Coffee and Cigarettes

A few weeks had gone by since the day that Blair had given us all that scare and things were relatively back to normal. Mikey and Libby were officially dating (it had been two days since he'd asked her), and I was blissfully single. But you know, I liked looking at Frank. I don't care how stalkerish that sounds, he was eye candy. And he's a nice guy. And really sweet. And funny. And--

Okay, Morgan. That's enough.

Yeah, things were back to normal. However, I could sense that something was wrong with Blair. She would confine herself in her room a lot more, and she seemed sort of depressed. The glimmer in her eyes had faded and her laughter was scarce. She barely even smiled. I knew that something was wrong, but I was afraid to ask. This had been happening for about a week and a half, now. I made a mental note to ask her about it.

It was during dinner when Blair bolted from her seat and ran to the bathroom. She stayed locked in there for about fifteen minutes. My mom went to see what was wrong and when she came back, she said, "Blair's just got some diarrhea. Nothing to be worried about."

Of course, Bob snickered. He's that immature.

The next morning, I remember waking up and walking to the bathroom, my vision still hazy. It was seven in the morning on a Monday. What do you honestly expect from me?

I sauntered into the bathroom to find Blair leaned over the sink, brushing her teeth rapidly while examining herself in the mirror. "I've got this nasty taste in my mouth," she told me after she spat out the toothpaste. "It's pissing me off. Anyway, you can have the bathroom, I'm off to school."

Before I had a chance to respond, she waltzed past me and out the front door.

"Something's definitely wrong with Blair," I said to Libby as we walked to school in the chilly October air. It was early in the month, but a lot colder than I had anticipated. I was out in a thin hoodie instead of a heavier sweater. Smart, I know.

"Talk to her about it," Libby shrugged. "Can't be all that hard."

I rolled my eyes. "You don't know the half of it," I reasoned. "Blair is almost as stubborn as me. And whenever I try to talk to her, she makes up some excuse and leaves. I'm getting worried, I know something is bothering her."

Libby glanced at me. "Do you think it has to do something with that night we found her in the motel?"

I shrugged. "Maybe. What do you mean?"

"I mean," Libby said quietly, "That maybe she didn't pass out from alcohol. Maybe there was something more that we don't know about."

I thought for a moment, but shook it off. "No...if it was something else, Blair would be beyond traumatized. Stop trying to scare me, Lib."

She shrugged. "My bad."

We finally made it to the school and went to our lockers at separate ends of the hall. "Bye, Libby," I called, waving to her as we parted.

"Bye, see you third period."

The day went by very slowly. I completely zoned out. I wasn't listening to anything that my teachers were saying, and my eyes were glued to the clock. Did you know that time goes by slower when all you're doing is staring at the minute hand of a clock for a good seventy minutes?

I probably should have been paying attention, since it was Math class (my weakest subject) and I was probably just passing. My teacher was an undercover Nazi though...German, blond with blue eyes, thin lips and her long blond hair was always slicked back into a tight bun in the back of her head. Her name was Mrs. Wilhelm, and she scared me senseless.

"Morgan, do problem number five on the board," she commanded in that stern voice of hers.

"Yes ma'am," I squeaked, getting up, not knowing what to do at all. I picked up the piece of chalk after glimpsing at the question. Something about parabolas and quadratic functions and optimum values? What in God's name is a parabola?

"I see that you don't know how to do it," Mrs. Wilhelm said grimly. "That is why you're about to fail my class. You never pay attention. All you ever do is stare at the clock while the others work."

I shrugged. "Math doesn't interest me, ma'am. I don't plan on ever using mathematics in real life."

Her frown deepened and I think a vein popped in her forehead. Mrs. Wilhelm was madly passionate about math, and I think I may have hit a nerve. Thankfully, before she had a chance to retort, the bell rang and I ran the hell out of that classroom.

Time for Advanced English, aka my best class, aka the only class I have with Libby.

I zoomed through the hallways and the cheap "Go Team!" posters adorning the walls made by the student council and hurried into my classroom just as the second bell rang. I sat next to Libby as I always did in the center of the class and pulled out my books and pens.

My teacher apparently was not in the mood to socialize, so he just wrote our English assignment up on the board. We were to write a short story, no more than six pages double-spaced, about anything we wanted. I hated when teachers did that, because it gave me no boundaries. With me, that's a bad thing because all my ideas come flowing to me and I have no idea what to do. Libby on the other hand, just comes up with ideas and writes them down. I have to analyze and brainstorm before I do anything.

Halfway through the class and three crumpled sheets of paper later, I finally came up with my idea. I was going to write a story that was partially based on my life, just making the scenarios a bit more unlikely, changing the character names and making their personalities a bit more vivid and out there.

Libby had already finished two and a half pages.

"What are you writing about?" I asked her after I had finished explaining my idea.

She shrugged. "I'm writing a humorous story about a dog that falls in love with a cat. A tragic romance that ends in bloodshed."

"You're killing off animals?" I asked, wide-eyed. She laughed loudly, received shushes from our teacher.

"No, I'm just kidding. It's based on Romeo and Juliet, just with cats and dogs. And it's funnier because the cat is obese and the dog is a chihuahua."

"You're so lame," I grinned, rolling my eyes.

The rest of the day went by surprisingly fast, and Libby met me at my locker once she had finished retrieving the books she needed from hers. Leaning up against the one next to mine, she said, "So, what's happening today?"

I shrugged. "I need to talk to Blair. If I don't fish out some information out of her soon, I'm going to beat her with a baseball bat."

"Violence isn't the answer!" Libby tutted, wagging her finger at me which I promptly bit. All she did was smack me upside the head. "I'm serious, talk to her, she's your sister. No violence, though. No matter how dire the situation."

I nodded obediently and we exited the school, our backpacks shrugged over our shoulders. As we passed the front of the school, we saw Mikey, Gerard and Frank leaning up against a wall, all of them casually smoking cigarettes. But not in unison, unfortunately. How funny would that be?

"What are you guys doing here?" Libby asked after pecking Mikey on the lips. "Especially you, Gerard. You're supposed to be in New York, aren't you?"

He shrugged. "Missed my baby brother too much. Besides, band is tonight."

I glanced at Frank. "What are you doing here, Frank? Don't you go to some other school on the other side of town?"

He nodded. "Yeah, but my mom is moving closer to this school so I'm transferring in next week. My dad is in North Jersey and it's easier to drive up and visit him at our new house."

I nodded. We stayed and talked with the three boys for a few minutes before we said our goodbyes and headed off for home.

Libby kept going on about how amazing Mikey was, but I was only half listening. I couldn't help but smile to myself at the thought of Frank coming to our school.