“Yeah, he does that.” I shrug, feeling increasingly weird in this conversation. I suddenly want to hear more about what he said—if he gave an explanation for just wanting to be friends—but it’s starting to feel like talking about him behind his back.

“He does it with you too?” Caitlin asks, looking at me finally, and the awkwardness in the air intensifies.

“Yeah, a bit. Sometimes.” I pull my notebook closer to me and click my pen. “We should probably get to work, we only have, like, twenty minutes left.”

“Right, yeah, of course.” She nods and transitions into school mode and a breath of relief collapses out of me.

I drop my bags on the kitchen counter and go digging into the cabinets for coffee. It’s now been two days without talking to Caleb and I’m starting to lose it a little. I hadn’t realized how dependent I’d become on Caleb—on our lunches, our texting, me sending him music and him not understanding half of it. He didn’t make things better, necessarily—he didn’t chase away the clouds when they loomed heavy and dark over me—but he did make it easier to ignore the impending storm. Caleb makes me feel clever. He makes me feel interesting.

I spent hours tossing and turning in bed last night, picking up my phone to text him before putting it back down. I did that over and over again. I still haven’t texted but neither has he, so I’m not sure what to do.

I do know that caffeine is desperately needed if I’m going to get all my schoolwork done but, just as I reach up for the nice espresso beans my parents keep for after-dinner coffee when they have friends over, I hear my mom’s voice.

“Adam, what are you doing?” She sounds amused, probably smiling at the fact that I’ve got my knee on the counter, my other leg dangling in midair as I reach up for the bag like a little kid going for the cookie jar.

“Nothing.” I hop off the counter and put on my best innocent face.

“I thought we agreed you’d cut down on the coffee,” she says sternly. “Half a cup in the morning is fine but that’s it.”

“I just didn’t sleep all that well last night and I have a lot of work to do,” I explain, like that will actually convince her. She reaches around me to shut the cabinet before opening another and pulling out a box of tea.

“How about a nice cup of Darjeeling,” she says, not asks, already pulling the kettle from the stove and moving to the sink to fill it with water. I sag against the counter and nod.

“Did you have a good day at school, sweetheart?” she asks, her back to me as she turns on the burner.