Page 17 of Clinically Awkward

Wordlessly, she kicked the tire. Not hard—more a gesture than an attack. It was like she was trying to shake the anger loose from her bones, as if each small act of violence against the car might help her reclaim a little control.

“Okay, now you’re just being vindictive,” I said, but it was gentle, the way you might tease a friend just to see if you could soften the tension.

“The tire had it coming,” she muttered, but I caught the flicker of something else—a weary resignation—cross her face.

“What did the tire do, exactly?” I asked, keeping my tone light, willing her to keep playing along.

“It knows what it did,” she said, but her words were more tired than angry now. Maybe she was just tired of everything—of things breaking, of people letting her down.

I hesitated, watching the way she stood—shoulders squared but not quite relaxed, bracing against the world. I remembered all the times she’d been let down and wondered if I was about to become another disappointment. Maybe that was why I blurted out the next thing, grasping for something to break the cycle, just for tonight.

Sympathy, maybe. Or solidarity. Or just the stubborn hope that laughter might break through her anger, even if it was just for a night.

So I said the first thing that came to mind, stupid and hopeful: “Would you like to come to a comedy club with me?”

Vivian turned slowly, one eyebrow raised so high it was practically in orbit. “What?”

“Comedy club,” I repeated, gesturing vaguely in the direction of downtown. “New place. Laugh Riot. Terrible name, possibly a front for money laundering, probably decent comedians. I was going to go with friends, but apparently everyone I know has either reproduced, gotten married, or is attempting to join the mile high club with twin flight attendants while not actually being on a plane.”

“That last one is definitely Fitz,” Vivian said.

“It was absolutely Fitz. He’s currently in a CVS parking lot buying condoms in bulk and learning French.”

“Why French?”

“I didn’t ask. I’ve learned not to ask.”

She crossed her arms, studying me with an expression I couldn’t quite read. “And you’re inviting me because...?”

“Because you look like you could use a laugh,” I said honestly. “And because I don’t want to be the sad guy sitting alone at a comedy club on a Saturday night, laughing at dick jokes while everyone around me is on dates.”

“I thought you said comedy was sophisticated.”

“I lied. It’s mostly dick jokes. I’ve made my peace with it.”

“That’s depressing.”

“Hence the invitation.”

“So I’d be doing you a favor,” she said slowly.

“A huge favor. Enormous. Monumental. I’ll even buy the nachos.”

“You’re bribing me with nachos?”

“I’m incentivizing you with nachos,” I corrected. “There’s a difference. Bribery implies coercion. Incentivizing implies mutual benefit. You get nachos. I get to not look like a friendless loser. Everyone wins.”

“Except for the nachos.”

“The nachos knew what they signed up for.”

Vivian’s mouth twitched again, and I could see her fighting a smile. “This is a terrible idea.”

“Probably,” I agreed. “But all my good ideas got rejected, so now we’re working with terrible ideas. It’s called adaptability. I’m very adaptable.”

“You’re very something.”

“I’m going to choose to interpret that as a compliment.”