinnamon, espresso, and sugar-drenched fruit. Selena played low from an old boombox on the counter, and a girl in butterfly clips and acrylics waved from behind it.

“¡Minnie! ¿Tu usual?”

“You know it,” Minnie said, pulling her hoodie tighter around her and smiling despite her nerves.

The barista handed over a steaming cup—abuelita chocolate latte with extra cinnamon—and passed her a small brown paper bag. “Biónico with mango, papaya, strawberries, and extra crema. I added granola. You look like you got big meeting energy.”

“You get me,” Minnie grinned, dropping a five in the tip jar marked for Bad Bunny tickets.

Outside, the sun was too bright, her nerves too jumpy. She sat for a second in her car, gripping the warm drink, her fingers tapping the cardboard sleeve. Big meeting. Big donor. Big opportunity. The kind of day that could shift everything.

She pulled into the parking lot of El Camino House, the group home where she’d worked the last ten years. Her heels clicked as she walked in, juggling her latte, the biónico, her clipboard, and a whole lot of anxiety. The halls were already buzzing—some kids pretending they weren’t nervous, others clearly showing it. Someone had stolen a donut from the refreshment tray. Of course.

Minnie dropped her stuff at her desk and opened her drawer, pulling out her jar of cocoa butter. She rubbed it into her hands slowly, ritualistically. Her palms were dry from stress. And if she was going to shake this donor’s hand, it had to be soft. Firm. Confident.

She looked around her office.

Posters of The Specials, No Doubt, and Debbie Harry in all her glory filled one wall. Her old Doc Martens sat beside her diploma from a state school that took a chance on her. Bright throw pillows. Cluttered bulletin boards. A lava lamp.

For a moment, she wondered if it was too much. Too loud. Too punk rock for a meeting with a wealthy backer.

But then she remembered why she started this.

This place was for misfits. For the kids who didn’t fit the brochure images. And she wasn’t about to erase herself to make anyone else more comfortable.

We’re not some suit-wearing agency. We’re misfits healing misfits.

She was still repeating that to herself when a knock came.

Ryan stepped into the doorway, tall and lean, his curls damp, smelling like cheap body spray and shampoo. His hoodie was wrinkled, the sleeves pushed up to reveal a faint, still-healing scar across one wrist. His gaze was sharp, restless. Like he was always halfway between fight and flight.

“You gonna cry if I nail this speech?” he asked, tossing a protein bar onto her desk. “You’ve been looking real stressed, Coach. I could offer a massage but, you know—boundaries.”

Minnie snorted, not taking the bait. “Only if you get through it without throwing in a wrestling metaphor.”

“No promises,” he said, flopping into the visitor chair with the lazy grace of someone who was used to pretending nothing touched him. “But hey… if this donor guy’s cute, maybe I’ll flirt with him.”

“You’re incorrigible,” Minnie muttered, organizing her papers even though they didn’t need organizing.

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “You’re smiling, though.”

“I’m smiling because I’m imagining smacking you with this clipboard.”

He laughed low in his throat, like he liked the idea a little too much. “I bet you hit hard.”

Minnie sighed. “Ryan. Focus.”

His expression shifted, just for a beat. The armor slipped. “Right. Sorry.”

Ryan wasn’t perfect—not even close. His record included two fights, one suspension, and one almost expulsion. But he also spent hours in the gym. Helped younger residents with their homework. Started eating right. Stopped skipping therapy. She saw something in him that most people didn’t. A spark.

Maybe because he reminded her of someone.

Someone she hadn’t let herself think about in years.

Johnny Castile.

The name hit her like muscle memory. She pushed the thought away and looked at Ryan.

“Remember—focus on how fitness and structure changed things for you. Speak from the heart, and no swearing.”

“Even if it’s about my algebra teacher?”

“Yes. Especially then.”

He chuckled and looked at her, eyes softer now. “You believe in me more than anyone ever has, Minnie. That’s the only reason I’m not running out the back door right now.”

Her breath caught a little at the sincerity in his voice, but she brushed it off. “Good. Use that energy in the speech.”

Then the intercom crackled.

“Ms. Rivera? Your guest has arrived.”

Minnie’s breath caught. Showtime.

She stood, wiped her hands one more time with cocoa butter, and reached for her blazer.

Then stopped.

No.

She rolled up her sleeves instead. Adjusted her purple hair. Gave herself one last glance in the mirror.

“You got this,” Ryan said, watching her with something unreadable in his expression.

She smiled at him. “Thanks, kid.”

“I’m not a kid,” he said, standing up too. “But you’re welcome.”

Just as she reached for the door, there was a knock from the other side.

Confident. Measured.

She froze.

She knew that knock. It was like a chord struck deep in her ribs, familiar in a way she hadn’t felt in fifteen years.

She opened the door.

And there he was.

Johnny Castile.

Older, yes. But still him.

Same sharp jaw, stormy eyes, and that air of casual cool that always made people stop and notice. He wore a tailored blazer, dress shoes, and a subtle chain under his shirt. His hair was shorter now, peppered with a little silver, but it worked. Everything about him worked.

Except the part where he didn’t recognize her.

“Hi,” he said smoothly, offering a hand. “Johnny Castile. I’m here for the meeting.”

Minnie blinked.

Nodded.

Took his hand.

It was firm, warm, polite.

Of course he didn’t remember her. Why would he? She was just one face among hundreds in high school. He was the golden boy. Captain of the wrestling team. Everyone loved him—especially Lauren. And Minnie?

She’d just been the big girl in the shadows.

But she remembered everything.

The night of the choir banquet. The eclair. The dance. The lake house. The balcony.

Her chest tightened, but she pushed through it, smiling as if her stomach hadn’t dropped.

“Ms. Rivera,” she said. “Welcome to El Camino.”

He smiled. “Cool spot. I like the vibe.”

He looked past her to Ryan, who stood and extended his hand.

“Ryan. I’ll be presenting today. Hope you’re ready to be impressed.”

Johnny raised a brow, clearly amused. “I like the confidence.”

“Gotta have it,” Ryan said, tossing a quick wink at Minnie before walking toward the conference room. “We don’t do small around here.”

Johnny lingered a second, eyes sweeping the office walls. “Are those original tour posters?”

“Yeah. From my teenage rebellion phase,” Minnie said lightly.

“I had a punk phase too.”

She smiled, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“Cool,” she said. “Let’s get started.”

He nodded and followed Ryan out.

Minnie stood there for a second longer, heart thudding, eyes on the door.

She took a deep breath.

They were misfits.

Misfits healing misfits.

Would you like to continue this tone into Chapter 6, where Johnny and Minnie’s past begins to subtly surface?