Chapter 1: Cafe de L’Amour (Alex’s POV)
I berate myself for falling into this routine. Every morning, I force myself awake early just to sit in this cafe.
“Alex!” I pulled my thoughts into focus as Katy approached, grabbing her tea. “What’s up with you? Another sleepless night?”
“Not much, anyway,” I sighed, accepting the cup with a small smile before heading to my usual table. I come to Cafe de L’Amour every morning, waking earlier than I should, just to steal a moment alone. A respite from the chaos. From the noise.
It’s strange, living in New York and actively running *from* the chaos everyone here embodies. I’m not *from* here. But I’ve learned to blend in, to appear as though I am. I grew up in Orange County. I moved here about four years ago with my parents because my father landed a job in real estate. My mother was an artist.
She curated her exhibitions and created her work. She isn’t gone, not exactly. Just divorced. They’ve been divorced for over six months, and she hasn’t left yet. He’s meticulous, organized, logical. She’s the opposite, a trait I once admired. It became toxic when she stopped caring about everything *except* her art. The house devolved into a mess of clutter and neglect.
So we moved to a larger house. My father worked tirelessly for it, before the divorce. Now, it’s all about convincing her to leave. I love my mother, even if she hasn’t been much of a mother lately. I just wish she *could* be, sometimes.
The cafe bell chimed. I didn't need to turn around to know who it was. Every Monday, without fail, he arrives. He comes later on Mondays, but every other day, he’s here before me.
I mumbled his order as he approached, knowing it by now. It wasn’t a complicated request.
“A large black coffee, with one sugar cube,” I whispered, pulling my laptop out and starting to work.
I say “work” as if I earn from it.
I write. Short stories, novels, poetry… that’s my thing. Everyone has one, a hobby they’re truly invested in. Writing is mine.
“Carter!”
I didn’t turn around as much as I wanted to. There’s something undeniably magnetic about Carter Reed. Something that draws people to him. It explains why he’s so popular, I suppose. He’s loved, at least by the girls. The boys are mostly jealous, putting up a front to stay in his good graces. Because if Carter Reed has a problem with someone, high school is over for them. I’m not kidding.
It *was* helpful, though. With Hudson. Hudson was my boyfriend.
Past tense.
Things simply fizzled out, after discovering his lies. Not long after our breakup, he had a rough time with Carter, concerning the lacrosse team. Carter is the team captain; Hudson was benched after fighting during a previous game.
Our school revolves around lacrosse. I don't understand why some people dismiss it as just a sport—from what I've seen here, and even in *Teen Wolf*, it feels like a real one. Carter kicked him off the team. There was drama, and then Hudson left.
He transferred schools, believing he’d have more opportunities elsewhere. Fair play. He would.
I cracked my knuckles and began typing, working on the two characters I’d been developing. Carter walked past, taking a seat at the table in line with mine. I’ve noticed he likes to do his homework before school, then scribble and doodle on scrap paper.
He leaves some doodles pinned up with the menu by the owner, Mrs. Julie. He’s good at art, has a knack for it. He sat down, putting his bag down and opening his books, getting to work.
I realized I’d been staring, and looked down at my laptop. After an hour of writing, I stretched before noticing my cup was empty. I glanced at the time—fifteen minutes until school. A ten-minute walk from the cafe. I’ll manage.
I sighed, closing my laptop and slipping it into my bag. I reached for some money to leave in the tip jar. I slung my bag over my shoulder, phone tucked into my back pocket, and headed toward the front.
“Thanks for the tea,” I smiled, dropping the money into the jar before heading out. Ten steps later, I realized I’d left my earphones inside. “Damn it.” I turned back, and almost collided with someone on my way in. Almost collided with Carter. “Sorry,” I mumbled quickly, heading inside to my table.
I grabbed my earphones and shoved them into my bag, noticing a folded tissue on the table. One I hadn’t left. Nothing seemed out of place. I picked it up and opened it, revealing a rough but detailed sketch of an open laptop. I was confused. I folded it and tucked it into my pocket before heading out. I could still see him, a few feet away, walking briskly.
Maybe he intended it for Katy and just left it on a random table.
In that case, I shouldn’t have taken it. Oh well.
I continued walking, entering the school and heading to my locker. I grabbed my books for English and Spanish before heading to class. I sighed, sitting down as Hannah walked in, hair a mess, sweatshirt baggy, sweatpants flowing. I watched in amusement as she collapsed into the seat beside me.
Everyone was looking.
“What now?” I asked.
“Slept in. I was out all night,” she mumbled, resting her head on the desk.
“With Jake?” I asked knowingly.
Jake is her boyfriend. They’ve been together for about a month, still stuck in the honeymoon phase.
“Yes,” she mumbled, already half asleep.
I chuckled, starting to type, when Carter walked in behind our teacher, Mr. Blaze. He took his seat, right in front of mine. Mr. Blaze began teaching.
“Alright, I hope everyone has their copy of *The Great Gatsby*,” he began.
I nudged Hannah, grabbing her sweatshirt and straightening her posture. She whined, catching everyone’s attention. “Hannah,” I hissed.
“What?” she huffed.
I facepalmed, waiting for Mr. Blaze to take over. “Perhaps you would like to use the restroom, Ms. Andrews. Wake yourself up, please. Use the teachers’ coffee machine if you need to,” he sighed.
“Sorry,” she mumbled, stumbling out.
“Ms. Lockhart, please fill her in with the work,” he said.
I nodded, biting back a laugh as we all began reading, annotating, and discussing the scenes. The door opened halfway through class, and Abby Forrester walked in. I resisted a groan.
Here comes our daily dose of drama.
“Sorry for being late, sir. Lady problems,” she said.
“Meeting someone behind the school doesn’t classify as a lady problem, Ms. Forrester. Have a seat,” he sighed, continuing his lesson.
She sat beside Carter, immediately running her fingers through his hair. He swatted her hand away, clicking his tongue in frustration before moving his table away from hers.
She pouted before facing the front of the class. I shook my head as the bell rang, grabbing my things and following the class out. I walked alone to Spanish, as I didn’t share the class with Hannah.
“Jesus Christ,” someone mumbled behind me before bumping into me.
I stumbled and dropped my books. “God’s sake,” I whispered, kneeling to pick them up. I glanced up to see the person who’d bumped me walking on, pretending it hadn’t happened. “What a jerk.” I gathered my things and continued to class.