Ticktock Love

[21] The Breakfast Snub

It came as no surprise that I couldn't sleep that night, too busy replaying the last twenty-four hours in my head, agonizing like a director whose last movie had been rated a green splat on Rotten Tomatoes. Still, insomnia was the least of my problems. When the numbers on my phone showed it was quarter to six, I dressed up and went downstairs, resolved to brew myself a cup of joe in our galactic coffee machine. If Julia could operate those industrial grinders, I would surely be able to identify a few buttons in plain English.

Latte, Americano, Macchiato, Ristretto. I pressed the Americano option despite never having tasted it before; I only knew that it was akin to a watered-down espresso. The quiet buzzing commenced at once, as if a small swarm of bees had gotten stuck in its walls, diligently brewing their way to freedom. With all the functions that the appliance offered, you would have expected it would also spurt out some life advice now and then. I definitely needed it at that moment, but no angel came from the sky in the shape of Frankie Avalon as he did for that girl from Grease.

It wasn't fair. Movie characters always received the best guidance.

Without putting any sugar or milk in my coffee – I needed the caffeine to hit as soon as possible – I watched the sun announce a new morning, its first shy rays slowly fanning out above the gray, decrepit buildings. Living in the desert left me feeling so dejected sometimes. Everything was in the shades of tawny brown, and even the people seemed to absorb some of the color, like true chameleons of the barren wasteland. Maybe it wasn't my fault; maybe this city had driven me to desperate measures. Would I have cared about the dress code if I had lived somewhere cold, like in Antarctica? Nobody ever slut-shamed penguins after all.

As the coffee machine finally finished squeezing out the last drop of the precious liquor, I took my mug and sat on the chair, my phone untouched but not forgotten and merely a few inches away. I had forgone checking out my TikTok notifications. They were mostly hateful now, anyway. The other schools still treated me as their hero, but my own had turned against me, its students overflowing my comments with hateful messages that depicted all the ways I had ruined their lives. The chess club members were the most vicious of them all, furious about their inability to practice their famous openings within the school walls. I suspected Rob had something to do with that one.

But honestly, it wasn't their messages that made me regret everything. It was the lack of my friends' responses, or any kind of communication between us. I had listened to Julia's advice and stopped bombarding Amber and Grace with whiny texts and gifs of remorseful movie characters. In a last-ditch effort, I had changed my profile picture to a very adorable photo of Berlioz sleeping on his back, but not even that broke the silence. You just knew you messed up badly when people could stop themselves from fawning over kitten's cute little toe beans just because they were mad at you.

Julia, true to her word, stuck with Grace. I assumed she had been with her last night because she didn't reply to my messages, either. I did, however, expect at least an emoji from Aiden, and I checked my phone every few minutes, so often that even my mom asked me if I was expecting a call.

My inbox remained painfully empty.

I took a sip of my still-hot coffee and made a grimace at the disgusting concoction. I decided to play the victim some other day, so I grabbed some milk from the fridge – courtesy of Peace Farms, the one where Baby was from – and as I poured a healthy amount into my cup of unhappiness, I thought about the cow that changed my life. Was it possible that I could knock on their door and see her one last time? Maybe I could bring Maddie under the pretense of my sister wanting to pet some cattle.

I scoffed at myself. There I was again, already thinking of new ways of using people I loved. No wonder I no longer had any friends.

A sudden bang startled me out of my dramatic, self-deprecating thoughts. Mom was probably awake – I heard the radio music seeping through the walls, its pop beat gently shaking the house. The floor above me creaked in pain, almost as if Maddie's Dumbo plushie had come to life and started dancing the samba. My mom was never this clumsy, so I suspiciously eyed the doorway and took a firm grip of my mug as if my poor throwing skills could have saved me from the intruder.