CHAPTER 4
A/N: I should name this: the Really Choppy Chapter. That's pretty much what it is, and I apologize. I think it was pretty hard for me to piece this one together, because it's kind of a filler. I apologize for that as well. Also for the fact that it's a whole crapload of dialogue. I really will try to make it less in further chapters, because I'm pretty sure there aren't many people out there who like to read quotation after quotation. But the next few installments in the great Stolovan adventure should improve!
Also, just a random note: Queen and Journey greatly inspire me. I'm currently obsessed with Queen's "Good Old-Fashioned Lover Boy." Cute, great song!
NOW, personal notes!
To Cupcake-Queen: I'm so happy, looking back on your review now, that we've become a little closer. I think it's really something special! I won't call us good friends yet, because I don't want to speak for you. I still consider us friends, though, and I hope you feel the same! w And I can't thank you enough for your one review, always special for being the first! 3
To Apfelbier: Thanks also for the review! I hope you continue to keep up with this story, it's still going! I really really really REALLY appreciate your feedback!
To Catherine, whom I hope is reading this: This story WILL be completed. I have no plans whatsoever on abandoning it. Stolovan is also one of my top pairings, and I'm going to see to it that there is a nice, long, complete Stolovan fic on here! I think I want it as much as YOU do! But, on a more unfortunate note, the update intervals will probably not be improving. My first two chapters were done quick because I had most of them pre-written in advance. And I'm still such a young person, and I can do very little to control my schedule and how much free time I have on my hands. Also my family shares one laptop, so I can't always work on it. And the next chapter might take an especially longer time to get written because I'm visiting family and friends in Japan this holiday season, so it's safe to assume that I won't get much done during that time. I'm really sorry and all, that you have to wait a long time for a new chapter that isn't even that great, but like I said, I can't control very much! Despite this, Catherine, I hope you continue to keep reading this, because this little butterfly needs as much support as it can possibly get. :)
To other readers, if you're out there: please leave a review if you have anything to say! You're comment will definitely be regarded in the next chapter, and anything is appreciated!
Dammit. That's like, the eight time now that my lead has broken. I scowled and repeatedly pressed the top of my pencil to release more lead. I guess I was really under stress, and was writing too fast and too hard for my own good.
Heidi had taken a lot of goddamn notes. My hand was getting cramps from writing so much. And I wasn't even writing all of it.
But damn. These were some fine notes.
I wish I could take awesome notes like this. She had every little detail in here! And not the abstract, filler-kind of details, but ones that were actually very relevant and helpful towards he data collection. It was really great and all, but . . . maybe not for my hand. I wish I was bi-handed, so I could flip flop between writing hands.
As I was slowly coming to the end of my (Heidi's) notes, I heard that one peculiar sound that always put me on edge.
Bi-ding!
I don't know why you can't close Skype. It is the most annoying thing. Ever. Especially when the most annoying person ever is bugging you endlessly on it.
For a second, I stopped writing and just sat there at my desk, not wanting to look up. I guess I was just really hoping that another message wouldn't pop up so I could just-
Bi-ding!
Okay, really? I sighed and put my pencil up.
Of course it was Clyde. Of course! Who else bugs Kevin Stoley with stupid bullshit?
Hey man, whatcha doin
I gazed at the screen with tired eyes.
Trying to work. And ignore you.
I didn't bother picking up my pencil and going back to work. You just can't when Clyde's on Skype.
Hahaha stop being a broody-pants
Okay. Maybe it is possible. I immediately picked up my pencil and got back to work, without a single thought of replying.
I thought for a second that maybe he wouldn't reply.
Bi-ding!
But I mean, seriously. Who was I kidding?
Did u kno that we r being assigned a proj tomorrow in ss?
Fascinating.
Yea bro. So do u wanna b partners or wat
I shook my head and said, "Nooooooo . . ." and typed in exactly that.
Noooooooooo.
Awh y bro? :'(
Because I don't want to be the one doing all the work.
Ill do work. I promise
No. I'm not stupid. I'm not going to work with you, Clyde.
Come on bro im like, ur only friend in that class anyway!
I sat dumbfounded at my desk for a few seconds.
What's he talking about? He is so not my only friend there.
I have so many friends in that class.
I have so many goddamn friends in my fucking social studies class.
So many, many friends.
So many friends.
So many.
Friends.
So, so, so many-
I stood up abruptly. I walked out of my bedroom and into the bathroom, right across the hall. I stood in front of the mirror and looked myself in the eye.
