Step Twelve: Smile! Smiling, scientifically, makes you more approachable and likable. If you can't find a reason to smile, then make a joke! Ah, but let's not get ahead of ourselves, shall we?
I wake up at the crack of my butt.
Oops, I meant the crack of dawn.
Dawn at Misty Bay is at approximately 6:56 this time of the year. I went to sleep at approximately 6:13. I'm doing swell. In the approximate half hour since waking up, I've stared at the ceiling and deliberated over my life choices and why I made them.
I stare at the twelfth step. A joke? It's that simple?
If all I needed was a joke, I would just exist. My whole life is a goddamn joke—this unreciprocated love? Pathetic. Only having, like, four friends? Eh. At least I have a talent for haikus, but when will that come in handy?
So... smiling? Nuh-uh. I'm not in the mood for that right now.
Jason stirs beside me. He opted out of sleeping in his own room, claiming that it was "too far away." I would offer the pillow fort in the corner of my room, but that's my 'Man Cave.' Blake and I huddle up in there when we want to cry over Russell and Jason. Or stress. Or how stupid we were for getting individual dorm rooms when we could be sharing one. Or how other boys we know are getting boyfriends but we're single. Or how few friends we have and how sad it is. Or—
Yeah.
I sometimes get off track.
I look over at Jason, and, with my ears aflame and my cheeks blushing beyond belief, I press my hand gently against his forehead. It's a normal temperature.
"Jason?" I ask, shaking him awake. The lights are off, so it's not like he can see me blushing. He looks up with slits for eyes, yawning.
"What..." his voice cracks. I almost coo out loud. He has messy hair and morning breath, and his voice sounds so soft and groggy. I resist an almost overwhelming urge to cup his cheeks in my hands and kiss all over his bloated face and, instead, force my eyes back up to meet his.
I tug on Jason's shoulder. "Jason, get up. School starts in thirty minutes." I give him a smug look. "Actually, thirty-four minutes, if you want to be exact."
"Groan."
My mouth produces an ugly laughing noise. Jason did not say "groan" out loud, instead of actually groaning.
I drag him out of my bed. I'd like to make it known that I slept on a folding couch last night. Jason seemed disappointed; maybe I should've let him sleep there. He probably felt uncomfortable in my bed and wished he could have slept on the couch. Stupid Felix.
Jason rolls out of the bed and falls on the floor. I cringe and anticipate the angry people down below. Every time I drop something, and it makes a loud noise, they go to the spot on their ceiling where the noise came from and—
"Shut up, demons!" a disembodied voice says, accompanying a few other colorful words and a fist being hit against my floor. Jason flies up into the air, surprised, and lands in his feet.
Magical, my brain thinks.
I fry eggs for breakfast. "Yum," Jason says emotionlessly. Then I see him spit the poor, little, and burnt would-be chickens into a napkin. Yeah, I'm a terrible cook. I can only make instant ramen, vegetable soup, microwaved chicken nuggets, and tea. I don't think making tea is considered cooking, though.
I do want to get better at cooking. I can add that to my growing list of stuff I want to do, stuff I want to learn. In no time, hopefully, I'll be able to bring my own cookies to Jason. Not Emily's.
I put on my brand-new, pastel green turtleneck—that I still owe Russell money for—and put on some acid-washed jeans. Wherever those jeans were washed that was so acidic... I want to take a bath there, too.
Jason sort of just sits on my bed and averts his eyes when appropriate. To be honest, I would not mind if he stared at me. Well, "stared" is a strong word. Maybe "admired" would be better for the point I'm trying to get at.
"Felix? I, uh, I also need clothes. I mean, can I borrow something from you? If you don't mind, that is."
Shoot. "Um... just, like, look in my closet. You can choose whatever." I go to my small bathroom to give Jason his privacy (although I wouldn't mind taking a peek at him change, I think he would certainly not want me there) and start doing my usual morning routine.
Well, my usual morning routine only consists of brushing my teeth once. But, because Jason is here, I brush them five or six times. I think the enamel or fluoride or whatever is on the outside of my teeth has been rubbed off. Don't sue me for not knowing; I'm not studying to be a dentist.
Dentists suck, man. Like, really. No offense to any dentists out there, but it's true. They poke around your mouth and make you bleed and cause pain and cost a ton and say big words that you don't understand. Also, where do dentists get their teeth cleaned? At other dentists' places?
"Hi, I'm Dr. Dentist Number One. Can you clean my teeth?"
"Oh! Dr. Dentist Number One! I remember you... didn't we go to dental school together?"
"Oh, that's right! I forgot."
"Well, that's spectacular. Sure, I'll clean your teeth. Please don't criticize my technique, though."
