Page 13 of Talk to Me

My eyes flicked to the guy sitting on his left. Built, floppy, shiny hair, chiseled features, frat boy aesthetic—I assumed this was the mysterious Dylan. Collin didn’t make a formal introduction, so I didn’t bother getting too invested. I knew enough to know that no formal introduction to one of his guy friends meant that he had already decided they wouldn’t be around for long.

“I’m a few minutes early,” I said.

Everyone made joking, disapproving sounds at my response. The last person to the table was always treated as though they had been keeping everyone from ordering.

Our put-upon waitress approached our table right as everyone settled down. Begrudgingly, she took everyone’s drink orders. Mini conversations broke out around the table while we waited, discussions being had about what food would be ordered. When the waitress returned with a tray balancing ten drinks, she passed them out and set about taking orders.

Fortunately, I had convinced everyone that the best thing to do was order a couple of the extra-large pizzas and share. None of us were all that picky about toppings, so I had suggested three extra-large pizzas, one cheese, one pepperoni, and one supreme would do the job. Everyone had agreed, not realizing I was trying to make our waitress hate us less. I took it upon myself to relay our order to our waitress, and when I saw the gratefulness in her eyes, I knew it had all been worth it.

Maybe I had gotten Midway University students a few aura points in that moment.

Once she was gone again to put in our order, Collin twitched in his seat, his eyes like lasers on me. Suddenly, it seemed as if everyone else at the table was also staring me down. Uncomfortable at the sudden attention for some unknown reason, I sipped at my Mountain Dew nervously.

“What?” I finally looked over at Collin when no one said anything.

“We’re waiting!” he rolled his eyes.

Genuinely confused, I stared back at him blankly, the straw sticking out of the giant plastic tumbler poking into the corner of my mouth.

“You have to tell us all about Theo Hendrix being rude to you!” Collin was rolling his eyes again. “We’ve been waiting.”

My brow furrowed as I took another sip of my soda and set the cup on the table.

“What are you talking about?” I asked.

Everyone at the table booed, as if I’d said the most egregious thing they’d ever heard. I looked around at all of them, wondering what they were all talking about. When the noise died down, Collin spoke for the group again.

“You said he was a nasty little bitch in your American Lit class!”

“I did not,” I said, chuckling nervously. “I didn’t even say he was rude. You exaggerate everything I tell you and then you get all of these freaks wound up.”

More razzing and boos came from the table, though everyone was amused.

One of our friends, Marissa, who was sitting in the center of bench on the right of the U-shaped booth, spoke up next.

“Collin said you were all, like, ‘hi’, and he told you to go fuck yourself or something?” she asked.

I turned to look at Collin blankly. He shrugged.

“Really?” I asked Collin. “Really?”

He grinned impishly.

“That’s not what happened,” I said, turning to face everyone in turn. “When I said ‘hello’ to him he gave me a nod. He was just standoffish. Not rude. Mister Sister over here is making stuff up for dramatic effect. It was nothing.”

Everyone was booing again.

“I’m serious!” I laughed. “It wasn’t even a thing. He just sat by me in class because it was the last empty seat and we didn’t even really speak. He wasn’t rude. It. Was. Nothing.”

The razzing from my friends was swift, but only lasted a minute. When they realized I had nothing more to add to what I’d said, they gave up. Mini-conversations broke out around the table again, and I was left staring daggers at Collin as I sipped my Mountain Dew. By the time the caffeine hit, I hoped the pizza was out and ready to eat, or I’d end up performing an incredibly aggressive and unnecessary tracheotomy on my best friend with my straw.

Collin noticed my glare and mouthed “I’m sorry” sheepishly at me in the middle of the all of the discussions. Once again, I decided to forgive his drama. Smiling and shaking my head, I mouthed back, “Okay.”

“Good afternoon, Arthur!” I announced cheerfully as I ducked through the door into his room. “It’s Monday yet again!”

The room at Spice House was still dark and dreary, even though it was a after noon. The light from the hallway cut through the gloom enough that I could make out the humanoid shape in the chair next to the windows. Heavy draperies were pulled tight, blocking out the sun and beautiful day outside. Shivering at the temperature of the room, I shook my head and marched over to the twin bed to my left. I dropped the tote bag I’d brought with me on the made bed, and waltzed over to the windows.

When I grabbed ahold of the drapes and whipped them to the side, sunlight pouring into the room, an actual hiss emanated from the chair to my right. I turned to stare down at the scrawny, elderly man sitting in the chair, a pile of blankets smothering him. With the mound of blankets covering him, only his head was visible. His horn-rimmed spectacles were balanced preciously on the tip of his nose and the thick field of curly silver hair atop his head was impeccably trimmed and brushed.