21.) Evil:

Evil, to Carl, always seemed like an excessive word, a descriptor saved for the nasty and terrible villains that haunt history like Adolph Hitler or live in grim old wives tales like the lake monsters that grasp onto kids' ankles and drag them under the surface to perish. Evil never seemed like a word Carl would associate with other people, he used to naively think that people were usually too civilized and...well...human to do such horrid things to deserve the adjective.

That was before. That was previous to the Governor's attacks or the time he witnessed his childhood idol, Shane, try to kill his father in cold blood. That was before he watched people turn on one another and quite literally stab each other in the back. Before he saw decapitations and betrayals and fatal stabbings and other gory demises.

Now evil is one of the first adjectives that pops into Carl's head when he thinks about the human race. Humans, he's realized, are nothing but evil when the stakes are high.

22.) Observer: *slash*

Daryl isn't a big talker. He's not the most conversational guy and he never really has been. Some people just assume Daryl doesn't say much because he doesn't have much to say. They assume he's either just too dumb and undereducated to fully comprehend or notice the events unfolding around him or that he's just not interested in other people or their affairs.

Both of these things couldn't be more false.

Daryl isn't even entirely sure himself why he doesn't say much, but he knows so much more than he lets onto. He's actually quite the observer, and he knows about almost everything that's going on in all of his friend's lives, even things they think are secret and unbeknownst to anyone.

For example, Daryl knows that Maggie is pregnant even though she has yet to tell anyone, even Glenn. He knows because of the way she smiles now, all radiant and hopeful, the same way he can remember Lori smiling after she'd come to terms with her pregnancy. He knows by the way she walks too and the way she subconsciously rubs her abdomen sometimes while sitting down. He understands why she hasn't told anyone, he knows the chances of a miscarriage are pretty high in the first 3 months and he knows those chances are even higher in her situation since she has no access to the right kind of medical help.

Daryl knows that Rick has nightmares almost every night. He sees Rick walk out onto the pristine little front porch of his house every morning around 3 AM and pace back and forth, running his fingers through his disorderly hair and grumbling nervously to himself. He knows what he dreams about, he knows he dreams about his children being ripped apart and eaten alive or shot down in a hail of bullets or being decapitated by a swinging machete. Daryl knows what he dreams about because if Daryl were in his shoes, that's what he'd dream about too.

Daryl knows that Rosita and Spencer hook up, he catches Spencer shuffling out of her home around 8 AM with a dejected look on his face. Daryl also knows how much Spencer loves Rosita since he's always trying to make the relationship real, continuously putting up with her mean-spirited antics towards him. Daryl knows Rosita wants to love him but that she's still hung up on Abraham by the way she treats Spencer. He knows she's all torn up and can't get it together for anything right now.

Daryl knows Sasha cries about her brother every morning before her shift, he's seen her huddled under the gazebo by herself, sobbing into her folded arms. Daryl knows that Eugene feels inadequate despite his superior intellect. He knows Tara is scared shitless of losing Denise because she's so inexperienced with the outside and does everything in her capability to keep her girlfriend inside the walls. He knows Carol hates it inside the walls despite being able to fit in so effortlessly. He knows she thinks these people in Alexandria are naive and dumb, like cattle being led off to slaughter. He knows that Carl and that Ron Anderson kid are together. He's seen the way they look at each other and he's caught the latter cupping the other's face in a way too intimate to be considered friendly. He knows Rick has no clue though as he hasn't said anything about it and because of the way Carl and Ron sneak around together behind the scenes. Daryl knows they love each other, but he doesn't say anything, not wanting to skunk them out. Daryl knows Michonne is only hopeful for Alexandria working out because she's afraid of being helpless again. He knows she wonders if she can do it out there again and make it.

Daryl knows a lot. He is all too aware of what goes on around him, out in the open and behind the curtain. He's the observational one, everyone else is just too blind to see it.

24.) Alcoholic:

The "A" word always stings Ron's lips and tongue like a slap across the face. It makes him wince as if in physical pain and curl into himself. The sad part though is that Ron knows it's true. He's very aware that calling his dad an alcoholic is by no means an overstatement. He knows it's true. But even though it's true doesn't make it sting any less.

25.) Future:

"What do you see when you envision the future?" Eugene asks casually, not looking up from his Conroy novel.

"Hmm?" Rosita asks, caught off guard as she dozes next to her acquaintance on the sofa.