"Of course not, Dr. Dentist Number Two. I would never."
"Okay, then. Let's get started!"
"Ah, but, if you'll excuse me, before we begin, I need to ask you a question. If you don't mind, of course, Dr. Dentist Number Two."
"Of course not! Ask away."
"Are you going to use the [insert smart person's name here] method or the [insert other smart person's name here] method?"
"Oh, I actually invented my own method. Now shut up, because I have to stick these metal poles into your mouth. Let's hope they don't have germs on them!"
That is how I imagine a dentist-to-dentist conversation. Wait, now I'm curious. Who gives doctors their yearly checkups? Dermatologists could check themselves in most places. But their backs would be hard for them to see, unless they are also (surprise!) contortionists in their spare time.
What am I even talking about anymore? I forgot why I actually started on this tangent.
Oh, that's right. I remember now.
But I digress.
When Jason says it's okay for me to come back into my room, I check my breath one last time. It doesn't cross my mind that Jason won't be able to brush his own teeth since my spare toothbrush practically belongs to Blake.
Jason is wearing the pink turtleneck and my second pair of acid washed jeans. The almost baby-pink hue makes him look like strawberry-covered chocolate, inversed as that is. He looks at my shyly. "I thought," he says, as a blush creeps up my neck, "that we could match. Um, unless you don't want to."
I want to scream, cry, jump for joy, hug him, kiss him, and throw myself out of the window all at once. I opt for jumping for joy. "Shut up!" the student downstairs says, rapping his knuckles against my floor. Jason jumps again, startled. We make eye contact.
"Jason, I'd be honored to match with you," I say.
Together, we dash out of the room, down the stairs, and head to our first classes.
"Man, that was a mini-marathon," I wheeze.
Jason laughs and pulls on the pink shirt's high neckline to cool off. Even though it's late January, running in a thick, oversized turtleneck with a jacket on top can make a guy sweaty. Just a bit sweaty.
School passes in a blur of "Wow, Lix, you and Jason are matching," "Ooooh! I ship," and wiggled eyebrows from Blake. I'm going to murder him one day, and it's going to go on one of those mystery-solving podcasts. That would be so cool.
At the end of the day, I part ways with my friends and Blake. Yes, I have excluded him from the already-too-small group of people I call my friends. Currently the members consist of Jason, Russell, and, like, maybe Zoe, but I only talk to her during FROG.
Oh! Here's a funny story about Zoe, regarding why she seemed familiar. So, once, maybe a couple of months ago, I was working on some science project on a Google Doc. But, when I started working, it was one in the morning. And, half an hour into my hard work, this other, random student joined the Doc.
At one thirty in the morning.
This project had been due the same morning at seven. And it had also been assigned a week in advance.
Jeez, mate, I really need to stop procrastinating.
Anyway, Zoe and I talked about our terrible sleeping habits in the comments section for a good twenty minutes before getting back to work. I finished at around a quarter to three... but Zoe wasn't even halfway through the project at that point. I'd like to hope that she didn't submit it at 6:59:59 am, but it's very likely that she did.
Okay, that was a random story to keep my overactive brain busy while I wait for Blake. I know; I know; I said that we parted ways, but then we both remembered that we're headed to the same dorm building. I literally can't escape him, gosh.
And, before I get questions, Blake is my best friend. That's the only reason I'm allowed to (pretend to) hate him. I actually love him and would give him the world if he asked, but showing that would make me seem sappier than I already am. And—ew—does the world really need that?
When I get back to my room, there's a single orange tulip on the table. Actually, it might be an orchid... wait. Do orange orchids even exist? I don't know. I think my brain is decaying.
Next to the orchid (tulip? rose? daffodil?) is a note written in pretty, neat handwriting. I immediately recognize the penmanship.
Felix~
Thanks for letting me spend the night at your place, and thanks for taking care of me yesterday.
I'll give you your clothes back tomorrow at school ahaha ٩(ˊᗜˋ)و
Have a nice night! Also, thanks again!
— Jason Crowe <3
Okay, that's it. I am marrying Jason one day, whether by force or by choice. There's no way I'm letting anyone else have that sweet cutie pie. It hasn't even been two weeks since we became normal friends, but he's already using a heart?
I literally cannot even deal with this right now.
I'm thinking about the note so much as I cook dinner (literally just rice) that I burn myself. Blake takes a look at the wound when he comes in, unannounced and uninvited. He also eats, like, ninety percent of the rice I made. Miraculously, he's not sick anymore.
Thank every deity out there, he doesn't see the note. If he gets his hands on it, I'm toast. No, not toast, actually... I'm fried. More fried than the rice, and more fried than my arm.