I grabbed the edges and pulled myself forward, and banged my forehead against it.
"Goddammit I am such a fucking loser."
I ended up being Clyde's partner after all. Because, you know; I just didn't feel like being partners with anybody else in that class. They were all my friends. They were being too friendly to me.
"Whatever you pull out of this hat," began our teacher, Ms. Molitor, "will be you and your partner's essay prompt. And remember, you have to somehow tie it to Medieval Europe."
I sighed. If it's an essay, then it's a no-brainer to assume that I'll be doing all the work. Like I'm not used to it.
Ms. Molitor came around every one's desks, and since Clyde decided to sit behind me, I was going to be the one pulling the prompt out of the hat. With my luck, it'll probably be something terrible.
When she came around to me, I found myself feeling oddly scared. Like something really weird was going to happen as soon as I pulled a prompt out of the hat. Like, a huge chain of event would begin. It was one of the weirdest feelings ever.
Trying to shake it off nonetheless, I quickly reached into the hat and pulled out a prompt. I was feeling nervous now. It really wasn't making any sense.
I cautiously opened up the folded piece of paper.
Baking.
Our prompt was baking.
How the fuck are we supposed to write a whole entire essay on Medieval Europe baking? I mean, we can do it . . . but how can something like that possibly get us a good grade?
I felt Clyde tap my shoulder, and I turned to see him leaning over eagerly in his seat.
"What didja get?" he asked curiously, trying to read what the paper said from his seat.
With a frustrated feeling in my stomach, I handed it to him. And as soon as he read it, the eager smile dropped from his face.
"Baking?" he read out loud. "That is so lame."
I snatched it back.
"Not like the prompt matters to you anyway," I shot at him. I turned around in my seat and faced front.
"What?" he asked. He lightly shook my shoulder and put his face by my ear. "What do you mean?"
I clenched my jaw. "Figure it out," I said bluntly.
He paused and then slowly sat back in his chair. There was silence between us (oh my, Clyde? Silence?) as Ms. Molitor continued handing out prompts, and a puzzled Clyde tried to decipher what I had just told him. Too bad it wouldn't last very-
"Awh hey, no," Clyde cooed, grabbing my shoulder again and leaning over his desk to talk to me in a quiet voice. When he spoke it sent shivers down my spine, and made me want to cover my ears and run. Only because it tickled. "I know what you mean now. And I promise I'll do work!"
I don't know why I wasn't swatting his face away from my ear like the fat fly he is. I just let him sit there and say stupid things to me. I could've at least slap his hand away. But I didn't.
"No you won't," was all I said to him. For some reason, I couldn't come up with anything better to say.
He began to drum his fingers on my shoulder, which began to agitate me. Still, I didn't push him off.
"I made a promise to you, bro," he said heartily. I rolled my eyes. "And Donovans keep promises."
I sighed. I finally brushed his hand off of my shoulder and slumped back into my seat. I don't know why I couldn't just do that before.
"Whatever, Clyde," I replied, breathing out tiredly.
I didn't say anything, but Clyde's promise statement was the worst lie I have ever heard.
LINEBREAK
I dropped Heidi's journal on her desk before I sat down in my seat across from her.
"Thanks so much," I told her, grinning. "You really saved my ass there."
She smiled. "Did you get everything you needed?"
I began storing my things under the desk as I replied, "Yeah, definitely. You take awesome notes by the way," I told her. "They helped so much."
"It's not a problem," she said, turning back to her desk. Her lively and cheerful tone faltered as she added, "Let's just say we're even now. For anything that might happen . . . in the future."
Confused, I glanced up at her. She had one finger on her journal, slowly spinning it around on her desk with a lost look in her eyes.
Before I could ask what she meant, our teacher instructed us to take out our notes and lab reports. Class was starting.
I didn't talk much at lunch. The whole business with Clyde and Bebe had started again, and the rest of us kind of shifted to the other end of the table. I didn't see Heidi anywhere. I didn't try to look for her, either. I had kind of just got the feeling that even if I did seek her out, she wouldn't explain what she had said in Tech class. It was all so fishy.
The lunch passed by normally. Token listened to music through his Beats headphones, but was chatting with everyone at the same time. Even the weird kids, or ones he didn't know. Such a good man.
Tweek was sitting next to Token, hunched over, eating his lunch rather nervously. He reminded me of a cold bunny. Maybe like the one I had seen that one morning . . .
Bleh. I don't like to dwell on the past.