"The future, Miss Espinosa. What do you think about when you ponder the future."

Rosita opens her mouth to answer, but quickly snaps it shut, her brain buzzing blankly and no answer, sincere or sarcastic, coming to her.

"Um….I guess I see….the same thing that's happening now but with different people and different places. Why?"

"Just curious," Eugene replies simply, turning the page.

"Well, what do you see?"

"Nothing."

"What do you mean, 'nothing'?"

"I mean exactly as I said, there is no inferential meaning behind my words."

Rosita sits up straighter and scootches towards the intellectual. "You mean….you think this really is the end? You think in say...twenty years the whole human race will be extinct and everyone here, in this camp with us, will be dead?"

"Yes, that's what I meant," Eugene says, briefly glancing up at the hispanic woman sitting beside him. "But I don't think the extinction of man will be as rapid as twenty years I'd say….more like fifty years."

Rosita stares at him with the narrowed eyes of a scientist observing a denatured enzyme before clicking her tongue and slowly saying, "I don't think humankind is going to be wiped out. I don't think this is the end. Don't get me wrong, this is totally a mass extinction type scenario, but….I think we'll pull through."

"Why? I'd say by this point a little more than half of the population is gone and there's no end in sight for the virus nor is there anybody left, as far as we're aware, to study said virus and have that eureka moment."

"I just...I have hope," Rosita says with a firm nod. "And you should to. I think in twenty years, this community will have grown and partnered up with several other communities to make something kind of like the states we had before. I think we will have re-established a type of government and be holding elections. I think we'll open public schools to educate our children. I think we'll open hospitals between towns and organize labs to study the virus and other less-pressing ailments and diseases. I think it's only going to go up from here."

"Well, you're quite idealistic, aren't you?" Eugene replies flatly.

"Well, you asked what I thought of when I thought about the future, and that's what I think about," Rosita says with a little huff, crossing her arms over her chest and slouching over again.

26.) Pulse: *slash*

Ron sits up, head spinning round and round. His vision is blurry and his nose is bleeding, pools of thick red liquid smearing down his cheeks and lips. He coughs, throat burning and tasting of metal, as he clambers to his feet.

"Shit," he mutters as he hacks up a combination of spit and blood. "Shit."

With wobbly legs, he stumbles through the debris and remains of the buildy, nearly tripping over chunks of drywall and shielding his eyes with his bruised hands to keep the drizzle of dust out of his eyes.

He wonders how long he was unconscious for as he passes by shards of glass from a window splayed across the floor, glinting like the building's dying tears. He peers out the hole in the wall where the window used to be and stares at the blood red sky, watching the glowing yellow orb start to sink below the horizon. It was high noon when the group entered the abandoned grocery store, now the sun is setting. Ron, foggily, does the math and rationalizes that he must've been out for at least four hours. He looks around at the remains of the building in the dying light and wonders if anyone made it. His gut clenches painfully and his eyes burn.

"Hello?" he horsley shouts. "Hello? Guys? Guys? Anyone hear me?" his throats starts to scream louder than his voice in protest, but he keeps shouting anyway as he staggers through the store. He keeps one hand on his holster just in case he encounters any walkers.

"Hello? Hello? Can anybody hear me?" he gets more and more worried as he stumbles through the wreckage, wondering anxiously if everyone died. He, Carl, Daryl, Glenn, Michonne, and Sasha all came into the building together, trying to accumulate some food and supplies for cleaning out wounds (rubbing alcohol, bandages, needle and thread for stitching). It was supposed to be an easy run, no complications in store.

And the fucking roof of the store collapsed on them.

"Ron? I-is that you?" a familiar voice croaks.

"Yeah!" Ron shouts excitedly, stumbling a little faster in the direction of the voice.

"Oh thank god, I thought...I thought you all died," Sasha breathes. Her form slowly comes into Ron's line of vision like a ghost aparating out of thin air. Ron sees through the dust that she's just as bruised up and bloody as him, standing there with one hand clenched on the hilt of her gun and the other onto a bottle of isopropyl.

"Is there anyone else with you?" She asks eagerly.

Ron just shakes his head, causing his head to spin faster and his vision to blur again.

"Ron?! Sasha?!" Glenn yells from a few yards away. He runs over to them, blood running in thick streams down his forehead.

"You look like hell," Ron feels his lips as he says it.

Glenn forces a good natured grin and replies. "So do you."

