Chapter 18 (1/2)

“Deathly Hallows.” She touches the tip of the triangle with her unpainted nail. “Some things really do never change.”

I wait for her to smile, but it doesn’t come.

She smells the sweatshirt again.

“Is it because you like the smell, or because you probably still have a stash from me?” Dakota laughs finally, but, again, it’s off.

“You grab a table and I’ll get the coffee,” I offer. This is what we always did back in Saginaw: she would pick a table, usually by the window, and I would order our matching drinks. Two mocha Frappuccinos, an extra pump of liquid sugar for her, an extra shot of coffee for me. I always ordered two pieces of lemon pound cake and she always ate the icing off of mine.

My tastes have changed over the years, and I can’t bring myself to drink the sugary milk shake disguised as coffee anymore. I order her Frappuccino and grab myself an Americano. Two lemon pound cakes. While I’m waiting for my name to be called, I look over at the table where Dakota is sitting staring off into space with her hands tucked under her chin.

“A mocha Frap and an Americano for . . . London!” The cute barista yells out the wrong name. She’s perky as she sets the drinks on the counter, a huge smile on her face, the same as with all employees I see working for the mermaid chain.

Dakota sits up slightly when I reach the table. I hand the large plastic cup to her and she examines mine.

“What’s that?” she asks.

I sit down across from her and she brings my cup to her lips.

“You’ll hate that—” I try to warn her.

It’s too late, her eyes are already closed and her face is already crumpling. She doesn’t spit it out, but she wants to. Her cheeks are full of the espresso-and-water mixture and she looks like an adorable little squirrel as she struggles to swallow.

“Ew! How can you drink that?” she exclaims when she finally gets it down. I slide her cup closer to her for a chaser. “It tastes like straight tar—ew!”

She’s always been a tad dramatic.