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JAMES BISHOP HADLEY IS CURSED, but he doesn't know it. Not yet, anyhow.

  He'll know it when he's a ten minute drive away from the diner, back at his house, in the garden, with the ground on his cheek and dirt under his fingernails. 

  But not now, when he's surrounded by his friends, lazily discussing their plans for the winter break. Not when Morgan keeps kicking his foot and he keeps kicking back, not when Gregory and Sebastian are in earnest discussion about the virtues of Heraclitus and Morgan keeps whispering 'nerds' sotto voce.

Hadley folds his arms and settles his head onto his forearms. These are moments that he wishes would go on forever, and there isn't a thing he'd change about it. Not even Morgan's annoying kicking, not even the endless droning of Gregory and Sebastian's voices. This single moment belongs to him, to them. The smell of bacon and pancakes wafting through the air, the sunlight streaming in through the windows, the sound of forks and spoons scraping on plates—all of it belongs to them.

  Except the waitress who keeps looking away every time Hadley glances at her. He's pretty sure that belongs to him.

Hadley closes his eyes.

Morgan kicks his shin. Hard.

"Wake up, asshole," she says.

Hadley cracks open an eye. "What?"

"Waitress is here," she says, inclining her head towards the waitress.

Hadley turns his head, not bothering to sit straight. He gives the waitress a once over—tanned, tall, red-head. And kind of cute, actually. It's the waitress that was shy about looking at Hadley when he looked at her.

He sits straight. "I'll take a sloppy joe special and a coke. No ice." He adds, "Please."

Morgan snickers. Hadley gives her a swift kick under the table.

"I'm sorry," says the waitress. "But we don't have coke at the moment. I can get you a Pepsi, if that's what you want."

"Aw," says Sebastian. "Shame. Jimmy's a total whore for coke. The drink, I mean."

"Would you mind shutting up?" says Hadley. To the waitress he says, "Do you really not have any coke?"

Morgan sniggers and mutters, "Coke-head."

The waitress—God bless her—ignores them and answers Hadley. Her cheeks are unmistakably flushed.  "No. We don't. How's a milkshake sound?"

"Sure. A chocolate milkshake."

Morgan rolls her eyes. Hadley flips her off.­

Once they're done ordering, and the waitress bustles off towards the counter, Gregory leans back in his chair and says, as authoritatively as he can, "Let's recap."

All of them, with the sole exception of Gregory, moan.

  "We've been through this," says Sebastian.

  "Three times." Morgan brushes a stray lock of blonde hair away from her face. "Can we please not?"

  Ever since middle school, Morgan had taken it upon herself to act the token blonde bitch with an attitude. She certainly had the looks for it; porcelain smooth skin, sugary blonde hair and legs like whoa. Gregory and Sebastian played the role of the nerds with a fetish for philosophy and a more secret shared fetish for anime girls. Hadley's not too sure about his own character; he tries not to think too hard about it.

  He's aware of some things however—they make for a very odd group, for starters. If Hadley's being brutally honest, he'd expect Gregory and Sebastian—with their tweed jackets and their dark hair and their misleading solid and serious features—to be with the wannabe pretentious philosopher crowd, for Morgan to hang out with the rest of the cheerleading team and other assorted glittery friends.  Hadley doesn't know where he'd fit in, if not here. He doesn't know himself well enough for that. And that's another thing; he doesn't know where he'd be if they hadn't all become friends.

   But he's here—they're all here—because Gregory called each and every one of them and told them he had something very important to discuss.

  Morgan thought he was going to come out of the closet. Sebastian thought he was going to admit to murder. Hadley was going to be very supportive, either way.

  Gregory just wanted to talk about winter break plans. Morgan had told him he could've just messaged them in the group chat.

  "Meeting up and talking is more personable," he'd said. "Also I want to see your shitty faces before I leave for France."

  Gregory's going to France. Morgan to Italy. Sebastian to Switzerland.

  Hadley's stuck here.

"Look," says Gregory, with the air of one thoroughly fed-up, "do you remember Paris in ninth grade?"

  "Ah," says Sebastian, fondly. "Paris. Now that was funny."

  "It wasn't funny," says Hadley. He's pretty sure he must've spaced out during some parts of their conversation, but he's eager to get back on track. "It was kind of stupid."

  "No, no, it was pretty funny." Morgan picks up a sugar sachet and examines it, coolly. "Even that part when you—" she looks at Hadley—"and I were in the Louvre at the exact same time and still managed to avoid each other."

  "Hey," says Hadley, feeling a grin creep onto his face, "I wasn't complaining about that."

  Morgan flicks the sugar sachet at his face. It hits him square in the face.

  "Children!" Sebastian looks scandalized. "Not in public!"

  "To be fair, the Louvre is pretty big," says Gregory. After a moment's pause, he adds, "And if I saw Morgan in public, I'd avoid her too."

  Morgan throws a ketchup sachet at him. Gregory dodges it.

  "Anyway," he goes on, as if Morgan isn't glaring daggers at him, "do try and keep touch with each other this time. If I find out that any of you are within a five mile radius of my position I will personally murder you."

  "Calm down," says Sebastian. He yawns into his hand. "You had to do this in the morning?"

  "It's 11 AM."

  "Any time earlier than 1 PM is, by my definition, morning." He yawns again. "When's the food going to arrive, anyway?"

  As if on cue, the waitress shows up with a platter of food in one hand and a platter of drinks in the other. She has a weak smile on her face, the sort that only makes her look more endearing. To Hadley, anyhow. He watches her set food for each of them, watches the inward curve of her hand as she holds the plate, like she's going to throw it like a Frisbee any second, and he realizes belatedly, that he's staring.

   Morgan notices Hadley's staring. Her mouth curves slightly.

