20 : Friday

Step Twenty: Let your personality shine in your conversations! Think about how you act around your friends and how easily you can talk to them. Try to act the same way around the boy that you like by talking about things you both are interested in, like music, sports, or movies. Share your opinions and thoughts freely so he can get to know the real you. It may seem repetitive, but we need to drill the important bits in!!!

When I wake up, there's a post-it on the fridge. It lets me know... that he had to go to school early... for extra help... in the morning... but there are pancakes... that I can microwave... blah blah blah.

The pancakes taste bad after being microwaved, but I am not up to try cooking something for myself. I end up taking a granola bar from my backpack. I also take out a few dollar bills. I need to repay that Haven Walker girl for the tacos; plus, I want to give her a tip for helping me out. Those tacos were worth the haiku. There's someone else I need to pay back, too.

Ha, that rhymed ("haiku" ... "too")

Anyway, that's where my first stop is. Bar-Taco.

Haven is picking at her nails when I arrive. She glances up when I tap her shoulder, seeing as it's pretty early in the morning, and there's only one customer in here aside from me. The young man is facing away from me and has metallic silver hair. I'm gathering major detective vibes from him, but whatever.

"Haiku Boy!" she greets, standing up. She turns her phone over, hiding the lock screen from me, but there's something on the back.

I see a character drawn onto her phone case. "Did you draw that?" I ask politely.

She nods. "I'm afraid that have a bit of an obsession with art. This is a small character I've created, kind of based off of you. Except he has orange hair, here."

"Nice," I laugh. Because it's pretty early in the morning, my voice cracks. A lot. Haven giggles at my embarrassed apology before holding an expectant hand out. "Bye, money," I whisper to the wealth that is no longer mine. "I'll miss you."

"Can you come up with a haiku about money?"

I glance up. "Wow, I really am Haiku Boy. I'll do my best."

I clear my throat.

"Haven is kind, but

I paid for my taco,

And my cash is all gone."

She counts the syllables out on her fingers before giving an approving nod. Someone taps my shoulder, making me jump.

"Nice poem," Detective Vibes Boy in The Corner with Silver Hair says.

I flinch. "Russell?"

With silver hair. Holy guacamole. I vaguely remember all of my past thoughts on how hot Russell is with dark blue hair. Oh, dearie me. Him in silver? Blake's going to die. I'll join him. Russell looks positively ethereal.

Haven Walker smiles at me. "Russell here is a regular, huh," she reaches over the counter to playfully nudge him as he gives me a pained smile. "He has the same thing every time he comes. Says that his digestive system can get rid of it by the time his dance practice comes around, but once he vomited. Since then he hasn't ordered as many refried beans—"

"That's enough, Haven." Russell rubs his temples in an attempt to cover his face. Now he just looks like an overheated robot. I suppress a giggle and put a hand over my mouth.

"If you want," I offer, "I can just shut my ears while Haven continues."

Russell gives me an odd look. "Shut your ears?"

Haven sides with me—thank goodness—and gangs up with me against Russell. "You mean to say that you've never heard anyone say that?"

"No?" Russell's response is probably more like a question than he intended for it to be. "Whatever, this is dumb."

Ooh, he pulled a classic move. "Whatever, this is dumb" has a 73% success rate of changing the topic of conversation. And, in this case, we fall into that majority.

"Okay, anyway, thanks for the money," Haven says. "And for the haiku quality entertainment."

I snort. "Nice pun."

Russell rolls his eyes and leaves, slouching over his bowl of food in the corner again. Honestly, I would do that if I could, too. The way Haven is looking at me makes me think that I'm a celebrity of some kind. Which, if it's true that my orange justice video went viral, I might as well be.

"Can I get your autograph?" a girl, walking out of the hidden kitchen area, asks. "You are Felix Gray, right?"

"Sigh," I say.

Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I'm afraid it's true. Last night, along with having the strangest dream in which I sailed to China in a little rowboat to find ya, I came up with a way to stop sighing. Instead, I say the word "sigh" out loud. It's actually very effective.

I give the girl her stupid autograph and smile once again at Haven Walker, thanking her with a small, extra tip. I then go to sit next to Russell. "This is for the shirt and the jeans," I say, putting the rest of my owed money next to him.

His lustrous, silver hair shines in the light. "Wow," he jokes, "am I really that handsome with this hair? You look star-struck."

