The Bear’s Lair was deserted. Josh opened ten packets of sugar, splitting them between two cups of coffee. After that, he added several packets of Pream to each one. “This,” he said, handing her a stirring stick, “is how to drink bad coffee. Think of it as dessert. Or, if you’re me, lunch.”

She took a swallow. “Ugh.”

“I didn’t claim it made coffee taste good. Just sweet.”

“No, it was false advertising. You said it would be drinkable.”

Rubbing his mouth, he flashed his hazel green eyes at her, and she melted. “How’re things at State?”

“Lousy. I’m on probation. I dropped too many units, something my mother loves to point out. You were right. I flunked history. Well, I got a D+.” She took another sip. It tasted awful. “How about you?”

“I’m hoping to get to Golden Gate. First I have to scrape up tuition. My family sends me as much as they can, but no way can they cover law school. They’re already stretched too far.”

“What kind of law would you study?”

 “Civil rights. Or international, maybe. I haven’t decided.” He took off his beret, and ran his hand over his nubby hair. “When I got here, I thought the sky was the limit. Now I’ve reached my limit, but it isn’t the sky.” He stirred his coffee.

“Couldn’t you get a scholarship? You’re a good student, right?”

“Fair to middling. I’ve had some major hills to climb. My high school text books listed forty-eight states. History stopped at the Korean War. Our biology teacher, bless her, taught us all she knew, but it wasn’t much.”

“Okay, but you’re at Berkeley. And you haven’t flunked out.”

“Which proves what?”

“That you’re smart. You have what it takes.” She drew her finger through a mound of spilled sugar. “Use whatever you can. Can’t you get some help from affirmative action policies?”

His eyes roamed the room. Panic rose in her chest. They hadn’t spent an hour together, and he was already looking to get away.

“Can I ask you something? When did you get into—this nationalist stuff?” Great idea. Head right back into the one topic they shouldn’t discuss.

He tapped the edge of his cup with the stirring stick. “I’m not into ‘nationalist stuff.’ I’m into raising consciousness in Black people.”

“It just seems like the Muslims and these guys who don’t want whites in their movement—they’re more about dividing people. I thought the civil rights struggle was about getting rid of difference.”

“The civil rights movement is about equality of opportunity. We have a right to our differences.”

She folded a napkin in half and in half again, too nervous to meet his eyes. “As long as whites are the majority, Josh, Negroes have to work with them. I mean, what else would you be doing practicing law if not finding ways to compromise?”

He didn’t seem angry, just tired. “This is why I stopped calling you, Nat.”

She flipped her hair out from behind one ear. “Well. Okay.” She climbed down from the stool and picked up her backpack from the floor. “Thanks for the coffee lesson.”

He put out his hand to stop her. “Look, I’m not giving up my identity so whites can be more comfortable with theirs.”

“You think that’s what I meant? That I’m asking you to give up your identity?”

“I think you don’t know what you’re asking. Look, you grew up with a lot of privileges, most of which you never knew you had. I’m a guy who grew up with none. Ok? We’re oil and water.”

“You might be surprised.” She adjusted the shoulder straps on her pack. “I see that look. Don’t worry. I won’t launch into some poor little rich girl speech. You should just know that whenever you talk about your loving mother and father, I want to go home and swallow a bottle of aspirin.”

“What do you—wait. Your parents are dead?”

“Sometimes I wish they were.”

“Why? Did they beat you?” The question bordered on flippant.

“No, Josh, they just didn’t know how to love a kid they didn’t want.” She turned away, trying not to cry.

He reached over and slid her pack off her shoulder. “Sit down.”

“Why? So I can stick my foot in my mouth again? Or am I sticking my foot in your mouth?”

“That sounds awkward.”

“Doesn’t it?”

“Seriously. Sit down.”

She sank back onto her stool. “You need to be gentle with me, Josh.” She added, only half-kidding, “I’m fragile.”

“I’ve known buffalo more fragile than you.”

“You know buffalo?”

“Intimately.”

“I think there’s a law against that.”

“That’s something I’ve missed. You’re quick. Always the snappy comeback.”

“I’m quick, all right. Stupid, but quick.” She twisted a curl. “I am stupid. I don’t know what you have to go through in life as a Negro. Excuse me. As a Black person. But I want to. So don’t teach me how to drink coffee. Teach me how to talk without making you angry.”

He cupped her cheek and kissed her softly. Looking into her eyes, he murmured, “I am going to regret this.”