  "Oh," says the waitress, laughing, "how could I forget? Here's your milkshake."

  Hadley watches the slight tremor of the waitress's hand as she starts to hand him his milkshake. He also watches Morgan's sneering mouth open to say something to the waitress, and he knows, just knows that she's going to humiliate the waitress because that's what Morgan does. Humiliate.

  Before so much as a syllable can pass through her lips, Hadley kicks her leg as hard as he can. Only, he misses, and his knee collides with the underside of the table so hard it hits the waitress's hip. The waitress who's still holding the milkshake dangerously close to Hadley.

  The milkshake spills all over Hadley's shirt. Hadley catches the glass before it hits the floor.

  Hadley looks at the glass before he looks at his shirt, since the last thing he wants to see is the pristine Givenchy shirt he'd gotten as a birthday present from his father soaked in chocolate milkshake. He can feel the milkshake permeating through his shirt, sticking to his chest. He wonders, idly, how the hell he's going to explain this to Marzia.

  "Oh my god! I am so sorry! Oh, god!" The waitress is already tossing tissues and wipes at Hadley. "Oh my god, that looks expensive, I'm so sorry!" She moves towards Hadley, holding a towel in one hand.

   Gregory chews placidly on a French fry. Sebastian has a scowl on his face. Morgan has her eyebrows raised. They don't say anything, and Hadley's pretty damn grateful for that.

   "Listen, it's fine—" he starts, but the waitress doesn't let him finish.

   She leans over Hadley, and he can clearly see the press of her breasts on her shirt, and before he can look away, she's already pressing the towel onto Hadley's chest, wiping away at his shirt, apologizing all the while. Her face is uncomfortably close, and he can see every little freckle on her face.

   "I am so sorry, I didn't mean to—"

   "It's fine, really, you don't have to—"

   She presses the towel firmer onto Hadley's chest. "I am just so clumsy some—"

  "I said," Hadley says, his hand grasping the waitress's wrist, "it's fine."

   It isn't until he sees the look on the waitress's face that he realizes the way he's said it. With a touch too much authority, with a touch too much arrogance, just like his father would.

   The waitress laughs, and he's pretty sure that even to her own ears, it sounds forced. "Right. I'll just back off." She laughs again, with the same forcefulness. "If you'll let me, that is."

  Hadley frowns, and finds himself still holding onto the waitress's wrist. He lets go of it, like he's flicking her hand away.

  "Sorry," he mutters. But the waitress is already gone.

   Sebastian wastes no time in making fun of Hadley. "Real smooth, Jimmy."

   Morgan joins in. "Think she'll give him her number?"

  "Stop making fun of Jimmy," says Gregory. He eats another French fry. "He's sensitive."

   Hadley frowns. "I am not sensitive."

   "Sure you aren't," says Gregory. He moves his hand towards Hadley's shoulder, but stops mid-way. "I'd pat you on the back, but that mess on your shirt looks absolutely horrendous."

    "You know," says Morgan, "I think you should apologize to her."

    "Jimmy? Apologizing?" Sebastian manages to convey the impression of scoffing without actually scoffing. "Puh-lease."

   "Shut up." Hadley looks around the diner, searching for the waitress. Instead, he gets some very hostile stares from strangers, which puzzles him until it occurs to him that other customers might've seen what went down with the waitress.

  And what did they see? A rich boy being mean to a waitress. A rich boy acting like the little fucking spoiled shit he was. Hadley's good at telling these things, though he wishes he wasn't.

  A middle-aged man stares at him with eyes like flint. The man shovels in a mouthful of omelette, never taking his eyes off of Hadley. He looks like there's nothing stopping him from just walking the distance from his booth to Hadley's and beating the shit out of him.

  The words are out of him before he realizes. "I think I'm going to leave."

  Everyone at the table lets out a unanimous, "What?"

  Hadley searches for an excuse that doesn't make him sound like a pansy. Something that isn't, that guy over there is giving me the goddamn heebie-jeebies. He looks down at the soggy mess that is his shirt. "I need to get this washed before it gets ruined beyond repair. Dad's going to have my head, otherwise."

  "Seriously?" says Sebastian. "If you want to just ditch us, just say so. We aren't as sensitive as you."

  "I'm not ditching you. I just really need to get changed before Dad finds out what I did to the shirt he gave to me for my fucking birthday."

   "Fine," says Gregory, with a sigh. "You're going to come back, though, aren't you?"

   "Greg's going to be so lonely without you," says Morgan. "How on earth will he cope?"

   "Shut up," say Gregory and Hadley.

   Morgan shrugs and goes back to poking at her sandwich.

   "Anyways, it's fine," says Gregory, turning to Hadley. "I'll just text you later. Call me when you're done."

   The man still hasn't stopped staring at Hadley.

  "Do me a favor and pack this up for me." When Gregory nods, Hadley gets up and holds his fist out towards Gregory. "Thanks, man. You're the best."

  "Yeah, yeah," says Gregory. He bumps his knuckles with Hadley's. "Tell me about it."

  "Aw, that's so sweet." Sebastian clasps his hands and tilts his head. "You two are so cute."

   Hadley flips him off as he leaves. The last thing he hears before he leaves the diner is Sebastian's laughter. The last thing he sees before he leaves the diner is the man, still following Hadley with his eyes.

   The air outside is cold and it bites at Hadley's cheeks, and it almost makes Hadley forget about the insistent feeling that someone is still watching him. Almost.

  In thirty minutes, James Bishop Hadley will find out that he's cursed. In more than thirty minutes, he will long for this single moment, where the worst of his concern was some queasy little gut feeling. In much more than thirty minutes, he will wish he never left the diner.

    Hadley takes a breath of air and walks towards the parking lot.

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