"No, it's just that it looks cool. But you also look like a grandpa." Curse my mouth. "Just... uh... shut your ears. You didn't hear that last bit."

"M'kay." Russell glances at the money before sliding it back to me.

I push it back. He returns it. I push it back. He returns it.

I push it back, this time with finality. "Stop tempting me to grab it and make a run for it, Russell. I owe you the money; take it."

"Consider it a gift," he says.

"A gift?"

"An early half-birthday present. Like, six weeks early, but still."

I stare at him. "Is something up? You don't need to be handing people early-half-birthday presents, Russell. Just... you can tell me what's going on, if you want."

Russell sighs. "My brain isn't really keeping up with life at the moment. Family stuff, dating girls, dating boys, dating girls and boys, and... Blake—" he cuts himself off. "Not Blake, just, like, any person in general. I don't know." He laughs, subconsciously rubbing the back of his neck.

"Yeah, okay. Whatever helps you sleep at night."

Russell raises his eyes to look at me. "I have parents who expect me to get a girlfriend on one side, and this amazing boy that I cannot stop thinking about the other side."

I want to tell Russell to take Blake out. Not like he would take the trash out, not like a boxer would take his opponent out, rather, take him out on a date. I don't know what's going on with Russell's family, though; it's not my place to intervene. "Do whatever feels right, bro. I just came here to pay you for my clothes."

Laughing, Russell smiles. The mood lightens considerably. "I'll take your money," he says, finally conceding defeat. "One last thing, Lix."

I pause, halfway through standing up. "Yeah?"

Russell pulls a small, plastic container of guacamole out from his bag. "A souvenir. Thanks for talking to me, Felix."

Guacamole is the superior form of avocado; my mind cannot be changed. Even if I don't know how long it was in that bag. "I am honored," I sincerely tell him.

