Your name is now Dave Strider. A good way to describe you is the epitome of cool. When someone needs the opinion of a chill guy who will give it to them straight, they turn to you. John Egbert holds you in the highest respect. There is rarely a time when you lose your cool, and when you do, no one is around to witness it. You don't think you've ever faltered in front of anyone other than your bro. That's what makes you kind of nervous; though you refuse to show it.
This is just John. There's no way he'll ever think you're any less suave. That's what best friends are for.
Damn, you really just came up with that corny line.
You finished packing yesterday. About ninety percent of the haul consists of your bro's puppets and swords. The turntables were the next priority, then came clothes and all the other stuff. Most of it is packed into a UHAUL that's traveling behind bro's truck. The drive has been silent aside from Bro's occasional commentary on the radio or how every house looks the same. You simply nod in agreement and lean your elbow against the door, staring blankly out the window. You do have to agree that a lot of the buildings are very similar to one another in this suburb. If you passed any of your friends' houses just now, you would never know it.
All of them live in D.C. and it's like a stupid joke that you will too. The ride is taking forever and you hope their places aren't hard to find because you feel like you'll get lost.
Eventually the truck stops in front of a tiny house that actually puts the old apartment to shame despite its size. It's almost an exact copy of the ones next to it – great, you'll end up walking into the wrong house. You wish Bro would have found another apartment so it would at least stand out a little.
It's about one in the afternoon when you both finish moving the first few boxes into the building to make way for the furniture. John sends you a text saying he's on the way and you wish him luck with finding it. Since he wants to help with moving the difficult pieces, Bro tells you to take five. You do just that, claiming a seat on the couch that's still inside the UHAUL. Other than asking for the house number, John's father has no trouble finding the way: after a short text conversation, an ugly beige-colored car pulls up behind the UHAUL. A goofy looking kid with square glasses and a terrible case of buck teeth stares in awe at you and then waves excitedly from the passenger seat. His father waves as well but is clearly more composed than John. A pipe hangs from his mouth and he might be pretty tall judging by how close he is to the car's ceiling. He steps out to talk to your brother while John bolts from the restraint of his seat belt.
You expected his speech to be fast-paced when he calls, "Dave, it's really you!" but it just sounds obnoxious instead, which fits John just as well. He approaches you with his arms out and wraps them around your shoulders before you can react. So you don't react at all. This is too surreal and you're so nervous because John is right here. It's like the computer was your one line of defense, and reality has plowed through it.
"Aw man, are you really too cool for hugs?" he asks, his tone dripping with disappointment. When you only shrug in reply, he says, "I thought you would talk more. You never shut up online. Ha ha! Don't be shy!"
When you take out your phone, his expression shows utter devastation. You feel like an ass for acting like this. If you could, you would reply to him. The two of you stand in silence for a moment while your fingers dance across the touch screen until his phone buzzes. He gives you this incredulous look and you can read the meaning behind it in his eyes: Dave, what do you think you're doing? As if to emphasize how much of a jerk you're being, he reads the text aloud.
"Did you seriously just send me a text that says 'sup?'"
He definitely is not amused. You bet he expected you to say hi and tell him a bunch of insane jokes and probably rap. Instead you have to slap him in the face with the awful truth.
You don't talk.
That's why you've always avoided the group chats and don't even own a headset. Sometimes you wonder what your voice sounds like. Too bad you have to find a way to explain that to John. You doubt he knows sign language, and even if he did, it wouldn't help much – you only know the bare necessities. Communication with Bro is hardly communication at all, which is why you never bothered to learn. Striders take care of themselves, and talk is so cheap that Bro doesn't bother doing it.
You type "sorry im not much of a talker" into a blank text and hold it up for John to read since that's easier than waiting for his cell to receive it. He squints at the message even through his huge glasses, and now he seems worried. His bright sky-blue eyes stare at you and he asks, "Is something wrong?" He's really dense sometimes, damn. Luckily your fingers have memorized the touch screen keyboard on your phone. They move as fast as you imagine your mouth would if sounds could come out of it.
"aside from dead vocal chords or whatever the hell happens when youre mute yeah im peachy"
The message takes a few seconds to sink in completely and John is dumbfounded.
"Dave, you could have told us."
You never told anyone except for Rose because she's the only one that wouldn't flip her shit. This is why you had mixed feelings about meeting John. Not being able to talk is like being a high schooler with no car: it's just wrong and makes you fifty percent less cool. Hopefully you'll at least have the car when you turn sixteen.
The hairs on the back of your neck stand up, which is a sign that Bro is watching you. Turning towards the house, you find that he and Mr. Egbert are both looking in your direction as if waiting to see how you handle the situation. No doubt Bro already explained everything to John's old man. You kind of wish you had more time to prepare for this.
John has also taken notice of the adults. He looks back and forth from them to you before opening his mouth again. You stare as his lips form every word with ease.
"I should've expected this much mystery from a Strider," he says facetiously and smiles at you in the dorkiest manner you've ever seen. Thank goodness he's trying to make amends. You punch his shoulder lightly as if you've always been really close real-life friends and nod towards the couch you previously sat on. About time you got shit moving again.
As it turns out, John is one of those people that are entertaining to listen to. He has this drawl that makes him emphasize things a lot more than people usually would, and it also makes him sound kind of whiny. Not everything he says is smart, but it holds your interest. He's exactly the same being in flesh as he is in text. It's sort of a blessing how little effort he puts into being a friend. It just happens, and that makes the situation easier to cope with. He tells you about his home life and his hobbies as if this is your first conversation with him and you don't already know it. He tells you about school and the people you should avoid there. During another five minute break he talks about how his dad almost made him get braces, but John liked himself as he was and so he didn't get them and that was it. There's a long explanation of who sits where in the school cafeteria, what the food is like, and in turn why you should probably consider packing your own lunch – then he recalls the lunch his father used to make for him in elementary school.
