Two nothings could, possibly, equal a something.
It's thin, so thin, and a perfect square. It's wrapped neatly in dark blue wrapping paper, the tape already peeling from the edges. And it ever so slightly breaks his heart.
Robbie Shapiro tears open the "present" even though he knows what lies inside the blue wrapping paper. His fingers confirm the gift when the paper is, at last, peeled off. It's a record, it's their record. The Charlie Brown Christmas Soundtrack they listened to on their first date. Except it wasn't a date. It was a meeting, as she would often remind him in that clipped tone of hers. He felt a warped feeling in his stomach, regret and shame and nostalgia bit at his insides.
"I feel like Charlie Brown sometimes." Her confession punctuates the silence. Robbie immediately wishes for the beloved silence to return, so he's as surprised as she is when he responds "Me too." The soundtrack plays on dimly. "Why do you have a record player?" He continues to break the silence and wish it back at the same time. He wipes his damp hands on his jeans. Trina pretends not to notice. "Parental nostalgia. Ew, right?" Is her answer, absentmindedly, as if it's not weird for Robbie Shapiro to be in her house, on her couch, holding an untouched glass of fruit punch.
She scooted closer to him. It's small, an inch of movement, maybe not even, but it caused everything. Like the tiny movement that triggers the avalanche. And quake like an avalanche he did. "Hey, why did you-" He wants to ask her something, some random question he would think of after he started the sentence, but that was night he learns it was hard to ask questions when you're lip-to-lip with someone. He didn't know what to do with his sweaty hands.
He forgot who pulled away first, but it was probably her. She looked very serene for a girl who had just traded spit with a social pariah.
That didn't last.
"I don't want to be a dying, brown Christmas tree." She admits. He remembered the way she said it, as if she had been wanting to say it her entire life, and was waiting for someone to listen.
"Who does, right?" He laughs awkwardly. For some reason, that's good enough for her. More kissing. His hand barely touches her knee, but he can feel how smooth her skin is. He decided that there was something sexy about knees.
He remembers pulling away the second time. He remembers being an idiot. She gives a swift tug at his collar. She wants him to stay. Because it's Christmas and she's lonely. Because he's Robbie. He's the only boy who could ever really know her.
He shakes his head.
He passes on the offer.
He mentally kicks himself. Then she does it for him.
Two kisses on a Christmas eve between two lonely kids no one likes. They would tell no one. Who would listen?
No one wants to be a lonely, brown, dying Christmas tree.
Robbie looks at the record, and feels the urge to snap it in half.