Confessions of a Teenage Caffeine Addict

17 // Six Cheese Doodles

Vodka does not ease back pain.

But it does get your mind

—Fuzzy Zoeller

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KATIE

JANUARY // WEEK 6

To say Ava Castleton was the topic of conversation for the day would have been a pretty accurate statement. Everyone had heard about how she walked out on an important family dinner, threw one the best impromptu parties of the year, and trashed her step dad's new BMW—all in one night. Let's face it: Ava Castleton wasn't a badass, she was the badass.

I walked out of my Calc class only to be ambushed by her. I was thankful that it wasn't Mr. Crowley, though I wasn't sure how I felt about Ava either.

"Hope you've recovered from Thursday night," she said, and I knew she wasn't just talking about the party.

"Nope, those scars are gonna be permanent." I shrugged, trying to shake off the horrible, hazy memories of the almost dinner with my father.

"Eh, nothing a little alcohol can't fix," Ava readjusted her tote bag so she could flip her hair over her shoulder. "As you found out the other night." She couldn't stop a smile from forming on her face as some guy I've never seen before walked past us.

He stopped, and turned around, looking at me. "Katie, I've never seen someone balance so many cheese doodles on their forehead before! You fucking rock!" He pointed a finger at me before walking off.

I turned to Ava in shock. "I did what?"

"That, among many other things," she laughed as we walked into the cafe. I started walking to the left, towards my usual spot, but Ava had other ideas. And Ava Castleton is not a person you say no to.

"We have a lot to talk about, K-Dawg," she tugged my by my sweatshirt towards one of the centre tables.

People were already there—and I could tell they were the popular kind, with their makeup looking like it was professionally done, outfit picked out by their personal stylist and scarves expertly wrapped around their neck. They were basically walking perfection. And then there was me: ripped jeans that I'd had since 8th grade, ratty, stained sweatshirt, and my hair haphazardly pulled back into a pathetic excuse for a ponytail. I noticed people looking me over, sizing me up, then discarding me like a loaf of bread they wouldn't dare eat.

"Katie, Jules. Jules, Katie. She held your hair back for you while you were throwing up." Awesome. Jake Roswell's girlfriend and I bonded.

"Still alive?" Jules asked me before popping a red grape into her mouth.

"Barely," I mumbled, and it was the complete truth, yet somehow the entire table found it hilarious.

"Next time you probably shouldn't take so many shots," some kid said to me.

"How many did I have?" I was almost afraid to ask.

"Like... five?" The boy said, who I finally recognized was Derek. I could only nod. Ava took a seat and whispered a few words into Derek's ear and everyone scooted down to make space for me.

"So, you're like, Coach Hawthorne's daughter, right?" Jules asked me.

"Yeah," I tried to respond in a neutral tone.

"On a scale of one to shoot me, how much does it suck?" Ava asked quietly, so only I could hear.

"Drown me." I rolled my eyes.