When I saw you, I fell in love, 
and you smiled, because you knew

J A M E S 

My day was going great until 8:37 A.M. today.

That was when I woke up. And I was not the slightest bit pleased with being dragged out of my sleep on a day when I had absolutely no obligation to be awake at this time.

Dragged was the word to use since Tyler- someone who I'd consider the closest person to a best friend- had attempted to pull me out of bed to hang out with the rest of them or something.

I hated hanging out. But then, as one could argue, I hated nearly everything.

His attempt- valiant as it had been- had landed him a swollen jaw, which he was currently nursing across me.

It had gotten to that point in our friendship where I didn't even feel sorry about it.

"Did you have to punch me in the face?" he whines indignantly as my Aunt Janine shoots me a disapproving look.

"Absolutely," I mutter, turning to the next page of my book without looking at him.

"What would your wife and three children think of this violence?"

"I don't have a wife or three children."

"What about your husband then?"

I don't bother dignifying him with a response.

"Is the ice helping, darling?" my Aunt asks him worriedly, and I resist the urge to roll my eyes at her misplaced concern.

That was the weakest punch I could've possibly thrown his way and it hadn't hurt him at all. Fucker was milking it so much you might as well call him a farmer.

"It is," he nods graciously, offering her his most sincere, gracious, and charming smile, "Thank you, Janine. You wouldn't mind if James still came along with us to hang out, would you?"

"I would mind," I tell him, but he ignores me- his eyes bright and the perfect imitation of a pleading child as he looks at my aunt.

"Of course, he can," she says, with a warm smile that reminded me far too much of someone else, as she gives me another disapproving look, "The Lord knows he wouldn't socialize with a single soul for the rest of his life if he was given a choice. Up you get James, it's the least you can do after you punched the poor boy in the face."

Poor boy my ass.

I glare at him over the top of my book, but the fucker doesn't seem in the slightest bit phased- returning my look with a smirk.

"How 'bout I give you another bruise to make you rescind the invitation?" I ask sardonically, an eyebrow raised, "That might change your mind-"

"James," my Aunt warns.

I bite a cuss back as Tyler's smirk widens.

A part of my mind was urging me to go, for whatever strange reason. It wasn't like anything was going to happen today, and I conceded to myself a little unwillingly- that why be uneventful at home when you can be uneventful around a bunch of idiots?

The first one still sounded like a better option. I was a bit of an antisocial jackass if that wasn't apparent.

But the look my Aunt was giving me turns a tiny bit pleading, and I sigh inwardly in defeat.

She liked it when I socialized.

It's the least I can do to make her happy. After everything she's done for me.

"Fine," I grit through my teeth, "I'll come."

*****

The people that resided in this little town at the borders of Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania were very original in the way they named things.

Which is why, naturally, the town's most popular coffee shop was called The Coffee Shop. How authentic.

It seemed busier today, with a lot more people than just the regulars. There were a few groups of people our age that I didn't recognize, but I didn't care enough to investigate.

"Tyler!" I hear another male voice exclaim over the chatter in the coffee shop.

"Ethan!" the idiot in front of me returns, with the same amount of unbridled enthusiasm, making me roll my eyes.

"James!" Ethan, also known as the other pain in my ass, cries again.

I dutifully ignore him, dodging him as he comes bounding our way like a happy puppy. Ugh. It was a sad thing that I had chosen to associate myself with people who were far too preppy all the time.

Archer, another person who occasionally hung out with us, gives me a sympathetic nod from the table he was already sitting at.

"Jackson," he acknowledges with a small nod, as I drop myself into the chair across from him.

I nod back absentmindedly, as Tyler and Ethan- the everloving yammering idiots join the table too.

"James," Ethan whines with an exaggerated pout, and I return that look with a blank look, "No 'hello, Ethan- I've missed you with all my cold, dead, black heart' from you? You're breaking me here-"

"Fuck off."

"There it is," he grins triumphantly at the rude greeting, "You just missed Brittany, by the way. She was here, looking for you."

