Nothing More by Anna Todd

though she’s shaking her head.
    â€œHere.” I gently pull away from her and pull my sweatshirt up over my head and hand it to her.
    It cuts me a little when she smells the gray fabric, just like she always used to. She was obsessed with wearing my hoodies when we were in high school. I had to buy one every other week to keep up with her thieving ways.
    â€œYou still wear Spicebomb,” she says, not asking.
    She bought me my first bottle of cologne for our first Christmas together and one every year after.
    â€œYep. Some things never change.” I watch as she pulls my sweatshirt down over her. Her curls push through first and I help yank the fabric down over her mass of hair. The sweatshirt hits her just at her knees.
    She looks down at the design printed on the front.
    â€œDeathly Hallows.” She touches the tip of the triangle with her unpainted nail. “Some things really do never change.”
    I wait for her to smile, but it doesn’t come.
    She smells the sweatshirt again.
    â€œIs it because you like the smell, or because you probably still have a stash from me?” Dakota laughs finally, but, again, it’s off.
    â€œYou grab a table and I’ll get the coffee,” I offer. This is what we always did back in Saginaw: she would pick a table, usually by the window, and I would order our matching drinks. Two mocha Frappuccinos, an extra pump of liquid sugar for her, an extra shot of coffee for me. I always ordered two pieces of lemon pound cake and she always ate the icing off of mine.
    My tastes have changed over the years, and I can’t bring myself to drink the sugary milk shake disguised as coffee anymore. I order her Frappuccino and grab myself an Americano. Two lemon pound cakes. While I’m waiting for my name to be called, I look over at the table where Dakota is sitting staring off into space with her hands tucked under her chin.
    â€œA mocha Frap and an Americano for . . . London!” The cute barista yells out the wrong name. She’s perky as she sets the drinks on the counter, a huge smile on her face, the same as with all employees I see working for the mermaid chain.
    Dakota sits up slightly when I reach the table. I hand the large plastic cup to her and she examines mine.
    â€œWhat’s that?” she asks.
    I sit down across from her and she brings my cup to her lips.
    â€œYou’ll hate that—” I try to warn her.
    It’s too late, her eyes are already closed and her face is already crumpling. She doesn’t spit it out, but she wants to. Her cheeks are full of the espresso-and-water mixture and she looks like an adorable little squirrel as she struggles to swallow.
    â€œEw! How can you drink that?” she exclaims when she finally gets it down. I slide her cup closer to her for a chaser. “It tastes like straight tar—ew!”
    She’s always been a tad dramatic.
    â€œI like it.” I shrug, sipping the coffee.
    â€œSince when do you drink fancy coffee?” Dakota scrunches her nose in disgust again.
    I chuckle. “It’s not ‘fancy.’ It’s only espresso and water,” I say, defending my drink.
    She snorts. “Sounds fancy to me.”
    There’s something behind her words. I can’t pinpoint it yet, but it’s like she’s mad at me for something that I’m not aware that I did.
    It’s like we’re still dating.
    â€œI got you some lemon cake, too. Two pieces.” I slide the brown paper bag across the table to her. She shakes her head and pushes her hands out, moving the bag back to my side of the table.
    â€œI can’t eat stuff like that anymore and I’m already having this coffee as my lunch.” She scrunches her nose and I remember her complaining about the change in her eating habits she had to make for her academy. She has to keep a strict diet, and lemon pound cake doesn’t fit anywhere into that.
    â€œSorry.” I