The three of them amble along in the dust bowl, shouting and searching and scouring the area. They find Daryl after a few minutes. He's got a broken leg and he uses Glenn and Sasha's shoulders as make-shift crutches. Michonne is unconscious still, her body splayed out in a field of broken shelving units and cans of baked beans. Ron shakes her shoulder gently until her eyelids flutter open. It never even crosses his mind when he finds her that she might be dead, as he can see her side rising and falling in a beautiful reassuring rhythm.

"Where's Carl?" is the first thing out of her mouth.

Ron blanches and shakes his head. "We haven't found him….but I'm sure we will."

He says it just as much for her sake as he does his own. He doesn't even want to think about returning to Alexandria without Carl Grimes by his side, he he doesn't intend to quit looking until he finds him, dead or alive.

Michonne is weak, fatigued and injured. She can't go very far and everyone else grows tired too, their wounds slowing them down and depleting them of their energy. Sasha suggests they go find back to the parking lot (or what remains of it) and find the van. Ron and Michonne both quickly refuse, saying they aren't leaving the rubble until they locate Carl.

They keep searching and searching until the moon hangs high in the cloudy sky. Still no sign of Carl and everyone's dead on their feet.

"I…" Daryl stalls. "I think we would've found 'im by now if there was somethin' left to find…" he mutters gravely. He hates saying it, it hurts him just as much as the collapsed ceiling hurt his leg.

Sasha slowly nods in agreement. "I don't think…"

Glenn thickly swallows, quickly blinking his eyes and sniffling. He wipes the back of his hand across his bloody ashen face and nods. "We should g-go."

"No!" Michonne argues, leaning heavily on Ron for support. "We need to find him, we can't just abandon him here! All by himself? Hurt?"

"Michonne…..he's gone," Sasha says gently, knowing how much the kid meant to her. "I know it's hard but we can search all day and dig through this crap and we either won't find anything or we'll find a corpse."

"No, we won't. We're gonna find him," Ron insists, his voice cracking and heavy with tears. "He's in here somewhere and-"

"What's left of 'im is here," Daryl mutters with a sad shake of his head. "Ron, this is just as hard for me, but the kid's…" Daryl's voice cracks too and he looks down at the dusty floor. He never bothers to finish his sentence.

"Just give me ten more minutes!" Ron insists desperately. "That's it, I promise, ten more minutes!"

No one argues and Michonne and Ron quickly hobble off, desperately searching the room like a greedy man searching for his fat wallet. They whip their heads around and shout and holler louder than a fog horn. At one point Michonne drops to her knees and starts sifting through some of the piles of rubble, desperate, desperate, desperate, desperate….

"I….I found him!" Michonne shrieks, a shifted piece of a plastic display case revealing a jean clad leg. "I found him!"

Everyone rushes over as Michonne struggles to move more of the debris off the lifeless and limp body buried underneath. Ron drops to his knees and helps her, his hands further scarring and bleeding as they get cut on the sharp edges of plaster and splintered off pieces of plastic.

"Oh god," Glenn whimpers, tears streaking down his bloody face. "Oh god…."

Daryl shakes his head, face scrunching up and eyes becoming wet. Sasha looks away and winces, her face turning pink and her hand flying up to cover her mouth. They all expected it, but it's much worse when you're confronted with it.

"No, no, no, no, no," Michonne mutters hurriedly, crawling closer to the corpse and grabbing it. "No, no, no, no. C'mon Carl, c'mon. You've survived through worse things, c'mon."

Ron crawls over to him to as Michonne presses her index finger and ring finger to the conjecture of Carl's neck and shoulder, hoping to find a pulse. Her eyes go glassy and she keeps uttering her mantra, wishing, hoping, praying.

Ron, in a last ditch effort, springs upon the dead body and starts frantically pushing on his chest, trying CPR to the best of his ability. He's not really sure what he's doing, his knowledge of how to give the life-saving technique pertains to thirty minutes of practice on a doll in health class six years ago. He tries anyway, pushing harder and harder, so hard he wonders if he's breaking any ribs.

"Ron," Glenn whispers. "Ron, stop…"

Ron ignores him and keeps trying. His palms start to ache and sweat pools down his forehead along with the blood. He quickly gives up and tries the second technique he learned from that 30 minute seminar in 3rd grade; mouth to mouth. He opens Carl's slack jaw and mushes his mouth against his. It's not nearly as pleasant as it usually is since his lips are lifeless and cold. It feels like kissing that plastic doll. He inhales deeply through his nose, taking in so much air that his lungs strain, and blows out into Carl's mouth, clamping his fingers down around the dead boy's nose.