Craig was next to me. If I was blind, I would still be able to tell if Craig was next to me or not. He smells. Not a bad smell, no. But he constantly smells like Sharpie and whatever kind of cologne he uses. Since he's one of those guys who keep their backpack on all day, he always has his Sharpies with him. When he's having a really bad day, it irritates my nose because of how much Sharpie nonsense he's scribbling all over himself. I don't get why he does that all the time.
Well, I actually dunno about that. Maybe it's that one thing that he does to remember things. He writes on his arms about what he's feeling, or what he wants to remember later on. Maybe that's his thing. Token has a classy little flip-note thing he carries in his back pocket along with his phone and wallet, and I know he writes down stuff in there. Tweek has thick rubber bands that he puts around his wrists with reminders written with pen on them. I think that's pretty nifty.
Clyde doesn't have a system. He doesn't remember shit. Ever.
And me? Well, you know mine by now. My sticky notes on my computer.
Clyde's a fucking idiot.
He's making me find a date.
He's going to make me fail my classes.
My sticky notes usually help me remember the important things. Ha. Ha.
"You seem lost, Stoley."
I snapped myself back into focus and looked around to see who said that.
"Is something on your mind?"
I stared at Craig. He was smirking triumphantly at how startled I was. Forcing myself to relax, I glanced away from him.
"Yeah, kinda."
"Obviously."
Now I was just confused. For like, the hundredth time today. I looked back at him. "Huh?"
"You never let other people know something's bugging you," he said, his smirk gone, replaced with something that was somewhat concern. "I'm a little more observant than you think, Kevin."
This time I turned my whole head away from him. He's probably right. Craig's always good at reading people, anyway.
"Oh." I looked at my lunch, unblinking. "You've got me there."
"So," he said, leaning in a little closer. "You gonna tell me what's up?"
I didn't have to think before slowly shaking my head. "No."
He chuckled and turned back towards his lunch, too. "So now that I've mentioned it, you go and close yourself up again."
I shifted uneasily. Craig doesn't like to read books, but he sure is good at reading people.
He quickly patted my arm and smiled. "Whatever you do, you know you can talk to me." He gathered up his lunch and began to leave. "Catch you later, Stoley."
I watched him go, and he thumped a peace sign over his heart before spinning around and retreating. Sometimes I wish I could be as carefree as Craig.
I smelled sweet perfume, and then a nudge on the shoulder. I turned to my left and saw Clyde's back, and his hand waving as Bebe left. I inched myself away from him.
"Oh man, this dance is gonna be the shit," Clyde said, finally turning around to face me. "Bebe and I were just now talking about our matching outfits."
I stared at him. "We need to dress?" I asked in despair. I wasn't going to say much about him and Bebe, because I didn't want him to go on and on and on about her. I just wanted to avoid bringing her up.
He just stared right back. "Are you serious right now?" he asked in disbelief. He rolled his eyes over dramatically. "It's pretty much a Christmas dance, Kevin. Of course you need to dress up!"
I felt slightly sick. "And it's in three days, huh," I said bleakly.
"Yeah. Friday."
I looked up from my lunch and met his hazel eyes with my blue ones. I I bet looked like I was going to say something really important, because I took notice of the expectant gleam in his eyes. I think he was holding his breath a little, too. I don't know how you hold your breath a little, but it seemed like that's what he was doing. He was probably hoping I was going to suggest something like, "hey Clyde, wanna pick out my outift?" or maybe "we should shop for stuff together!" Nope; not a chance.
I opened my mouth to say something and his eyes subtly widened. Hehehe. Sucker. I closed my mouth and shrugged helplessly, and immediately his posture deflated and his eyes lost interest.
"I guess I just have to pull something together then, don't I?" I said, trying not to grin with malicious self-satisfaction.
It was Clyde's turn to sigh this time. "Ugh, Kevin, you're absolutely hopeless."
I snickered. "And you're definitely a hypocrite."
He narrowed his eyes for a second, but then grinned and punched me playfully in the shoulder.
"You asshole," he said loftily. He laughed. I didn't. He started to unwrap the Chalupa thing he had brought for lunch and took a huge bite. I don't know what the hell happened to losing weight. "So anyways, what are we going to do for this project?"
It pleased me that he used we, but I know that meant absolutely nothing. I wonder if I started using I if he would notice it and stop to correct me.
"Well, I was thinking I should just look into it a little, first," I said as nonchalantly as I could. I could not let him see past my facade. He could not know I was scheming against him.
"Oh, yeah, that's probably a good start," he said casually. Strike one, Donovan.