"Thank fuck for that," I mutter. The Brittany in question was a bit of a raging bitch who had apparently staked some claim over me. She fit the Queen Bee- Mean Girl stereotype a little too well sometimes, and it had her convinced that I was meant to be with her.

"Man c'mon," Tyler smacks a hand on the table, "If only you hadn't punched me in the face, James. We would have had front row seats to this drama-"

I had just sat down, and I already wanted to get up and leave.

Fortunately, I had a prime excuse at hand for it: getting myself a coffee before I fell asleep again.

"Where are you going?" Tyler raises an eyebrow as I stand.

"The Antarctic," I tell him with a completely straight face, "Because I'd rather find an icicle and stab myself with it than listen to your conversation."

Ethan has the nerve to give me a look of mock hurt.

"It's literally the most interesting conversation you could possibly witness," he says, his eyes wide, "We're talking about enjoying the mean-girl drama."

In short: we love seeing you get hassled by the bitch.

"You can go fuck yourself," I tell him- narrowing my eyes, before I decide to be a little courteous, "You lot want anything to eat? I'm grabbing myself a coffee."

"Look at him being nice to us," Tyler sighs, putting his face in his hands and gazing up at me with adoration, "It looks like it's physically hurting him."

"I take back the offer," I turn around, kicking my chair back into its place with an eye roll.

"A blueberry muffin will do!" I hear one of them call.

"I said the offer's off the table," I snap back, without bothering to turn around.

Now I had half the mind to buy the damn blueberry muffin and chomp on it in front of him to spite him.

When I make it to the line, there's already a girl in front of me. Judging by the way the cashier was trying to flirt her pants off, I knew it was going to be a while before it was my turn.

"Here's your drink," he says, with what was supposed to be a charming smile. It looks like a sleazy smirk more than anything. "Great choice for a great girl."

Fuck's sake. I glare at him impatiently, but he doesn't seem to notice.

"Thank you for the caramel latte," I hear the girl say, and for a moment there- I'm almost taken aback by how genuine and pleasant she sounds.

I brush that thought away immediately, eyes darting up to the board to distract myself.

But then, the worst possible thing happens.

This girl turns around, walks smack into my chest- and spills half her fucking caramel latte onto me.

I inhale sharply.

Very slowly, I tilt my head down to survey the mess.

The one time I had decided to wear a lighter sweatshirt, someone had decided that it would be the perfect fucking day to ruin it.

And she had gotten some on my shoes too. Fucking perfect.

I can hear her gasp, as she backs up and no one else in the cafe notices, but I was pretty sure they would soon.

Because I was two seconds away from losing it.

"I am so sorry," she begins- her voice trembling in the slightest, "I am so, so very sorry-"

"Oh, are you?" I half snarl, still looking down at the mess, "Are you fucking blind?"

"You were behind me!" she says defensively, but her voice sounds a lot more distressed than before, "Dude, I really didn't mean to-"

"Dude?" I repeat, almost scoffing in disbelief, "I am not your fucking dude-"

I pause when I look at her.

Okay. Fuck.

She was pretty. Really fucking pretty.

Wide blue eyes meet my grey ones, apologetic and half scared all at once and for one tiny moment, I'm pretty sure I forgot what I was going to say next.

Then, I scowl. Pretty didn't mean she got to dump half her drink on me.

She shoves a bunch of tissues in my direction before I can get another word out.

"I can pay for your drink," she says quickly, pushing them further in my direction, "and your shoes, and your sweatshirt. I'll pay for the emotional trauma that this interaction might have caused as well if you want-"

"Shut the fuck up," I snatch them out of her grasp, and she flinches- the action almost unnoticeable. For some very odd reason, it makes me feel horrible inside.

"I'm serious!" she insists, recovering quickly and taking a step closer.

I almost instinctively take a step back- but no. I wasn't going to show weakness and get tongue-tied.

Even if she was pretty and smelled really fucking good- was that lavender? Holy shit, something was very, very wrong with me.

"I'll even buy you a muffin with my own money-"

"I don't want your damn money," I bite out, glaring down at her, "Get your own order sorted and leave already."

