Howie was exhausted.
For who-knows-how-long he had been dragging his feet, forcing himself through each day with a big fat, fake smile on his face. Even the teachers took notice.
Howie had always had amazing stamina. He knew it, and took pride in it. Yet a human being can only charge full-power and full-speed ahead for so long. Seven months was definitely too long for most people to go without a single break, for Howie it was an embarrassment to be defeated so easily.
But he was exhausted. He was killing himself, and he knew it. Or, he did now anyhow. Before he had been too busy.
All he wanted was to finish his shift at Whopper Burger and crawl home. He didn't know if he could bring himself to look around one more time, to accept the nightmare that his first job wasn't anything mechanical, or exciting, but standing around in a shabby restaurant in a neon uniform and asking people how he could help them clog their arteries.
And he felt bad for thinking it. Everyday until now, he had been grateful for the work; his crumbling outlook and work-ethic was proof that he wouldn't last much longer.
Sleep. Yes, all he needed was to go home and sleep
He almost hugged the next waiter that came to take over his shift, but he really only had the energy to bid a soft, but articulate "goodnight" before grabbing his coat and stumbling out the door. He didn't have a car - maintenance cost too much - but he wouldn't have been able to drive safely anyhow. He wobbled home on his father's old bike instead. He saw the lights and a few shadows and, figuring that his parents had friends over, was not expecting the thoughtful yet thoughtless surprise that was waiting for him.
He just about had a heart-attack when he opened the door to a roomful of teenagers. It was a good thing that they didn't shout, like most people do when they have invaded someone's home in the name of celebration; they honestly were unable to because they were as shocked as Howie when they saw him. His smiles may have not looked sincere, but they sure covered up the terrible shape he was in. Now, without a smile to hide it, they were hit full force by the shadows under his eyes, the hollowness of his cheeks, the defeated slump of his shoulders. They saw how completely worn down he truly was, and could not utter a word.
They stared at him and he stared back, no one moving for the longest five seconds in the history of man. Then, very slowly, he began to move his way past them and head up to his room. They let him by, and after letting him pass, the unexpected guests filed out the door and left without a sound.
Ramona, however, had been in the bathroom when Howie arrived. She ran into him in the hallway, and his worst nightmare was realized.
She saw his Whopper Burger uniform.
"Hey, Howie! Sorry I missed the surprise bit. Oh! Did they leave? Whatever for? You Just got here!"
He stared back at her in silent horror, knowing that it would not pass her attention without consequence. He waited in agony for her to say the words, but for once in her life, she must have taken pity on him.
"Are you hungry? I brought lasagna."
Without hope or energy for escape, he followed her back to the empty living room and kitchen, allowing himself to be sat down and served. She didn't talk very much after that, just sat and watched him eat. He choked when she finally spoke again.
"I made it, by the way. You don't have to worry about insulting my mom because it's bad."
She knew, of course, that he would never stay quiet over food quality simply to spare feelings. He was actually more surprised that the lasagna, despite being her creation, was fairly decent. She still had to thump his back a few times after the revelation, though.
He finished coughing and drank some water, glancing up at her worried expression over the rim of his glass.
"Am I the test subject? You're safe, it's edible."
She took a second before laughing and serving herself. He was still dead tired and wanted to go to bed, but there was something that was bothering him, made him unable to leave just yet.
He realized that he could not remember the last time he had sat down and just talked with her. Ramona Quimby, The-Girl-Down-The-Street. He had noticed things about her, but he didn't really think about them. He had noticed when had she began to grow her hair out, when she started to look less like she was six and more like sixteen, when she got her ears pierced, and when she eventually let her piercings close. He noticed the way she walked straighter, didn't answer as quickly, he even noticed that she was currently speaking much more softly than when they were younger.
He also noticed that, behind her, his living room was strung up with handmade decorations and colorful posters; the biggest one read "WE'RE SO PROUD OF YOU!"
There were suddenly many things that he wanted to tell her. They didn't exactly come in a flood, it felt more like they had tumbled into his head over the years, and suddenly had overflowed into his mouth.
And he also was aware of the notion that had made him stay and eat with her. It was a subtle, throbbing urge to do something for her. He didn't know what, but he let one of the many thoughts, one he didn't even know he had, come tumbling out of his mouth.
"There's an opening at Whopper Burger. Wanna apply?"