"And maybe later, I'll type up a quick essay on it. It shouldn't take me too long," I said, trying to put effort on the too to make me seem modest. And to see if it distracted him from the mes and Is.
Much to my surprise, he smiled and wiggled a finger at my face. "You mean us?"
Huh, only one strike. That's pretty impressive, I must admit.
"Remember what I said, Kevin. I'm doing this project, too. No matter what kind of crazy work you wanna do." He took another bite of his Chalupa and munched thoughtfully. "It's both of our project. A bro can't leave a bro hangin'."
I couldn't help but smile a little. Only a little. "Heh. I guess the work can't get too complicated, then."
He made a face at me, and then swallowed. "You know what I had in mind?"
I shrugged. "Shoot."
"I was thinking," he began, putting his lunch down and turning to me. "Since my mom is Dutch, right? Well, I've seen a few cookbooks in the pantry, and I thought maybe we could bake some things from there! And I dunno, maybe bring them to class or something."
There was a pause between us as he waited for my reply. I was considering his idea. After a moment, I said doubtfully, "I already see a few flaws in your plan,"
He snorted. "Fine. Like what."
"Well, the recipes in there probably aren't going to be medieval Dutch recipes, Clyde." All in all, I thought the idea seemed okay, but I actually wanted to get a good grade on this thing. "Besides, she's grading us on our report."
"Then we aren't going to have any fun," he mumbled disappointingly.
"It's not supposed to be fun; it's a report," I pointed out.
"We could still have fun, if we tried," he protested.
"No. If you're going to work with me, then you should know that we're going to be taking it seriously," I said.
Clyde blew a raspberry and then said, "Bo-ring!"
"Whatever, Clyde," I grumbled. "This is probably like, our last big grade for the semester. Be prepared to work your ass off."
"Ugh," he said spitefully. "This is gonna suck. We should just cook stuff."
I shrugged. Not like we could cook good, anyway. If we made something, it would probably turn out like burn jelly. At least, that's how I expect it'd turn out. I don't know if Clyde's good at baking or not. I know I'm not. Well, actually, I don't know. I guess I just don't cook too often, so I can't say anything.
After I saw that our conversation had come to an end, I slowly started eating my lunch again. A few seconds had passed before I realized that Clyde hadn't started eating again, and was still turned towards me. I don't think he was looking at me though, or else I wouldv'e gotten that shiver-y feeling that I get when people are watching me.
". . . Kevin?"
I swallowed and looked at him. His eyes were cast down. "Uh, what?"
There was an uncomfortable pause, and he shifted uneasily.
"How did . . . how did your tech report go?"
Oh. Oh wow. I can't even-just wow. So, he cares a little, after all.
That's cool, I guess.
Before I could stop them, small snippets of memories from that afternoon shot through my mind like a preview for a horror movie. I pushed them away.
"It went fine," I told him quickly, probably to his surprise.
He looked up. "It did?"
I nodded. "Yeah. No thanks to you, though."
He looked to the side. "Oh. Um, yeah. I'm still real-"
I waved him off. "It's okay. Heidi let me use her notes."
He smiled a little, relieved. "That's cool. Heidi's nice, isn't she?"
"Yep," I replied. I saw his smile get a little bigger.
At first I didn't think about it. I just assumed he was happy because me and Heidi got along, which I thought was real nice of him. But before his smile vanished, I detected self-satisfaction in it. He wasn't happy because me and her were friends. It was something else . . .
Heidi and Bebe's strange scene the other day. Did Clyde have something to do with it?
"Why did you say that?" I asked, my tone suddenly changing.
He seemed taken aback for a second. "B-Because she is, isn't she?"
I faltered. Was that really all he had been implying? "Well, yeah, but I mean . . ." I trailed off. I was unable to finish. Clyde was staring at me, eyes glowing with bemusement. I shut my mouth. I was jumping to really far conclusions.
The lunch bell rang, and Clyde stood up quickly. Too quickly, and he looked oddly relieved. Nothing slips past my observing eyes!
"Clyde!" I snapped, standing up and grabbing his shoulder before he fled. "I need to talk to you!"
"Uh, not now! After school, okay?" he said nervously, taking my hand off of his shoulder. He began to snake his way through the mob of students, getting farther and farther away from me. "After school, when we're working on our project!"
He vanished before I could say anymore. I sighed. It was no use trying to pursue him. I would get nothing out of him, and he would most likely slip out of my grasp like he had just now.