He does this ten times, sixteen times, twenty four times...until he's light headed and blue in the face. He finally collapses on his side with a scream of frustration and loss. Glenn, Daryl, and Glenn look down at him with teary eyes full of sympathy and pity. Michonne presses her fingers desperately to his neck again, muttering prayers to a god she doesn't believe in under her breath. Ron hears her pleas and starts to cry, feeling useless and broken.

He hears Michonne screech, a sound so unfitting for her and reminding him of a goose. He squeezes his eyes shut, knowing that the absence of a pulse under her finger tips has her broken.

27.) Lovesick: *slash*

"Ron, are you feeling ok?" Jessie asks as her son walks in the front door and plops down on the sofa, flushed in the face and fidgeting like a kid with ADHD times two.

"Uh...y-yeah," he mutters, running a shaky hand through his hair and keeping his eyes locked on the carpet.

"You don't look so good, honey. You look feverish," Jessie says with worry, making her way across the room and putting her palm to his forehead to check his temperature. "You feel warm. You sure you're feeling ok?"

"Um, my stomach is a little...quesy," he admits sheepishly, squirming more under his mother's gaze.

Jessie nods. "You look sick. Have you been feeling quesy all day?"

Ron pauses to think, then shakes his head. "N-no, only for the last couple of minutes actually."

Jessie nods, brow furrowing with worry. "Why don't you go up to your room and lay down? When your dad gets home he'll take a look."

Ron nods and shakily stands up and wobbles his way up the steps and to his room, clutching his side so hard that his knuckles turn white as coke.

A few minutes later, Jessie pops her head in her son's room to check on him, thermometer and motrin in hand.

"Hey baby, just came to check on you," she says as she observes her son slumped over on his side and staring at the ceiling. "I've got some motrin and I wanted to take your temperature."

Ron doesn't reply as his mother sits down on his bed and offers him the capful of pink liquid.

"Ron."

"...What?"

His mom motions for him to take the medicine, looking even more concerned now. He swallows the vile stuff with a cringe before flopping back over and tracing his lips with his one hand and his other flying back to grip at his side. His mom notices this and drops the thermometer, going wide eyed.

"Does your side hurt?" she asks worriedly.

Ron nods, closing his eyes.

"Oh shit," Jessie mutters, hopping to her feet. "Please tell me that's not your right side."

"Uh…." he drawls, squeezing his side even harder and cleaving his tongue to the roof of his mouth.

"Oh shit, oh shit, shit," she mutters, shaking her head. "It is. That's your appendix. Ok, shit. Um….stay here, I'm gonna run and go get your dad. Don't move and don't worry, ok?"

Ron doesn't reply, sighing out heavily through his nose, his frazzled and dazed mind still caught up in replaying what happened fifteen minutes ago over and over again.

Jessie returns about six minutes later with Denise in tow (her husband had been busy performing a rather serious surgery: removing a bullet from some poor unfortunate woman's lung).

"Ron?" Jessie calls as she sprints up the stairs. "Denise is gonna look at you, ok? You feeling alright?"

"Uh…..yeah," he mutters, rolling over as his bedroom door is thrown open to reveal his very distressed mother and Denise.

"Hey Ron," Denise greets, walking over to his bedside and placing a hand on his forehead like his mother had done earlier. "You're not looking too hot, huh? How are you feeling?"

"Um," Ron mutters, closing his eyes again. "I don't think I'm sick."

Denise can't help but laugh. "You sure look sick. You've got a fever and your mom told me your right side hurts really bad, and I can tell from the way you're gripping it. She said you feel nauseous too. That's not good Ron, those are symptoms of appendicitis. You know what that is?"

"Isn't that when your appendix, like, blows up or something?"

"Yeah, something like that," Denise says as she rolls the lanky boy over onto his other side and lifts up his hoodie so she can feel up his side. "Tell me if touching you hurts, ok?"

Ron shakes his head. "Um...I'm not sick...I'm just….shocked."

Denise's eyebrows knit together as her hands run over Ron's side and she finds that his appendix is not swollen at all, ruling out her previous diagnosis. "What do you mean?" she asks.

"Ron?" his mom questions from the doorway.

Ron blushes. "Something really….surprising happened and…" he groans, burying his head in his hands as he remembers once again what happened. "I did something stupid."

