"HA!"
The victorious hand that Ella slams onto the table makes their food shake and knocks her half-empty paper cup of coffee directly onto Raivis' lap. He stares at it with a complete lack of emotion. Ella ignores it, crowing, "I told you Leon was queer and did you believe me? No! But I was right because my gaydar is infallible."
Halle eyes the coffee now dripping down onto the floor. "Okay, he's bi. But does he like me?"
"Just because he has the capacity to be attracted to you doesn't mean he is," Raivis says, apparently okay with the lukewarm coffee soaking his pants. "Did he tell you he liked you explicitly?"
"Well, no, but he was kind of sending off signals." Remembering the stuff that went down in the library makes it very tempting to crawl into a hole and hide. "I tripped over and nearly crashed into him, and he was like, 'did you just fall for me?'"
Raivis squints. "Then everyone slow-clapped, right?"
"Huh?"
"No offence, but that sounds so fake," he jives. "There's no way he actually said that."
"But he did," they insist, Leon's teasing expression fresh in their memory. "Then afterward, he asked if his pickup line was that bad. He called it a pickup line!"
Ella leans forward, interest piqued. "And what did you say?"
"I asked if it was really a pickup line. Quote unquote."
She pelts them with her straw wrapper. "He literally said it was, idiot! What was it supposed to be?" Raivis and Erika's wrappers follow, neither of which Halle manages to dodge, and she asks next, "so how did he respond to your stupid question?"
"I went, 'that was a pickup line?' and he said, 'only if you want it to be.' Is that an invitation or something?"
Ella flings a crumpled napkin at them this time. "What the HELL did you think it was?"
"I thought he was just joking around!"
She grabs Halle by the shoulders. "Leon talked to you about wanting a relationship like Achilles and Patroclus', then basically admitted to using a crappy pickup line on you. He's practically asking you out at this point!"
"It still feels like you're looking into this too much," they say, taking the napkin to soak up the spilt coffee. "I mean, friends hit on each other as jokes all the time, right?"
"Do I hit on you?"
"You literally have a girlfriend!"
"What about Raivis, then?"
"I got him a card on Valentine's Day for fun." Halle looks at Ella. "See? That wasn't serious, either. And what about the time I fake-proposed to Erika last year?"
Raivis frowns. "I did call you 'babe' for a whole month during the first term, didn't I?"
They cringe.
"See, that's joke-flirting. What ISN'T joke-flirting is telling someone you want to be in a relationship, then insinuating that they might be attracted to you." Ella digs up a spoonful of rice violently. "Which you are, obviously."
"I am not."
"Leon's all you talk about! Every single time you open your mouth it's Leon this, Leon that, 'guys Leon told me to read another Oscar Wilde play is it good', or 'Leon just DM'ed me these weird emojis what do they mean' — I can't go an hour without hearing you mention him!" She smacks the table again, and Raivis' bottle of soda comes dangerously close to joining the coffee on his lap. "You're head-over-heels for him."
"No."
Raivis grabs his soda before it can make its grand descent. "Watch them come to us like two weeks later going, 'you were right, guys'."
"No," Halle repeats. "Say I'm hypothetically attracted to Leon, which is obviously not true, but let's say that I like him hypothetically." They barely register the words leaving their mouth. "Yes, so say I like Leon hypothetically."
"That's the third time you've said that."
"Anyways. So even if I liked Leon, why would I ask him out or something? I'm not just going to ruin our friendship like that."
"You'll only ruin the friendship if he doesn't like you back and is weirded out by it," Raivis reasons. "I asked Erika out during second year, she turned me down and we're still friends. I think you're just too scared to ask him out."
Ella hums her agreement.
They try to banish the mental image of Leon as they insist, "I'm not telling him how I hypothetically feel. It's not like that would go anywhere, anyways."
The sound of his laughter rings in their ears very unhelpfully.
…
It's already a shock to see both their parents home at four in the afternoon, but what's even more surprising is the sight of them together in the kitchen. On the rare occasion they're home early on a weekday, they're likely in their offices hosting conference calls all evening long.
"Halle," their mother calls over the whir of the coffee machine. "Can you come here, please?"
They oblige, setting their bag down at their usual chair. "Where's Stell?"
"At the library working on an essay." She sits down next to their father with a steaming mug of coffee, which she warms her hands over. "We just wanted to talk to you for a bit."
"Why? Is something wrong?"
She gives them a reassuring yet strained smile. "No, it's nothing serious." Their mother sips from the mug. "Your finals are less than two months away, aren't they?"
