morgan was there the next day, too. he sat across from me again, but this time he didn't talk. he barely drank his coffee. he just stared at me.

i pretended to ignore him, at first. i pretended not to see his eyes scanning me and my book. i pretended not to care how messy my hair was, how rumbled my old sweatshirt was. 

but i couldn't stand it anymore. 

"your coffee's gonna get cold," was what i said to him. i mentally chided myself out of disdain. amber, you catch a guy staring at you, and "your coffee's gonna get cold" is all you have to say?

he blinks several times, seemingly out of his daze. "oh, i—" he stutters.

"i know."