I could approach her without a problem, right? C'mon, just do it. All she did was leave you absolutely befuddled (please read that out loud with a lisp, and imagine yourself as the Disney Mad-Hatter)* in tech class when she said whatever she said, which sounded totally important and depressing and dramatic, yet you decided not to question.
Yeah. Just do it. And don't bring that one thing up.
Also, don't say, "I was about to ask you the same thing."
I walked up to her, at her locker. When she saw I had approached, she quickly tucked her hairbrush away and grabbed her bag, then shut her locker. Sheesh, it's just me.
"Uh, hi, Kevin!" she said brightly. Totally unlike what she sounded like in tech.
"Hi," I replied, slowly, to show her that no one was riding a crazy train here. "I was wondering, if you were doing anything after school tomorrow?"
She smiled and replied, "I was about to ask you the same thing!"
"Dammit," I said immediately. Wait, she said that, not me.
"Huh?" she asked, puzzled, and I think a little hurt.
"Sorry. Um, go on," I told her, embarrassed. She didn't look convinced, so I made an encouraging hand motion and added, "Please."
"Uh, alright, but you were the one who was going to ask her something," she said, making me feel like an idiot.
"Fuck, was I?" I asked. Jesus, why am I having such goddamn hard time talking to her today? "My bad."
She peered at me. ". . . Kevin? Are you okay?"
Oh gee, I'm not so sure. Really.
But one thing I am sure about is that the girl who was saying depressing prophetic stuff in tech class over a book of notes somehow concerning our future should not be asking me that.
"I was abo-" I began. I caught myself. "No I wasn't. I was not about to ask you the same thing."
She laughed a little at this. Or, I think she did. Either that, or she puked in her mouth a little. The latter, most likely.
"Uh. Well. Anyway," I started, trying to speak or think normally. I was not yet ready to combine the two, I don't think. "I was wondering if you wanted to go shopping."
Heh. That didn't sound gay at all. Stop getting these ridonculous ideas, Stoley.
"Shopping?" she repeated, her tone sprinkled with interest.
"Yeah. Cause, you know, we need like, matching outfits for the dance and stuff."
"Ohhh, yeah!" she said in sudden realization. She smiled. "Sure! That sounds like fun."
"Okay, cool. And you don't need to bring any money; I'll cover it."
She shook her head profusely. "Oh, no, don't do that. I have money. You don't need to spend your money."
I laughed. "No, don't. I was going to take money from my mom's wallet anyway."
"No! Don't take you're mom's money," she said, laughing along. "That's messed up."
I shrugged. "She won't care."
"Really? She won't?"
I shrugged again. "Nah. I lied. She will. A lot."
She laughed again. "Then don't. I have money, and I don't mind buying bargain clothes."
"Well, I dunno. I think if I told her that I spent it on a girl, she might give me lots more." I smiled at the oh-so-pleasant thought of telling my mom that. She'd be pinching my cheeks again. "But then again, she'd want proof. You'd probably have to have dinner some time if we want it to work."
She smirked. "Whatever works, Kevin. Whatever works."
I grinned. "Alright, I'll figure something out." I began to walk backwards, and then waved. "See you tomorrow."
She waved back. "Bye!"
I turned around and went to find Clyde.
Question.
Am I supposed to hug her when I leave?
"No, Clyde, let's not."
"Please? It's just around the corner! it won't hurt!"
No, no, just NO.
"Clyde. We are not supposed to bake for this project. We are supposed to write about baking."
"Well where's the fun in that?" he asked, making a pout face.
"That's the point!" I said loudly, stopping abruptly in front of him and making him shrink back. "There is no fun involved! It's a report!"
He frowned, and I turned around and resumed walking. "I don't know why you wanted to work with me in the first place," I muttered.
" . . . Because I want to make it up to you."
I stopped. I didn't turn around, though.
"Excuse me."
"You heard right."
That's when I reluctantly turned around and looked at him. He stood there, just as defiantly as I was.
"And why do you want to do that."
He scuffed his shoes around in the thin layer of snow on the sidewalk, and looked up thoughtfully into the sky, squinting one eye.
"Uhh, I dunno. Can you think of a reason?"
I bit my lip. I narrowed my eyes, and he looked back at me.
"I sure can," I said quietly.
He shrugged and displayed a childish grin. "I guess that's it, then."
I cocked my head to the side. "Has the holiday season been making you feel more generous than usual?"
He chuckled and walked up to me, and slung his heavy arm over my weak shoulders. "Nah. It's just this feeling called guilt. It's been eating at me for a little while."