For some reason, that sends a pang of jealousy through you: not only does John go to "normal" school (as you will, with added complications), but he also has a real relationship with his dad. Your brother is nothing like that. It's always about seeing who can beat the snot out of the other first. John's dad leaves him notes and lets him know what's up.
Several hours later, most of the furniture is moved in and everyone has agreed to call it a day. Bro has chosen to present himself as a classy motherfucker around Mr. Egbert and he brings out apple juice – your apple juice – for everyone. Not that you mind sharing quality aj, it's just that thinking about your upbringing suddenly has you bitter. You sip from the juice box even when it's empty, letting the noise wrap around the four of you on the front stoop.
"So, I heard about the puppets but I didn't know there were actually that many!" John laughs, attempting to lift the exhausted atmosphere. Your brother stares at him and then snickers a little. No one knows what made Bro think it was funny. The puppets are pretty unnecessary even if they are supposedly awesome. You simply nod to indicate that yes, there are tons of them, and a lot more still to be unpacked.
Egbert refuses to let the conversation die. "You'll have to teach me how to use the turntables someday." he adds cheerily. You give him a thumbs up, which – judging by the look on his face – brightens his day. After that, he starts to make horrible imitations of beatboxing, synthesizers, and bass drops. You can't help snickering at John. He isn't embarrassed in the slightest. That's what you admire about him: nothing gets in the way of being himself.
All of the big stuff is moved in and so are the most important belongings, so Mr. Egbert says they should leave. He's also impressed at how much work got done even though John talked almost the whole time about every item. The poor kid is reluctant to leave and he keeps trying to start more conversations, which doesn't work well since neither you nor Bro talk much.
"It was great finally getting to see you!" John says with a bittersweet tone as he opens the passenger door of his dad's dinky car. "This sounds creepy, but I can't stop staring. It's weird to finally be able to match a face with that smooth Pesterchum guy."
You whip out your phone and type "eh I expected as much" and show it to him, earning a punch on the arm that's considerably weaker than the ones you give. Goodbyes are exchanged and you wave as Mr. Egbert drives off. Then it's just you and your brother again. It's kind of like the fun is completely sucked out of your day- then it hits you that you were actually having fun, not just going through the normal bland motions. You have fun when you play online games with your crew, but meeting John in person was like a breath of fresh air. If only you asked to have him spend the night or stay for dinner. The rest of the evening will probably be spent ignoring your brother while he does the same.
Thankfully, a text from Rose gives you something new to focus on. It's a simple "How did it go?" Her timing is spot-on.
"not as rough as i thought," you reply.
"John is a good person. He wouldn't let anything go wrong. Not to mention his abundance of conversation topics makes up for your lack of words."
"real considerate of him aint it"
"I was poking fun, Dave. Though I would say that it's a good thing. He never allows awkward silences."
The conversation is put on hold because Bro says "Back yard" right in your ear even though you thought he went back inside already. You give him one of those looks that says you really don't feel like practicing. As always, it fails. He has this crazy idea in his head that the two of you need to practice swordplay daily and you've never gotten out of it before. You trudge slowly to your room to stall, which irritates him: he has already gotten his katana and when he notices that you're not even in your room yet, he charges at you in the hallway. You have no choice but to haul ass into your room and shut the door. It buys you a whole second to grab one of the swords out of a box that has yet to be unpacked completely, and when you turn around he's already swinging at you. You jump to the side, barely escaping what would have been a nasty cut. In your back pocket, your phone vibrates: probably Rose wondering why you didn't say anything sarcastic yet.
Your room is filled with the clanging of metal on metal as swords meet over and over again. Bro gets you turned around and the fight is guided to the back yard. It's weird having grass to stand on instead of a concrete roof, but in a way it feels more stable. You're able to stay on your feet longer than usual – therefore Bro tries harder to knock you down.
Eventually you're on your back with the heel of his foot crushing your chest. When you try to move, he presses it down harder and leans forward with his arms crossed on his knee. He stares at you with an expression so condescending that it makes you feel like shit whenever he uses it – and he uses it every time he pins you, which is a lot. The brim of his hat blocks out the sun. Even through his shades you can see the disappointment. It turns into a waiting game. For what, you don't know, but even when you lose the staring contest by blinking, he still insists on keeping you trapped. This is what you hate about him; he's never satisfied and he's too unpredictable. Maybe if he told you what you were doing wrong or gave you a hint (or some fucking tips), he wouldn't be so displeased with you all the time. But no, Striders are supposed to keep up and expect everything. You may have a good sense of time, but your actions work faster than your common sense. That's why you always lose and probably why he wants to "train" you like this. Too bad his training methods suck balls.
When you start to feel angry and show it by narrowing your eyes at him, he finally takes a step back and lets you stand. Brushing your shirt off, you keep your eyes glued to him in case he attacks. For now you're safe – he returns to the house and you follow, dropping the sword back into the box when you reach your room. Then you flop on your bed which is barren of sheets and check your phone. Rose has asked what you're up to that could keep you quiet for so long. Then she assures you that was just another passive joke.
"bro" is all you type to her and she understands immediately.
"Even after such an exciting day? His bloodthirst knows no bounds." she says. Then she leaves you alone because you're always too tired after a strife to chat.