NOW.

Khalid al-Fayet barely made it through the day - between telling Mr Docson that he quit the school newspaper, an interrogation-slash-therapy session with Mr Parker and withstanding Rikoo Clarke stage-whisper hateful, islamophobic sentiments and made-up verses of the Quran - he felt like collapsing.

All his life, he's gone through crippling disappointment and isolation, being the article-writing Muslim boy he was. But there's always been some sort of upside to it. First, it was his stellar 4.0 Grade-Point-Average. Then, it was his score as editor of the school newspaper. And of course, Colette Evans.

He remembers how Cole would get so furious whenever someone said something hateful and islamophobic. There was one time, when he and Colette were only friends, that a senior jock had shoved him and snickered, "What're you gonna do, Allahu Akbar? Bomb me?"

Khalid had shrugged it off, but Colette had been enraged. She had marched up to the guy and shoved him, saying, "What's your fucking problem, Timmy? It's like me terrorizing you for what your fucking ancestors did during the goddamn Salem Witch Trials."

Timmy had laughed and shrugged, pinching Cole's cheek. "I'm sorry, Co."

"Don't apologize to me," she had scoffed, shrugging off his touch.

For some reason, Timothy Jones apologized to Khalid, but that still didn't stop the rest of the school from consistently making Muslim terrorist jokes whenever he was around.

And after Colette did what she did, the hateful remarks only got worse. A handful of them claim that Khalid had turned Colette into a hardcore Muslim and the two had been in a Muslim extremist group. That, of course, was bullshit. Khalid's parents were Muslim, yes, but neither he nor his sisters were anywhere near as devout as his parents. And even then, his parents would never impose his religion onto him or his girlfriend so forcefully. If anyone had been blatantly against their relationship, it was Colette's father.

Khalid brings the cup of coffee up to his lips, and sips. The sensation of both bitter and heat is welcome to him. Even here, he feels the hateful eyes of onlookers and passer-bys. In their small town, everyone knows everyone; and Colette's shooting had made Khalid and Kennedy infamous.

Not a moment later, Kennedy walks through the doors, eyes downcast and hands playing with the sleeves of her oversized sweater. He remembers a time where Kennedy had dressed like that, pre-Colette. Many people in their high school thought that Kennedy had taken a complete 360 in terms of fashion, but what they didn't know was that she was right back where she started.

He watches as her earth brown eyes scan the room, looking for him. When his eyes meet hers, he raises his fingers in a half-wave, perfectly matching the half-smile on her face.

Kennedy walks over to Khalid, tall and lithe and lacking the grace of his ex-girlfriend. She slides into the seat opposite him, fumbling with the sleeves of her sweater.

"Do you want anything to eat?"

She shrugs. "Not hungry."

He hesitates, trying to gauge her reaction. "Are you sure? What about coffee?"

Kennedy Mcmillen hesitates, licking her chapped lips. "Yeah. Okay. Just a latte."

Khalid smiles and raises a hand to the barista, mouthing 'latte' as he does so.

She watches him with curious eyes. "I wish I could do that."

Khalid cocks his head slightly, confused. "Do what?"

"Order food," she laughs, but he feels no humor from it. "I can never order food. I mean, sometimes I do, especially here at Pit Stop but in other places...they refuse to serve me anymore, blaming me for Cole's action or something. The last I spoke to her parents, it was the same for them."

Khalid smiles, jerking his head towards the barista. "It's Maggie's shift today. Thank god Cole didn't kill my best friend." Kennedy's eyes widen just a fraction, and it's only then that Khalid realizes what it is he's said. "Shit. Shit, Kenz, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean it like that, oh God. Seriously, I wasn't thinking and -"

"It's okay, Khalid," she says in a small voice. "It's good that you have...someone."

"Oh, Kennedy. You're not alone, you know that."

