"Afterwards, we can go on that ride; the roller-coaster that goes through the mountain thingy!"
"Sure, we can."
"Neat-o! I can't wait!"
"Me neither."
"Could we stop for some food, though?"
She sat her tray down on a lunch table. I was never too fond of eating in crowds, especially in the cafeteria. Something about the feeling, it was uncomfortable. I leaned forward, pushing the food over with my fork. I didn't enjoy the company of others, though I managed to make an exception for this maturing girl. I looked into her almost golden eyes, a strange shade of green. She smiled gracefully, a warm and welcoming gesture. I did not return the favor.
"Um… Okay. What do you want?"
"Cotton Candy!"
"That's not food."
"Well, then… Pizza."
"Pizza it is."
"Or maybe burgers and fries…"
"Oh, that's fine too."
"And milkshakes!
"Alright, make up your mind quickly. We won't have time for the rides."
"Okay, cousin."
"Alright, do you want Veggie burgers? I know they're your favourite."
"Yeah!"
"Alright then, let's go."
She pulled out her phone, a flashy cellular device. I wasn't too fond of machines. But this lady was classy. She is the last person I'd expect to text for hours and send controversial images to people she had only just met. I know she isn't one of them.
One of the Critters.
I refer to them as critters as they are unnecessary vermin. Not caring of grades unless their Facebook statuses are updated. Not minding if they cause a car accident, claiming the lives of a struggling, working, single mother and her young, new to the world child, as long as they can post a picture of their meal from yesterday's dinner at a local McDonald's. They are not needed. They are Social Shipwrecks.
They are Critters. Twitter Critters. And they don't need to litter these streets.
Buttercup is not one of them.
"Cousin Boomer?"
"Just call me Boomer, okay?"
"Okay! Can I get mustard on mine?"
"You can have anything you want, it's your lunch."
"Thanks! What do you get on yours?"
"I like mayo, and some ketchup."
"I like ketchup too!"
"I like it more on my burgers than on my fries."
"We are opposites, then."
"Boomer, have you read this?" She handed me her cell phone, her face dimming just barely as the light moved away. I clutched the phone, staring into the white screen. ZOO by Otsuichi, my favorite collection of short stories. A large toothy grin crept onto my face as I let out a few chuckles.
"Of course I have." She laughed along, sliding her chair closer to the table, and undoubtedly closer to me.
School dragged on after lunch, but I had maintained my first full conversation with Buttercup. She was easy going, not shy at all. She seemed to be a bright star, a fighter, with not a worry or care for the world around her. She asked for the location of my locker, and I asked for hers. She had followed me upstairs only to run late for her upcoming class. She ran, forcing her books into my locker like a madman. I laughed after her, watching her slender legs heave her weight at the speed of a bullet. Something tells me her teacher was a tough one, hard with enforcing the school laws.
The walk home was annoying and lonely without her. The image of a child version of my cousin appeared in my head, versus the old and current one. Before, when we were kids, me being twelve and him just nine, he had predicted our very future. He saw what I couldn't, and never imagined before.
"We are opposites, then."
He was stern, more serious, more of an adult while uttering these words. Even for a nine year old, childish and irresponsible, clueless and whimsical. He spoke with a chilling tone, but back then it was taken lightly by me, and my three percent full brain.
The fights started later on. Disagreeing, arguments, yelling, cursing and stealing. Our relationship had gone downhill, and for reasons unclear to me at the moment. They became physical, aggressive, mean, cruel.
We don't talk much anymore. We don't get along when we do, but have matured enough to avoid conflict as best we can.
We are opposing. We are opposites. We are disconnected.
He likes ketchup on his fries, I don't.