365 Cups of Coffee

Twenty: Raspberry Truffle Latte

    Despite the fact that I told myself that I would break my silence with Dylan, telling myself something and my actual course of action is, of course, much different.  When I wake up in the morning, tired because I am still unadjusted to the early-rising hour, I have absolutely no motivation to turn on my laptop and log into an email whose password I have nearly forgotten.  So I don’t.  I text Daniel and then put in my headphones and find myself in my own world on the way to school, blocking out any thoughts of Dylan.

    As I have always done, I pick up a coffee on the way to school.  I tell Ryan to make me whatever he sees fit, and he hands me a raspberry truffle latte: raspberry and chocolate, and sweet and bitter, all in one.  When I arrive at school, I wander the hallways, content to be the loner.  But that doesn’t last very long; I see Logan racing out of the library, looking like he’s in a hurry.  He nearly barrels into me, and I can’t help but roll my eyes.

    “Hey,” he says, breathlessly.

    “What’s the hurry?” I ask, and he laughs.

    “There isn’t a hurry.  I just hate wasting time.  So I move fast.”

    It’s so ridiculous that I find myself smiling, and he smiles warmly in response.

    “So you’re one of those people who’s addicted to caffeine?” he asks, gesturing his nose towards my coffee.

    “I’m not addicted!” I protest.

    “That’s what all addicts say,” he says.  “Tell me.  Do you drink a coffee every morning?”

    “Well, yeah, but that’s only because I like it . . .”

    “Then you’re addicted,” he says, grinning.  “So you met anyone else in this hell hole?”

    I tell him about the friends I already made through Daniel, and he nods, listening, telling me about a few of his friends.  I notice that our groups loosely overlap; he’s friends with a few of the people from the group, even some that don’t go to our school, and I wonder where he knows them from, but I don’t ask.  When the bell rings, we go off to class.  Today is far more bearable; I find Logan right away at lunch, and we meet out at the snack machines and bring “lunch” into the library again.  I don’t see the kid I bumped into again, and I realize I never even looked at the slip of paper he gave me yesterday with his name and number.  Maybe I’ll never find his name out.

    “So why don’t you eat with your friends?” I ask Logan, snacking on a cookie.

    Logan shakes his head, “Because they go into the locker rooms and get high.  I swear I’m the only one of them with any sense.  This is school; you’re supposed to learn stuff, not get high in a locker room where you could easily get caught.”  He’s frowning.

    I nod, in agreement, but something seems off with his statement. 

    “So . . . Why are you even friends?” I have to ask.  Why, if he is so concerned with his education, with furthering himself in the world, does he even hang out with druggies.

    He sighs and looks at me.  “I don’t know what they taught you in Georgia or how the people were there, but you know, sometimes, people do stupid shit, but that doesn’t make them any less human, any less worthy of friendship.  Besides, we all break a few rules occasionally.  Don’t you?”

    I shake my head, no, and he looks at me, surprised.

    “For real?” he asks.  “Never even been curious about something totally crazy?”