All I receive is a lopsided, knowing smile. "You are one strange dude" is the last thing I hear before my day begins.

~~~~~~~~

"Instant noodles."

There's no room for argument. Jason and I are in agreement.

"Instant noodles." Jason nods and turns around, stiffly finding two packages of the good stuff. I deftly peruse the kitchenette for the necessary utensils and supplies. "Chicken flavored or pork flavored?"

The decision of a lifetime, yet I do not hesitate. "Chicken."

The day passed quickly after my talk with Russell. Blake yells at me for not being in my room at three in the morning, so I explain my plan with Jason. He takes it in stride, vowing that he'll win me back. I think he's only half-joking. School, lunch, FROG, walk back here alongside Jason without talking, awkwardly avoid eye contact, homework on opposite sides of the room, and now, dinner. During FROG, Amanda briefly mentioned the party she is throwing for Zoe. We're going at eight in the evening, which means that Blake's guess was way off.

Jason reaches for a pot but, alas, it's just out of his impressively ranged grasp. He presses his lips together, stretching his arms out, standing on the tips of his toes. Instinctively, I come up behind him and reach as well. Towering over him (although one-eighth of an inch isn't really a tower), I bring the pot down and place it on the counter.

"Thanks," Jason breathes, his cheeks a wild shade of pink. My brain internally screams as it realizes what I just did. We have hardly a height difference, but I'm still taller. Helping him is actually pretty fun.

I pull back, trying to seem nonchalant. "No problem. Are you also having chicken?" Yes, Felix, play it cool.

Jason nods, dragging the water-filled pot to the stove. Oh, he's one of those people. I always boil my water in a kettle before using it (despite my kettle trauma) and then pour it into the pot. Never done it any other way.

The water takes ages to boil. When we near the end of those ages, I consider telling Jason that he should've used the kettle first. At the last moment, I think better of it. There's no use possibly irritating someone who could fling a pot of boiling water at me.

"You don't have to pretend not to be there, Lix. I'm the one who asked you to be here, remember?"

Lix. He called you Lix. Answer his question, dumbass! Stop talking to yourself!

"Felix?"

"Uh, yeah. I just can't think of anything to say," my voice trembles as ungainliness seeps from my pores, "which is unusual. I typically start conversations easily, so I guess something about you is making me awkward."

Stupid, stupid, stupid! "Huh?" Jason asks. "Did I hear you right?"

"If both of your ears—" I cut myself off before I can say something stupid again. "Sorry, I say dumb things when I'm nervous. Or awkward. Or both. See, I'm doing it again! I should probably just stop talking now."

"Mhm." Jason idly swirls a fork through the boiling noodles, lifting one of the perfect, pink, plump noodles to his curly, skinny lips. Or the other way around. Argh, I can't think straight with him around. I don't think any guy would be able to.

He adds the flavor packet, although I'm sure his lips taste infinitely better. No. Stop. Felix, stop. Now. I internally slap my brain.

Jason throws an amused glance back at me, hearing my soft "ow" of inward pain.

Brain pain.

Rhyme. Poetry. Ha.

I need to be stopped, before I seriously damage this planet.

"Are you going to stand there, or are you going to take your noodles like any human in their right mind would?" Jason inquires, holding out a bowl. Done already? I must have zoned out longer than planned.

"Thanks," I mumble. "Once again."

Jason nudges my shoulder with his own. "Stop thanking me. And, for real, stop with this mess about you moving here. We can do a one-week trial. If you don't like it, don't force yourself to stay. It's alright," he reassures me.

I let go of a sig—no, I don't let go of a sigh I didn't know I was holding in. "Sigh I didn't know I was holding in," I say aloud, instead. "Oops."

"Wow," Jason orates. Orates? Really, Felix? Even in your own mind, you don't make sense. "Okay, I guess. Sigh you didn't know you were holding in. Cool. So, are you done overthinking your decision?"

Saluting in response, I end that thread of conversation. Step twenty, Felix, remember step twenty. What Jason says next, though, almost makes me choke on my ramen.

"So, what are you going to do for the talent show?"

I haven't thought about that since Blake knocked me out with a flower vase. In all honesty, the forgetfulness was bliss. "Sigh."

"'Sigh' indeed. Want help?" Help? Did Jason just offer me help?

I blink at him. "Yes. Please. Help me erase down, or whatever the opposite of signing up is. Please."

"Nah," Jason chuckles. "You should dance. And sing! That would be cool. You seem like a good dancer."

It's true. I've been dancing casually for a long time, and my parents entered me into a few competitions back in the day. The blue ribbons and gold medals are probably tucked away in a box somewhere, surrounded by socks, in my makeshift room.

I was in a dancing trio once, too, but I can't remember who the other kids were. That was years ago, probably in elementary school. I remember we were named "The Fluffy Unicorns." Whatever, those kids are probably professionals by now. I don't plan on meeting them, though I do miss them. Argh! Now I want to know their names.

I also remember Haven Walker telling me about Russell and his refried beans. I don't dance that much anymore but, if I had to, then I don't think I would eat anything like that beforehand. Too dangerous. You never know which end will burst, so it's safest to know that neither will.

But I digress. Like, seriously. That was one hell of a tangent.

"—'Song' by that one famous person, but I forgot his name. I feel like that would work well for you," Jason says. Abort mission! Don't tell him you weren't paying attention. Just smile, nod, and agree with everything!

I smile. "I think so too," I agree, nodding. "Sounds perfect."

"Really?" Jason looks at me. "Wow, you concurred quickly. Okay, 'The Song' it is. The show isn't for five more days, so that gives us plenty of time to practice. You. It gives you plenty of time. I'll help, only if you want."

"You can help," I say, nonchalant as possible. "Yeah, you can help."

"Deal." Jason offers me his hand, and it takes all of my neurotic connections working at full strength to remember that I have to shake it instead of holding it and skipping off into the sunset. I shake his hand, loving the softness and the way it engulfs my own metacarpus.

No. My brain is doing the dumb thing again. Stop, my brain. It's not funny; you can quit now.

"When should we wake up tomorrow?"

"Wake up?" Jason echoes, surprised at the abrupt change of conversation—yet again. "Oh, for the party? I don't know. We need to get Zoe gifts."

I forgot about the gifts. "True. I'll buy her a stuffed animal or something; I don't know."

"Oh! Idea!" Jason claps his hands together, abandoning his half-eaten ramen. "Music albums!"

I gasp. "What music does she like?"

"Rock, I think," Jason says. "If we don't come up with anything specific, we can just buy her—"

"An actual rock!" I exclaim.

He stares at me. "I was about to say that."

"Great minds think alike," I state, offering my fist for Jason to bump. He just stares at it quizzically. "Or not," I mumble, pulling my hand back. "Whatever."

Laughing, Jason only pats my shoulder. We finish our makeshift dinner in peace and agree to wake up early tomorrow to get the gifts for our soon-to-be older friend.

I sleep well tonight. Maybe I'll leave once the week is up; maybe I won't.

That's just a problem for Future Felix to deal with.