I Craved to Write This Down I spotted Everly at my sister's cafe in Uptown one night before a group study session. I wasn't sure if she'd talk to me outside of class, and I tried not to give it much thought as I spied her from my table. On a counter near the door rested a jar of tokens meant for free coffee-something kitschy Noelle promoted for the homeless or whatever-basically customers order a coffee but suspend the order and she tosses a token in a jar for someone in need. None of this-much like the yellow dress and grey tights-would have been interesting except for the fact that Everly Anne rooted her hand around in that jar for a token-a girl whose father was a doctor both professionally and monetarily more prestigious than my own, and I had no trouble paying for coffee.

There was no other option for my curiosity than to watch her.

Everly handed my sister the token and it wasn't to ask questions about the use of one. She was given a free cup of coffee and then asked her for something else, something that troubled Noelle, and that something turned out to be a cup of ice. I wrote down what I witnessed as if it held some form of promise toward solving her differential. This should have been my first clue as to how utterly and disgustingly interested I was in Everly Anne Brighton-writing down such brilliant Eureka-like revelations such as SHE DRINKS "ICED" COFFEE.

But stupidly . . . I watched her even more curiously . . . swearing it was all in the name of a good grade.

She dropped her backpack at a free table and then went to the sugar station. I followed like the curious little masochistic cat I had become.

From behind I said, "You know this is New York, right?" And to my surprise she only laughed and said, "Hey Callum," with her back turned. When she was done stirring her coffee, she turned around and appraised me before she spoke. Her eyes browsed my blue polo and then trailed down to my khaki-shorts and back up, finally resting on the sleeve of my shirt. She didn't say anything with her appraisal and I felt slightly awkward, so I expanded my first statement.

"Saving your seat isn't worth having your belongings stolen."

"There's nothing valuable to steal," she said, "I brought my most prized possession to the cream and sugar station." She waved her hand along her body.

And even though I thought she was funny, I argued, "You must bring your book-bag along because you value what's inside it on some level."

"Material items are replaceable, which makes them lack value. There must be ten stores on this block alone where I could repurchase every item in my bag."

"I wish I could disregard my things so easily," I said.

"Well, what's in your bag?" She asked, nodding to my table, and I wondered when she had spotted me. "Can I see?"

I glanced around to see if anyone from class had arrived before I slid over to my table. Everly followed and then dumped out the contents when we sat. She held up the copy of Peter Pan she gifted me.

"Study material?" she questioned with a smile.

"Absolutely," I agreed.

Apparently my wallet was interesting. She held it up with her eyes narrowed.

"Most men keep them in their back pocket," she insisted.

With a shrug I replied, "Maybe I'm not most men."

"Few doctors are," she agreed. "Which is odd considering they all act alike for the most part. The irony is interesting."

"Also," I continued as if she hadn't jabbed me. "I live in a city where pick-pocketing is pretty easy. Some even make a living that way."

She nodded and then opened my wallet to spy the contents. To be honest, I didn't give a shit. There wasn't anything incriminating or embarrassing. It was in fact much less scandalous and much more comfortable than most conversations we had held. Everly told me she liked the picture on my driver's license even though I told her I was sick the day it was taken. She counted the money in my wallet-a little over two hundred in cash-and I explained my father always told me to never carry enough money to make someone kill you for it, and never too little to make someone kill you for not having anything.

And while wallet snooping was fine, phone snooping was not.

"This is too personal?" she asked.

"It has some personal stuff on it, yeah."

She grinned. And then we squared off. Brow-arched-tumbleweed-blowing-finger-twitching-hip-holstered-gun squared off.

"Text messages, Callum Andrew?"

But why must she have been pretty and smart.

"May I have my phone back please?"

I reached for the phone, but Everly twisted away, her fingers desperately trying to unlock the screen as I tried to wrench it from her flailing arms.

"Why couldn't I be a tech genius like the rest of my generation!" She cried. I finally grabbed the phone from her hand.

"Maybe you're not as smart as I thought," I joked, shoving the phone back into my bag. "It's one clean swipe from left to right, Everly Anne."

"I don't have one."

"A cell phone that locks? Don't they all?"

"A phone," she explained. "I don't have a cell phone. Never have."

I stared at her feeling like she was fuckin' with me. "It's the twenty-first century, everyone has a cell phone. I saw a toddler on the E Train talking on a cell phone last week. He even had an ear piece."

She looked at her coffee. "My father is very strict about how and with whom I spend my time. Plus, I've spent much of my life in the hospital, so I don't really have friends."

My mouth stuck momentarily. "Doesn't your dad want you to have one in case of emergency? Or, I don't know ... maybe to write evasive, mysterious little updates infused with wittiness on your Face2Face page?"

She laughed. "I don't have a Face2Face page either. Any kind of social media actually."

I zipped up my bag and stared dubiously. "My sister's dog has its own Face2Face page. Over a thousand followers."

"Then I sadly must report I am less popular than your sister's dog."

I smiled empathetically. "I didn't mean it like that."

Everly didn't seem offended, but rather curious. "What does your Face2Face page say?"

That made me laugh. "I'm not quite sure I can explain it fully before the study group arrives."

"The deepness of your laugh makes me want to know," she said. "Cliffs notes version?"

I brought up the page on my phone and showed Everly my last update.

@Amelia_Sweetkisses_Vanguard I showed the picture of you from last summer to a man on his death bed last night. You'll be happy to know silicone is a cure for cancer. He didn't die.

She tried not to laugh. "Isn't your girlfriend gonna kill you?"

"She's not my girlfriend," I said. "She sort of has a thing for doctors."