They nod warily.
"And your public exams are next year, of course," their father speaks up. "It's not that we think you won't do well, not at all. But we never really discussed what's going to happen beyond that."
"It's high time we talk a bit about your future," she agrees.
Crap, the f-word. Every time it's brought up, even though it's totally stupid and immature of them to think so, Halle feels like curling into the fetal position for the next two weeks. "Uh-huh," they force themself to say.
"Are you still planning to take creative writing in university? You know, with your blog and all that." He looks expectantly at them.
They have to clear their throat before responding. "Yeah, most likely."
"You're really not interested in taking English like Mom did?" He presses. "Or English literature like Stell? He gets to do plenty of writing, too. It'll be easier to find schools that offer broader subjects like those."
It's a question both parents have asked since they first expressed interest in studying creative writing. And as always, Halle's answer is a resolute, "no. I'm sure this is the path I want to take."
Both parents glance at each other, probably having a silent back-and-forth before their mother says, "this is a rather… niche subject to study. No particularly prestigious universities offer creative writing alone, for one. If you want to apply, chances are you'll be going to a smaller school."
"I know."
She lets out a nearly-inaudible sigh. "Well, reputation isn't everything. And… And I guess you could find a decent job after graduating." She sounds like she's assuring herself instead of them. "But I'm sure you know how unstable a salary being a writer can bring."
"I know," they say again, "but it's something I'm passionate about. If I'm going to spend four more years of my life in school, I want to be learning something I love."
Their father furrows his brow. "I guess university isn't the be-all, end-all of preparing for the future," he murmurs slowly, staring down at his glass of water. "If writing doesn't work out, you could always get a certificate in something more practical. I hear bartenders earn a lot these days."
"Yeah, but I can barely pour myself water without spilling half the jug."
He cracks a small smile. "Just keeping your options open."
Their mother's shoulders slump slightly. "Your father's right. If something goes wrong with your writing, you always have an opportunity to hone your other skills." She smiles, too, showing that familiar crinkle around her tired eyes. "Whatever happens, we'll have your back, okay?"
They relax. "Thanks, Mom."
"But just because you won't be applying to a Russell school or something doesn't mean you can let your grades drop," she chides. "You better start preparing for your finals soon."
Halle nods, grabbing their bag to run upstairs. No sooner have they set their stuff down does their phone start ringing. Their heart skips a beat when they realise it's Leon, though they swiftly try to press the feeling down remembering the conversation during lunch. They press "accept call" and put it on speaker while pulling out their history homework. "Hi, Leon."
"Hey," comes the flat reply. "How have you been?"
"I'm doing fine." They crumple up a piece of rough work paper and fling it into the trash can. "Are you okay? You sound kind of tired."
A moment of silence, followed by a sigh. "Yeah, a little. Sorry I called just to be mopey and dumb and stuff. I just wanted to talk to someone."
"What happened?"
"My father called this afternoon."
They raise an eyebrow. Leon's never talked about his family aside from his siblings before. "Your father?"
"Yeah, he called me while I was on a break. Since, you know, we don't really live with him anymore. And he asked me what I plan to do once I turn eighteen. You know, if I'm going to leech off of Yao until he dies or if I'll move out and start working at fast food places or something." He sighs again. "I'm gonna need his help if I want to go to school again, but everyone knows that's not happening."
"Why? You're good at writing. If you put together a nice portfolio some places would like it."
"A portfolio isn't going to help a secondary school dropout get into uni," he laments, "and it's not like I can get a job anywhere else at sixteen."
Thinking back to what their parents said downstairs, Halle tries to argue, "you don't need a degree to get a good job. You could, like, train to be an electrician or something. They earn lots, and I don't think you need lots of qualifications to train."
Silence again, then, "I guess you're right. But it still feels like I screwed up my whole life."
"Don't think that! It's not like you got arrested. That would mess stuff up. But this is literally just school, and I think things are going to sort themselves out sooner or later."
"You mean like in those young adult books where everyone gets a happy ending?"
"Yeah, exactly." They hear Leon snort on the other side of the line, and smile. "You could be an influencer, maybe. You don't need a secondary school diploma to have a big following."
"Huh. Like PuffinReviews."
The mention of their blog makes Halle jump a little, and they make a vague noise in response. "I guess so. But y'know, I have a feeling that we shouldn't be too pressed about our futures. Whatever it throws at us, hopefully we'll make it out in one piece."
