Looking for Tyler (Joshler)

one hundred twenty-two days before

after my last class on my first day at worthington oaks, I entered room 89 to an unlikely sight: a shirtless and frantic pete, hunched over an ironing board, attacking a pink button-down shirt. sweat trickled down his forehead and glistened on his chest as he ironed with so much force and enthusiasm, i really thought that he was going to break the ironing board. he was breathing so hard that he probably could have passed out, if he didn't stop to look up at me.

"i have a date," he explained, his breathing still heavy and labored. "this is an emergency." he paused, looked from the shirt, then to me again, still panting to catch his breath. "do you know"—breath—"how to iron?

i walked over and looked at the shirt that sat on the ironing board. it was wrinkled like an elephant's knee, and it was honestly unable to be saved at this point. "well, maybe if you didn't just shove all of your things into random drawers and actually folded them, this wouldn't have happened," i pointed out, and pete just rolled his eyes. "shut the fuck up and help me, spook," he grumbled, trying to flatten the shirt out on the ironing board and ultimately failing. "i mean... i think you just turn it on and move it across the shirt. but clearly you've been doing that and it hasn't worked, so looks like you might be out of luck," i said, and pete groaned loudly, dramatically falling back onto the couch. "i'm gonna fucking die. i need to smoke. oh my god, i need to smoke but i can't reek of cigarettes around ashley's parents. fuck!" he groaned into a pillow, and then he threw that pillow, and i shook my head, looking around the room, thinking. i looked to the bathroom, and then it clicked.

"the shower."

"i already took a shower," pete said, and i just shook my head. "no, pete, you idiot. the shower has steam. it could help with your little wrinkle situation." i grabbed the shirt off the ironing board and turned off the iron. i walked into the bathroom and turned the shower on its hottest setting, letting the steam fill up the small room while his shirt hung on the shower rod. pete walked into the bathroom and gave me a hug like i literally just saved his life, which, i suppose, i did. "you are an amazing human thank you," he said, and i just laughed, patting the blond's back gently. "sure thing, bud."

"by the way," pete said after he stood back up and looked around the small bathroom, "if you ever wanna smoke in here during the day, just turn on the shower. the smoke follows the steam up through the vents."

it didn't make sense in scientific terms, but it seemed to work. the shower's lacking water pressure and low shower head were terrible for actually showering, but it worked as a great smoke screen. sadly, it also made a terrible iron. pete tried ironing the shirt again ("i'm gonna push down really hard and hope that helps") and finally put it on wrinkled. it looked bad, but not as bad as it looked when i first walked into the room. pete matched the shirt with a black tie decorated with diagonal lines of little pink flamingoes. i watched him as he nimbly tied the tie into a perfect knot, and i raised my eyebrows in surprise at him. he didn't seem like the kind of guy to know how to tie a tie that well. "the only thing my sad excuse of a father taught me was how to tie a tie properly. which is odd, because i don't think he ever needed to wear one."

just then, ashley knocked on the door. i had seen her once or twice, but pete never introduced me to her and i never had the chance to do so myself the other day.

"oh. my. god. can't you at least press your shirt?" she asked, even though pete was standing in front of the ironing board. "we're going out with my parents." ashley looked awfully nice in her pale pink summer dress. her red hair was pulled up into a twist with two pieces hanging on either side of her face. she looked like a movie star—a bitchy one.