"Mike! Miranda! Dinner's ready!" Mrs. Teavee called as she set the meatloaf onto the dinner table. Mike and his sister got out of their rooms and took up two of the seats at the table. Their parents soon followed.
"Well, how was everyone's day?" John said to initiate a conversation.
"I got a B on my chemistry test," Miranda muttered disappointedly.
"You're still going on about that? Drop it already," her irritated brother said.
"Mike, don't be like that," his mother scorned. "This is something your sister obviously takes seriously. Even though you really shouldn't worry that much about it, dear."
"Yeah," Miranda's father patted her back, "a B once in a while isn't bad. Just try to do better next time." He looked at Mike, "So what's going on with you? Your mother told me that you met up with that Violet girl again."
"Yeah, that was really awkward," Mike said, sinking his fork into his mashed potatoes.
"How come?" his mom questioned.
"I dunno, it's just that—"
"You know, you should ask her to come over here sometime. Get to know her better," Mr. Teavee insisted.
Mike jumped up in his seat. "Are you crazy?! Do you even remember who she was?"
"Calm down, Mike, of course I remember her. She was the one with the blonde hair and the blue track suit."
"Yeah. But is that all you remember about her? You don't remember the annoying, incessant gum chewing? Her bragging about all her trophies, awards, and achievements? Her thinking she's better than anyone else at everything?"
"Now that you mention it," his dad pondered, "no. Actually, I don't. But even if she did act like that, I think you should give her another chance."
"Why is everyone telling me that?"
"Because," his father continued, "you need to learn to be more social with people."
"Again with being social." Mike prepared to tune out of the same speech he's heard from his parents time and time again. He continuously poked at his meatloaf with his fork as he wandered in his own thoughts and his dad went on his soapbox.
"…Were you listening to me, Mike?" his father scowled.
"Yeah."
John looked at his son's relatively full plate. "You've barely eaten any of your food."
"I guess I'm just not hungry," Mike said as he pushed his chair away from the table and got up to go back to his room.
"You know I don't like you wasting food like that. Not to mention that you really should be eating more as a growing boy," Mr. Teavee tried to reason with his son, but to no avail. As Mike was strolling through the hallways to get to his bedroom, he couldn't help but feel just a little bit guilty about his behavior towards his father.
On the following day, once the final bell rung and a sea of preteens emerged from the classroom doors into the school hallways, Mike located Violet and reluctantly approached her,
"Hey, Violet."
"Oh, hi, Mike," she smiled.
"Well, I heard from some people that you moved into a house on the same street as mine."
"You live on Oak Street too?"
"Yeah."
"Oh wow! Looks like we're even closer than we expected."
"Yeah," Mike let out a forced chuckle to try to make things a bit more casual, but he could tell it didn't help. "Anyway, since we live so close to each other, do you think we could walk home together?" He asked uncomfortably, because he knew unintentional ideas could be implied from that question.
"Yeah. Of course. That's okay with me."
"Great." As the two of them were walking, they reached the bicycle rack, and Mike unlocked his bike from it to carry it along home.
"You know, Mike, you're a lot nicer now than when I first met you on the day of the chocolate factory tour," Violet said.
"What, did I act like a jerk or something?"
"No, not really. It's just that you seemed like you didn't want to talk to anyone. Like you didn't want to be there at all."
"Well, as amazing as the factory was, I didn't really want to be there. I don't even like chocolate. But I only remember being a jerk towards Willy Wonka, since he kinda deserved it."
"Yeah. That guy was weird."
"Right? With his hair and his voice and that crazy puppet show that caught on fire," Mike said in a passionate tone, since he could finally vent out all his bottled up rants to someone who understood.
"That had to be the weirdest day of my life," Violet responded.
"It's funny you should say I was the jerk, since you weren't exactly an angel that day yourself," Mike said snidely.
"I know. Sometimes I think I can get way too obsessive about winning." Mike was surprised by her honest response. "Especially when it came to competing against my best friend back in Georgia, Cornelia Prinzmetal. Though lately I've been catching myself do it more and more often and I'm trying to break that behavior. It's mostly my mom, though. She's the one who's always pushing me to accomplish more and more. But I don't hate her for it, and I still love her, of course. And it's not like I don't like the feeling of winning myself, 'cause I do."
"I don't think that's something you should be ashamed of; I think everyone loves the feeling of winning."
"Yeah, I guess so."
"Oh, I just remembered!" Mike said. "My dad wanted me to ask you if you wanted to come to my house sometime."
"What is all this? First you walk home with me, now you want me to come to your house?" Violet asked curiously.
"Well, I don't know. It's just my dad. He wanted—"
Violet started giggling, "I'm just joking. We live so close, why not? I'll just have to ask my mom. You've met her. You know how she can be."
"Yeah." Mike and Violet were approaching the Teavee household, so Mike bid his newly formed friend farewell as he walked up the driveway, "Well, I'll see you tomorrow, I guess."
"See ya!" Violet waved goodbye.