"My order sor- oh," she glances down at my sweatshirt and then looks up at me through her eyelashes, "Yeah, I suppose I should since half of it's on you now-"

"And whose fucking fault is that?"

"I said I'm sorry!"

"Sorry doesn't cut it, Caramel Latte," I say through gritted teeth, rolling my eyes, "What part of getting your shit done and leaving, did you not understand?"

For one moment, she just stares up at me with an almost hurt look as I glare down at her.

I think I hold eye contact for a moment longer than necessary. It's because I've never seen this shade of blue in someone's eyes before, I tell myself sternly- but there was something faint stirring at the back of my mind.

She breaks it first, clearing her throat as she turns back around to the cashier who had been watching with wide eyes.

"Hi again," she says, and her voice sounds a little unsteady, "Mind if I get a refill, please?"

I tell myself that I had absolutely no reason to feel even the tiniest bit bad about it because she was the one who spilled her stupid drink on me in the first place. But, for one of the first times in my life, I still feel like punching myself in the face for being a dick to her.

Fortunately, it hadn't been that big of a fuss. Hardly anyone had spared a glance our way, and the chatter was still as loud as it had been when we had stepped in.

"For you?" I hear the cashier say, "On the house."

"Really?" she sounds relieved, "Thank you, so much- is there anything I can do-?"

"Your number would be the perfect gift," he says with the same sleazy smirk.

I make sure to clear my throat extra loudly- both in indignation and in annoyance.

She doesn't acknowledge hearing me, but she does wordlessly take the drink off the counter and she turns around extra slowly, carefully almost. Her eyes meet mine in a brief glance before she moves to sidestep me.

"Can't believe I even liked Caramel Lattes at one point," is out of my mouth before I can help it.

What?

"What?" she blinks up at me, confused.

"I actually liked the dratted drink," I tell her because of some stupid odd urge to keep talking, "but now, the only thing I'm going to associate it with, is a stupid girl who spilled it all over me."

Shut up, shut up, shut up, stop continuing the conversation-

"You're awfully mean," she comments with a tiny frown, "Anyone ever told you that?"

"Plenty," I shrug, giving her a bored look, "You leaving, or what?"

"You're the one that keeps talking to me."

I grit my teeth. "Because you're in my way."

She shakes her head, sidestepping me for real this time- and walking away. I don't stop her, and I resist every urge in my body to turn around and sneak another glance at her.

The cashier in front of me, however, was a lot more shameless.

I clear my throat again with a little more force than necessary.

His eyes snap back up and for one horrible moment, I'm almost certain he's going to give me the same smirk he gave her. But instead, he says,

"Nice ass. I'd tap that."

I'm suddenly a lot more annoyed than I was two seconds ago.

"My fist might tap your face," I bite out, my eyes narrowing, "How does that sound?"

This was disgustingly out of character. I was defending a stupid girl against a pervert like a good samaritan. Yuck.

He blanches, mumbling something unintelligible as he stares down at the totaling machine.

"What would you like, sir?" he says, a little more coherently this time.

What I'd like, is to possibly forget about that stupid girl and her pretty blue eyes, is the first thought. But what tumbles out of my mouth was the first sign that I most certainly wouldn't, for a long fucking time.

"One Caramel Latte. Make it large."

thank you for reading ! don't forget to vote and comment :)

edit: the 'cliche' thing isn't coming back. no. just no. It made me cringe so hard and I was honestly so surprised that people missed it. but sorry y'all, there's no cliche this time lmao

first edited chapter !! feels good to not want to cringe to an alternate universe when I look at this now :)

I cannot believe how unbelievably cringey I used to be. makes me want to hurl. LIKE WHO ALLOWED ME TO WRITE THAT?? looking back at those, I used to think I was the shit back then- super cool, super swag and all. All I can think of now is how I want to jump of a cliff because of it.

Also, since the bucket list thing was popular, I'll leave it up. hope you enjoyed the first edited chapter ! x

Cassie's bucket list #1 : Dress up as an M&M, then run through the mall yelling, "THE SKITTLES ARE COMING!"