"Well, I suppose that could account for the shaking and sometimes people spike anxious fevers. That doesn't explain your side hurting though," Denise says as she yanks Ron's hoodie back down and takes a step back.

Ron sighs and shakes his head. "I ran so fast that I've got stitches….that's all."

Denise nods. "Alright….so…..are you going to share what happened or is it too personal?"

Ron just shakes his head and groans pitifully again. "I'm such an idiot," he mutters. "I screwed it up. I blew it."

Denise takes that as her que to go, knowing this is probably strictly family business, and she leaves Jessie with her son. Jessie sits on her son's bed and peppers him with questions the second she's out of the bedroom.

On her way back to the infirmary, Denise runs into Carl….literally. Both stagger backwards in surprise.

"O-oh, uh….sorry Denise," Carl mutters, looking flustered. Like Ron, he's shaking and red in the face.

"No big deal. Are you ok, Carl? You don't look so good."

Carl cringes and sighs. "Yeah….I just….."

"What?" Denise prompts gently.

"I did something really stupid and fucked a lot of stuff up."

"Oh, I'm sorry. Do you need to talk about it?" She offers.

Carl quickly shakes his head. "Gaah! No, I'm...I'm good. I don't wanna hold you up or anything."

"Trust me, it's a slow day for me. Go ahead, shoot kiddo."

"I um….well….I kissed somebody and it was really stupid of me, ok? I kissed them and...then they ran away from me before I could apologize."

"Geez. Did they say anything to you?"

Carl looks at his feet and shakes his head. "No...they just ran like hell. I probably scared them off forever, huh?"

Denise pats him on the shoulder, smiling knowingly. "I don't think so….but….I do think you got them sick."

Carl stares at her in confusion. "Wh-what?"

"You gave them what you're clearly suffering from right now. You made them really lovesick."

28.) Murky:

"I don't think this water's safe to drink," Carl warns, still panting as Abraham dunks a canister under the dark surface of the filthy lake, adorned with walker bits bobbing around on the surface.

"I ain't gonna drink it right away," Abraham responds, chest heaving as he breathes heavily. "I'm just collectin' it. I'll give it to Rosita later to purify. I don' know how to do it, but she sure as hell does."

Ron watches the ginger as he places his hands on his knees and puffs out, face bright red with exhaustion. "We...we told her we were gonna meet up at that CVS if we got separated...right?"

"Yeah," Carl says, leaning back against a tree. "So….I guess we'll circle back around and head there in a few minutes. I just hope….we don't have to detour too much because of the hoard."

Ron shakes his head. "We lost 'em because a car siren went off somewhere East of here. We'll probably be….ok if we cut back around, back by the train tracks."

"Sounds like a plan," Carl says with a nod, starting to finally regain his breath after the mad dash from the swarmed mall parking lot. He shifts the heavy bag of baby supplies, intended for Maggie's newborn, and straightens up. "I just hope Rosita, Aaron, and Daryl got away and are ok."

"Me too. They probably are, I've come to the conclusion that Daryl is an immortal among men," Ron jokes, shooting his friend a reassuring smile.

Carl returns the favor before loudly clapping his hands and turning towards the third member of the party. "You ready Abraham?"

The red haired man doesn't respond. He's dropped the canister and it's disappeared under the murky surface. He's gone totally rigid and still, like a gargoyle.

"Abraham?" Ron questions, taking a step towards his run-mate.

The man still doesn't move or reply, staring at the water with half-lidded eyes, rather lizard like in appearance.

"Abraham?" Carl asks worriedly. "Can you hear us?"

After a few tense seconds of silence Abraham lowly replies. "It's the….the water."

"What about it?" Ron asks, quirking an eyebrow in confusion.

"The water," Abraham says again. "It's….murky."

"Yeah, that's why we shouldn't drink it until Rosita purifies it," Carl says in confusion, not sure WHAT this odd conversation is about or WHY they're having it. "Are you ok, Abraham?"

Abraham nod sand sighs out heavily through his nose and closing his eyes as if in pain. "It looks like Kyle's eyes did. It reminds me of my son's eyes….they looked like this, dark and murky. From the second he opened them as a newborn, they looked like this and I remember how he just….stared around that hospital room with 'em."

Carl and Ron remain silent and give the man a few moments to regain his composure. After about three minutes Abraham loudly and emotionlessly barks at Ron and Carl to start to head back around to the cross section they came from, murky water forgotten, or rather buried in his conscience again underneath the rubble of his dead children.

