The crunch of cinnamon churro cereal crackled in her skull. Cassidy chewed with relish. Her senses, waking from last night's marijuana-induced haze, leapt at every flavor, texture, and sound. She tucked her knees against her thin body and pulled her triple-XL turtleneck over them. She was so snug she could make-believe she was still in bed, heaven on her tongue.
Sunlight seared her eyeballs. Eyelids offered little protection against the morning rays. After opening the blinds, Sharon stirred her coffee and sat at the breakfast table with her daughter. Cassidy needed coffee. There was no way to get through class without it. But to her hypersensitive taste buds, all the stevia in the world would not make the coffee's bitterness bearable -- not at the strength she required.
"Fun night?" asked Sharon.
"Mm-hmm." It had been fun. Infiltrating a college party was risky, but she and her friends had it down to a science -- partner up, don't leave your partner alone for any reason, don't drink anything you didn't pour yourself. Hookup-wise, this meant they sometimes shared one guy. Janet, though dependable, liked engaging in full-on threesomes. Cassidy preferred Zara. Zara took her turn then let Cassidy take hers. Cassidy didn't mind going second. It was more work for her, but the dudes lasted longer. Last night, she and Zara had been partners. Janet paired up with a short, goth chick named Felice -- more her type anyway.
Cassidy stirred her bowl of sugary, cinnamon goodness. If only she hadn't done molly. Molly made sex feel amazing, but it killed her appetite. She was low on energy as it was. Lifting the bowl to her lips, she drank what milk her stomach could handle. Cold, rich, creamy, and a little spice -- Christmas in her mouth. She deserved a fun night. After what she'd let those computer lab-dwellers do to her (while stone-cold sober no less), no one could begrudge her a night of debauchery.
"Someone had a late night." Desmond set down a steaming plate of eggs and bacon. "You earned it," he said, "I saw that GPA. Four-point-two." He whistled slowly and washed down his food with a swig of coffee. Cassidy couldn't look at him, and not just because the sight of food made her queasy.
"Thanks, dad," she said, chin on her knees.
"Congratulations," said Sharon flatly.
"Make sure to drink lots of water." Desmond had given Cassidy little other advice since she'd begun going out by herself. With her academic performance now consistently stellar, fatherhood took the form of tips for hangover management. He put away the last of his breakfast and rinsed his dishes in the sink. "I'm off. Take care of each other." He kissed them both goodbye and grabbed his briefcase on the way out the door.
Sharon retrieved a bottle of water and placed it on the table. She brushed Cassidy's thick, chin-length blonde hair out of puffy blue eyes. Her features were sharp and symmetrical like her mother's, but less diamond shaped and more squared, like her father's. "I'll drive you to school," she said.
"Fine." Cassidy rose and stretched. At five-foot-ten, she was even taller than her dad. Though she towered above Sharon, the oversized turtleneck hanging on her narrow shoulders, smothering her slender hands in the sleeves made her look like a little girl. Sharon watched her climb upstairs to get dressed. Her baby had grown into a star student on paper and a burnout in the flesh.
###
"Cassidy, are you happy?" said Sharon. Cassidy only slouched against the car door. With her dark sunglasses, she appeared vexingly aloof. Sharon took one hand off the wheel and poked her shoulder. "Cassidy!" She started.
"What?"
"Were you asleep?"
"Mm-hmm."
"How are you going to get through class?"
"I'll prop my head up, keep my shades on. They won't know."
"They let you wear sunglasses in class?"
"I'll say they're prescription, and my regular glasses broke."
"You don't wear glasses."
"They can't prove that."
"So you're going to sleep in class."
"It's whatever. I'll pass all my stuff. I just don't want the absence." They stopped at a red light. Sharon let out a sigh. Something had been bothering her for months. There never seemed to be a good time to bring it up.
"I don't understand," she said. "I just don't understand. You must study at some point. Other kids taking all AP classes like you -- they do nothing BUT study. You're going out with friends at night, and... who knows what...." Cassidy stayed silent. She picked at a button on her jacket, so Sharon knew she was awake. Sharon braced for what she was about to say. "Cassidy, are you ch--?" Her phone buzzed. "...Would you mind checking that?" she asked instead.
Cassidy glanced at Sharon's phone. "Butt text."
"What?"
"It's a butt text. Some three-oh-seven number. It just said 'X'." Sharon drove right past the school. By the time she realized and turned around, they were running late. Cassidy had to dash out of the car. Sharon didn't care. She was abuzz with the thrill of hiding in plain sight.
###
DING-DONG. As she rang the doorbell of Apartment 212, a peculiar feeling pervaded her insides. It wasn't butterflies. She'd had butterflies on the beach. This was pressure, like on an airplane during takeoff. She was about to enter a realm where she had no control, but complete trust in the one who did.
The door opened. She felt weightless -- suspended at the moment a plane reaches altitude and levels. Travis leaned against the top of the doorframe. A lock of hair hung over one eye. It made his other seem sharper. "Can I help you, ma'am?" Sharon blinked. His eye peered out from behind the hair. It seemed to smirk. The rest of his face followed suit. "Just kidding. Get in here."
A slim, sinewy arm pulled her in by the waist. Travis's mouth gripped hers. A dull burn spread across her tongue. From behind, she heard the deadbolt lock shut. Travis's lips moved to her forehead. The burning sensation in her mouth stayed. She felt his heartbeat on her cheek through his thin white shirt. Just as he swelled against her stomach, he let go and strolled to the kitchen. "Are you hungry?" he asked.
Sharon didn't hear. She was in awe. Tucked in one corner of the living room was a desk, four monitors, and a swivel chair. The rest of the apartment was bare -- no couch, no tables, nothing on the walls. It was only a one-bedroom-one-bath, but it felt big, cold, and sterile. Sharon sought refuge in the kitchen where a warm, comforting aroma filled the air. A pot of green beans and potatoes simmered on the stove. Though simple, it smelled exotic. Travis leaned on the counter, eating from a bowl. He seemed perfectly at home -- a welcome presence in the blank emptiness around them. Sharon watched two long legs extending from cargo shorts, the heel of one bare foot hooked around the other.
"Did you just move in?"
"No. I've been here a while."
"Where's your furniture?"