"Must be new," I remarked. Pretty clever, am I right?
"Ah, stop it," he said, laughing. "It's not new. I just haven't seen it in a while."
"Tch, of course," I said dramatically. "Now get your arm off my shoulder."
He snorted at my quick change of tone. "This is what bros do, Kevin. Get used to it."
I kept quiet for the rest of the way (it was short) to my house. And not because I was mad. The opposite, really. We kinda just walked like that, making the occasional joke or comment.
And god fucking dammit, whaddya know. I didn't know what the hell my feelings were doing. It was incredibly retarded. I was pretty happy, first off. But that made me mad. Because it wasn't just happy, it was that pleasant, peaceful, content happy. From . . . watching the sunset, y'know? And well, I was mad, because I was feeling it with Clyde! So my fate was set, it seemed.
I was happy. I was content. I was pissed off. I wanted to bust Clyde's head open. I wanted to cry. I wanted to get my feelings prioritized.
He finally pulled his arm off was we were walking up the steps to my house. As I opened the door and we stepped in, I smelled something sweet and salty, and heard the sound of something being sauteed or stir-fried. Must be my mom making late lunch for herself.
"Kevin, is that you?" she called over the noise.
"Yeah," I called back, kind of annoyed to hear her voice already.
"And Clyde!" he piped up excitedly. We kicked off our shoes and sauntered past the kitchen entrance, where my mom stepped out and gave Clyde a hug.
"Ah, Clyde! Good to see you again," she crooned, trying to be all nice and motherly. She padded him on the back.
"Damn, it smells fine in here," Clyde remarked, eyeing the food on the stove.
My mom grinned and tossed out her hand. "Oh, stop! It's just a quick snack."
I rolled my eyes. I turned Clyde towards the stairs and began to push him up them.
"Go upstairs now. I'll bring up snacks," I told him. he began to say something, but I shoved him and made him stumble, and he just continued onward.
When I went back into the kitchen, my mom had a hand on her hip as she stirred the contents of the pan*.
"Don't push you're friends away when they're complementing my cooking," she said jokingly.
I opened up the side pantry and snatched the Oreos. Before I left, I pointed an accusing finger at her. "Did you hear what you just said? Friends. Yeah, I have friends!" I walked out of the kitchen, and then popped my head back in for a quick second to add, "Your argument is invalid!"
I heard her sigh from the kitchen as I trotted up the stairs. Yes, I know I'm a hopeless case in her eyes. In anyone's eyes, really. Even my own.
I got up to my bedroom and found Clyde pacing slowly in front of my computer, tossing my small penguin plush back and forth in his hands.
"Oh, hey. Oreos," he said, tossing the penguin back on my bed to hold the Oreos instead. Before I could even put my backpack down, he had gotten halfway through one.
"Sheesh, someone skipped breakfast," I mumbled.
"No I didn't," he said, puzzled. My eyebrows went up and I shut my eyelids for a second in recognition of his stupidity.
"Alright, let's get started," I announced after placing my backpack on my bed and turning around to face him.
"Computer?" he asked, mouth half-filled with cookie.
"Not with those hands," I retorted, glancing at his fingers that were dotted with black cookie crumbs. He sheepishly wiped them on his jeans. I walked to my desk and sat down in my chair, and jabbed at a few screens to wake the computer up.
"Where do I sit?" Clyde asked, glancing around.
"You can stand," I suggested.
"Do you really have no other chairs?" he asked in disappointment.
"Most people only have one chair in their room."
"Token has like twenty."
"I don't know if you've realized this or not, but I'm not exactly as rich as Token."
"I'm just saying . . ." he said quietly.
"If you really want, you can put the lid on the hamper in the bathroom and sit on that," I said appreciatively.
He sighed. "It's okay, I'll just stand."
As my desktop came up, I realized in alarm that my sticky notes were still up in the corner. Hoping he didn't yet have a chance to see the one about him, I quickly closed it.
"What was that?" he asked.
Dammit. "Nothing. Just some junk from last year."
While we waited for the programs to clear up, Clyde started to eat another Oreo. He handed one to me.
"Start eating. You're making me feel fat over here."
I smiled and bit into my Oreo and opened it up. You know, maybe this project will be a little fun.
*The original, loopy, crazy Disney Mad-Hatter. I don't know, I just found myself saying "absolutely befuddled" and it really reminded me of him. Puts more humor in the story. Maybe.
*And no, his mom doesn't use a wok. Just a regular pan.
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