"I tend to be most interested in the kinds of people who do not sweeten or dilute themselves for the sake of people's tastes. Who never soften the blow of who they are. Like my coffee, I prefer the people I connect with to be full-strength and searing hot. And able to rouse my weary. Idle heart." ~ Beau Taplin

Sydney's POV

My parents rushed out to greet me when they saw the light from my motorcycle. Dad hurried to make homemade mac n cheese and Mom followed me to my room watching to see if she could get more answers if she stared hard enough. I saw the relief in their eyes but I also saw the questions—trying not to imagine the messed-up shit I did. So, I tried to remember life before I was taken and pretend that everything was fine.

At dinner I made conversation, instead asking about what I missed as if I had been on a school trip. Instead of discussing the op, my parents told me about what our neighbor's mother who got knee surgery and the new smoothie place being built down the road. I shared my thoughts on the latest technological innovations I'd been reading about and the latest mathematical theories. Despite the late hour and the elephant in the room, we all pasted on paper smiles and allowed ourselves to lapse back in time.

01101111

Who the fuck wants to leave bed when it's cold as shit outside? This sucks ass. I zipped up my leather jacket as I walked from my car to the Daily Grind. Sleep evaded me last night and I decided to come here to catch up on some homework before school. Once I had a strong cup of black coffee, I settled in a corner to grind out some assignments.

Somewhere between my essay on Great Expectations and lab report for AP physics C, the little shop began to fill up. With my second cup gone, I got in line with one of my earbuds still in. The guy and girl in front of me were taking forever to order or maybe I'm just impatient when I'm cranky. Man, does that mean I'm cranky every day? No wonder Cole used to call me a-

"Syd?"

My head snaps up as my sleep deprived mind races to identify the voice.

"Tony. Hey."

Maria is waiting for their drinks by the end of the counter while Anthony stays rooted by the order stand.

I nod to Maria in greeting and turn to ask the barista for another large, black coffee.

"Can you believe this place is still here," Anthony says as we walk to the end of the counter to pick up out orders.

"No," I state.

He glances at Maria before returning his gaze to me, hoping for me to engage in conversation.

A barista calls out his name and hands him a mocha latte. He pays and takes a sip, wincing, before Maria hands him cream and sugar to further dilute the coffee. The hue of brown is reminiscent of the chocolate milkshakes we'd grab after track practices.

Anthony places the lid back on and takes a sip with a bit more ease before saying, "I thought you hated coffee."

"One, large, black coffee for Sydney," the barista announces.

I pay with exact change before taking a large swig, "Yeah, I used to."

01110110

Schools have this weird vendetta against hoods, but if you sit in the back of the room most teachers don't care enough to dress code you. They're just as tired of being here as the rest of us. I spend my lunch period in the library unwinding with some linear algebra and an Italian sub. By the time AP lit rolls around, I consider skipping simply to avoid Kal, but ultimately slide in with the late crowd and slump down in my seat. I zone out until, I look up to see Kal standing in front of my desk. She dressed in a burnt orange sweater that looks beautiful against her warm skin tone and accents of gold jewelry that looks like fragments of sunshine glinting against her skin. Her makeup of course impeccable from her wing to her highlight.

"Want to discuss your thoughts on Dickens' writing style in this passage?" she asks with the same look of apprehension I'm sure I had when I showed up for that first cross-country practice.

I stare at her before nodding.

She lowers herself into the seat in front of me.

"I like it," I begin, "It's wry and humorous, relying on dark humor to describe the tragic events that unfold."

"It's very in character for Dickens' distinct use of humor and satire in his writing," Kal adds.

We lapse into silence until the teacher calls us back so the class can share their thoughts before going over drafts of our essays.

After class, Kal follows me to my locker.

"Hey you wanna work on that essay?" I finally ask her.

She agrees and we head to The Daily Grind. When we're seated with our coffees and pastries, we pull out our books and notebooks before flicking our gazes up to meet before quickly averting our stare.

"I'm sorry, Syd," she blurts out.

I almost hit my head on the wall as I jerk up to look at her, "Why the hell are you apologizing to me? I laid all that shit on you and left for a week without a word. If anything, I should be the one apologizing."

"You trusted me enough to tell me that," Kal emphasizes before sighing, "And I was so insensitive. I just kind of choked."

"Kal, I know I'm very different from the person I was before," I say now noticing how empty the shop is, "I've done some terrible things and I'm not a good person. It's not right of me to expect you to just accept it all with a smile and for things to be like they were before."

Kal just hugs me. She hugs me tight. Tight enough that it seems like all the broken pieces are almost pushed back together.

"The same Syd is still in there. You were just dealt a bad hand and you're doing what you need to in order to survive," she whispers before leaning back with tears running down her face, "After everything you've been through, there's gonna be some changes. I trust you and anything you do I know you do for a reason. You're not as heartless as you want everyone else to believe."

"God, Kal," my voice cracks as she wipes away my tears, "I love you so much."