"I never said that I was alone," Kennedy snaps, defensive, before returning to her uninterested deadpan. "I just meant that I don't have anyone to really talk to about...it with."

Khalid shrugs. "Mags and I don't really talk about it much, though. And hey, at least neither your race nor religion is used as an excuse for Colette's actions."

He sees Colette's hands grip the side of the table, knuckles turning white. "At least you weren't rejected by Elis Preparatory just because your best friend was a mass murderer," she snaps. "At least you have a shot at a normal life."

"A normal life?" Khalid asks, completely at a loss for words. "Kennedy, what Colette did completely stripped us both of a shot at a normal life. I'm the ex-boyfriend of a psycho, and you're her best friend. We'll never get a normal life, and neither will anyone who was at the shooting. Some people lost brothers, sisters - hell, even mothers and fathers. Us, we lost Cole and the shot at a semblance of normality. This isn't a competition of 'who had it worse'."

Kennedy looks up, pain in her eyes. "But the difference between us and them is that they're victims," she says, her voice straining as she speaks. "People light candles for them. The whole world mourns for the lost lives. But us? We're accessories. Perpetrators. Colette's family is going to move in a few months because of the amount of hate they're getting." A tear slides down her cheek. "No one mourns for her, Khalid. And people who do are shamed for it."

"Kennedy -"

"This was a mistake," she says, standing up abruptly. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Kennedy, come on," he says, but the girl is already walking up, wiping her eyes in frustration as she takes quick strides out of Pit Stop.

Khalid sighs, running a hand through his hair. It's clear to him that Kennedy is breaking apart at the seams, that Colette had done more damage to her than either of then would have wanted. A part of him feels the irrevocable need to save the girl, like he owed it to Cole. The thought in itself is definitely irrational, and he knows that he owes his stormy-eyed girlfriend nothing. He knows he should blame her, hate her - and surely in hating her, he too would be seen as a victim. He would be loved.

But Khalid can't bring himself to hate her. He hates what she did. He hates that she didn't tell him. He hates that he didn't see it sooner. But he doesn't hate her. In all his life, he never could hate Colette Evans.

But he can forget about her.

"So, I'm guessing you don't want this latte?" Margaret Brown asks, sliding into the seat opposite Khalid with a big smile, showing off that gap between her teeth. "Was that Kennedy Mcmillen there?"

"Yup," he says, not bothering to look up.

"As in, Kennedy, your ex-girlfriend's best friend?"

"No. Kennedy the ex-president."

Margaret snorts, tucking a strand of unruly brown hair behind her ear. "Oh, no wonder he looked so damn familiar." When her jibe doesn't illicit a response from her younger best friend, she sighs. "Oh, come on, Kal. What was she doing here? Why'd she storm out?"

Khalid looks up reluctantly, only to see Maggie leaning in with a curious head-tilt and wide eyes. "We were going to talk, okay? About Colette. But she got overwhelmed."

Margaret quirks an eyebrow. "You were going to...talk to Kennedy. As in, Kennedy who you were just meh with for like, the whole time you were dating Cole?"

"Yes."

"But like...why?" Margaret presses.

Khalid shrugs, feeling uncomfortable and not wholly wanting to explain himself to her. "I dunno, Mags, just drop it."

"Aw, Khalid -"

"I said drop it, Margaret."

Maggie pulls back, completely stunned. Her eyes scan Khalid, taking in his messy black hair and eyes darker than nighttime. He knows that Margaret is one of the only ones who sees him for what he is; bruised, scarred and twisted inside. She sees past the brooding facade he insists on putting on, and even if she sees him for the wrangled monster he is, even if she hears his painful thoughts as echoes of her own, she still stays.

Khalid wonders what it would take for her to leave.

"I should get back to work."

Khalid nods once.

Margaret gives him a pained, pitiful look and touches his cheek. "Text me when you get home."

With that, she stands up and turns away, leaving Khalid left to his bitter thoughts he'd rather keep at bay.