29.) Warm: *slash*

Sometimes at night, Carl wakes up and forgets he's safe. He forgets that outside his sturdy and secure house, there are even more secure and well guarded walls that protect him from any harm. He wakes up scared, groping at his side for his holster and shivering again like he's sleeping on the ground in the boonies or on the floor of some abandoned and rodent infested apartment. He sometimes can even hear moaning and groaning and smell rotten flesh. He can feel harsh winds that aren't there bite at him and hear imaginary people screaming and yelling and crying out for the mercy of death. Sometimes it's so vivid that he lets out a shout and bolts up right, backing off the edge of his bed.

He wakes up scared, cold, and thinking that he's about to be slain or ripped apart by decaying hands.

It used to be worse though, when he first arrived at Alexandria's front stoop. Now he only feels cold and scared for a few moments when he wakes up. Now he wakes up wrapped up in secure arms that envelope him like a homemade sweater. He wakes up to find he's still sharing Ron's body heat, and once he's calm, he curl's even closer to him. Sometimes Ron's awake, pulled from his sleep by Carl's squirming and shouting. Those are the best times because Ron gives him a sad smile, pushes his hair off his forehead, and presses a warm sleepy kiss there before pulling him closer and murmuring stupid gooey things in his ear until he drifts off again.

Carl still feels like he's dying when he awakens, but now it's a much more pleasant way that he never even considered or thought was real.

30.) Flower: *slash*

"So….is this thing you guys are doing tonight….is it a date?" Enid asks, raising an eyebrow.

"Um….sort of I guess. Can you just, like, hang out with your boyfriend?" Carl asks with a shrug. "I mean, I'm seriously asking because I have no freaking clue how this kinda stuff works."

Enid smiles. "Don't worry, Ron doesn't either. Actually, earlier today he was asking me..….oh wait, I probably shouldn't tell you," she says teasingly in a sort of sing song way.

"What?" Carl asks curiously. Enid smiles again when she realizes Carl bit the bait.

"I promised him I wouldn't tell you," Enid says lowly , patting Carl on the back. "Sorry."

Carl rolls his eyes. "C'mon Enid, just tell me already."

"I wish I could but I can't."

"I'll just ask Mik then, you tell him everything anyway and unlike you, he doesn't know how to keep his mouth shut."

"Ok, fine...Ron and I were talking earlier and he was worried that he wasn't doing this whole 'dating thing' right, as he put it. He was explaining to me that he was well aware neither of you are exactly….romantic people but that he thought he was doing it wrong. So….he asked me what I would want my boyfriend to do for me on a daily basis and how I'd want him to treat me."

Carl stares at her dubiously and feels his stomach cramp nervously. "But….he realizes you and I obviously will want different stuff out of a relationship, right? I mean, besides the fact that you're a chick and I'm a dude, we're different people in general."

Enid cackles, almost evilly, and nods. "I don't know, alls I know is that he asked me. So I told him."

Carl pales, hoping Ron didn't abide to her answers. "What did you tell him?"

"I told him that I wanted my boyfriend to treat me with respect and give me personal space when I need it, which is something we have in common," Enid starts. Carl can't help but sigh in relief. That's not bad at all and it's true, Carl does need his space and his alone time or he gets a little stir crazy.

"I told him that I'd want my boyfriend to greet me with a kiss and a few flowers."

Carl blanches again and groans, feeling extremely uncomfortable at the mere thought of Ron showing up at his front door with a bouquet of flowers that he pulled at the park, clumps of dirt still sticking to the roots, and with a big nervous grin on his face.

He buries his face again in his hands and mutters something about killing himself when he thinks about his DAD answering the door and seeing that. His dad is already a little weird when Ron shows up at the front door, he can't even imagine how awkward and interrogative he'd be if Ron was standing there with flowers.

Enid laughs as she watches her friend cringe and groan.

"You don't think he'll show up at my house tonight with….flowers, do you?" He asks weakly, saying flowers in such a way that you'd think he was talking about a whore of a girlfriend he was bringing home that everyone disapproved of.

Enid shrugs. "I honestly don't know. He might, I mean, he did ask me for advice so…"

Carl groans again and shakes his head. "Oh crap, I hope he doesn't. If my dad answers the door-"

Enid bursts into laughter before he can further elaborate.