The Cascading Waves of Caden Lee

37

SCARLETT PARKER

"Wanna go do something later? There's a new roller-blading place a few miles out." Caden has his head rested on the desk to my left, eyes closed but ears open, still listening to me despite the clear grogginess weighing down his body. He's tired. Did he get enough sleep last night?

"Sure," his eyes open, a muddy-green color, half-lidded in a way thats unusual—even for his everyday dopey eyes,  "which one?"

"I'll send you the address," pulling out my phone, I immediately click onto Safari and type it into the search-bar, "I've heard it's really good."

His eyes close again, and he settles deeper into the crook of his folded elbows; his arms a cushion against the cold desk. "Yeah, sure, let's do that."

A smile tugs at the corner of my lips, he looks cute even like this, half asleep and dead to the world. We watched a statistics video in psychology today, filling out notes and finishing within the half hour.

A study of what love does to the brain.

Leaning over slightly, I tap Caden's wrist, "how much sleep did you get last night?"

"Too much," he mumbles.

"You're so tired, though, rough morning?" How can he be seconds away from falling asleep now—when he got plenty last night?

Almost as if snapping himself out of a daze, he flinches out of his current state and props his chin up onto his arms, "I woke up late and never had my coffee," huffing out a laugh, he continues, "regretting that now."

Hey," I attempt to resist the urge, really, I do, but my fingers find themselves woven within his brown waves, raking through the soft strands, "the vending machine sells those canned coffee thingy's. I can get you one, if you want."

"Would you really?" He says this as if im granting him all of life's mysteries—rather than a two-dollar coffee.

I laugh, "yes, Cade, I would."

"I'll pay you back."

"No need," I stand up from my chair and make my way to the teacher, asking him if I could go grab something from the vending machine. When he says yes, I turn around to Caden and say, "I wont be long."

The walk there isn't too tedious; a couple minutes and a few hallways away. When I get there, I dip my fingertips into my pocket and dig out a five-dollar bill, inserting it into the slot and watching the mechanical motion of the bill dispersing further into the machine.

Thirty seconds later, and two canned coffees are dropping to the slot at the bottom of the machine—I had decided to get one for myself, too—and I walk back towards the classroom with the condensation burning my fingertips like frostbite.

"Here," once inside the room, I set the can down beside his head and take a sip of my own. Taking a few more, I already feel the caffeine entering my system.

"Does it help?" I ask, gesturing towards the chilled drink currently held between his palms, more of the coffee gone from his than mine.

"A little. Thanks." He takes another sip, welcoming the rush of caffeine that slides down his throat, "I think only sleep can help me now."

He seems sorta off. Nothing too out of the usual, just weird. But I don't want to mention it and ruin the mood, he probably is just tired and I'm looking too much into it, so I stay quiet.

Why question the unusual when im not sure what Cadens usual even is? It seems like he has multiple sides. One day he's funny, and he pays attention to me, and then we kiss and I think he'll stay that way forever now—but he returns to acting cold. Hot and cold. I never know if he'll be hot to the touch, if he'll burn me. Or if his palms will be clammy and cold, if they'll shake and tremor.