Natalie
Some people have an impeccable fashion sense. Others have an impeccable knack for being annoying, arrogant, and impulsive. Basically, any adjective one could apply to run-of-the-mill nutcases we call "humans". The characteristic, in turn, could either increase or decrease a human's likability.
If I added an impeccable tag to my profile, I would need to include a thread directed at an unsavory quality called "no conscience". How I can completely abandon a sickly friend who ignores his health for his doctor's convenience, I don't know. I'm an insurgent bonehead rebelling against the reins of my mind. Although I suppose having no conscience entails having no guilt and not observing the subject constantly.
I watched Winn strut into the building this morning. He was still alive during lunch and when he entered Mrs. Langley's room. I abandoned my watch to meet the last person on the delectable menu Winn smashed together. I say smashed literally and figuratively. I could imagine him compiling the "matches" blindfolded. That, or those encounters, were a test of sorts.
A male, about five foot four, with black hair, blue eyes, and a bright yellow button-up, that's the human I'm searching for according to the "match".
From my left, a guy fitting the description strides toward me. His beard and crowned hair are trimmed to an inch. I note, scanning his sparkling white Vans and tan khakis. He regards me with a white, toothy grin. "Ah, Natalie, nice to finally meet you." The guy, presumably Kyle Sutton, has a voice that doesn't ring as boyish or even mildly immature. He seems far from the quirks of adolescent voice change.
"Nice to meet you too." I smile, skimming his wrinkle-free attire and tucked shirt with sleeves rolled up his forearms. The put-together piece he showcases makes me seem underdressed in my usual after-track practice attire. Which consists of leggings, a short-sleeved tee, and a light jacket on chilly days, including this one.
Kyle blinks and rubs his palms along his tanned forearms in a self-soothing motion. For someone who is supposed to be in high school, he looks like he's already hit the after-senior phase. Although, most seniors already look like adults. How old is he? The information doesn't surface in my brain. This is what I get for not reviewing the profile thoroughly beforehand. "So, let's walk and talk, shall we?" He gestures to the sidewalk, away from the bike lane.
Clicking my tongue, I nod, holding words on the tip of my tongue. Once we reach the crosswalk, I stare at Kyle, stuffing my hand into my pocket. "How old are you?" I question.
"Twenty-two," he says, halfway across the street. I drop behind him by a foot. Logically, Winn wouldn't set me up on a "date" with a guy six years my senior. Winn is a lot of things, but not someone who encourages lawbreaking. "Did Winn not tell you?" Kyle's brows knit into a thin line.
Tell me what? Which thing, Kyle?
"He's definitely in la la land. We went over this on Saturday," Kyle mutters, shaking his head. "I'm the founder and CEO of Scramble. My street name is Kyle." His brows quirk, and he grins. "But all Eggs call me Benedict," he pauses, "Yeah, I know. It's an inside joke... there are lots of eggy inside jokes. You'll learn." How did I not know the CEO's name? How boneheaded am I? He continues before I say the next word, "I make a point to meet with all hires on their third meetup. And no, whatever you're thinking is damn creepy. I'm not a twenty-two-year-old predator." He makes a negative buzz, vibrating his lips while forming an "x" with his arms.
"What makes you believe I was thinking anything sinister?" I cross my arms over my chest as we stop at the next crosswalk. The car to the left lets us proceeds through.
"Ah, don't know." Kyle shrugs and spins before me. Wrinkles form around his eyes, and his face strains at the sheer amount of muscles performing the action of smiling. "This-possible employee of Scramble-was a test." Kyle grins similarly to any villain portrayed in films. "I've found that peeps who experience our program firsthand fare better once we, the Yolk team, the ones who are allowed to hire and basically inner circle, flip you out of the fryer." He snorts. "Oh, and I don't normally talk like this. The look on your face is just priceless."
Out of curiosity, how many people have punched him?
"I see." I inhale a gust of air. You meet each hire on their third walk of doom to demolish any logical idea of how the program operates, correct Kyle? Although, maybe Winn is in "la la land", forgetting to mention the matter. Either way, the fact is obsolete. I soften my features, trying to not scowl. "That's why you're meeting me," I say, barely chasing the grit in my tone away.
Kyle sidesteps a couple, swirling to a table ahead of the local, overpriced bookstore. "Yep," he says with a shrug. "It's like making a milkshake. You add ingredients, tasting what kind of things need to be added. And voila, you've built a grand creation!"
Seating myself at the plastic, grey table, my eyes drift to the cars idling at the stop light and the passersby that glance our way. "You don't have to taste the mixture if you follow a recipe."
Kyle shakes his head and smoothes down his yellow top. "C'mon. It's more fun that way." He clears his throat and rubs his chin. "And that's not the point of my analogy. It's a thing of trial and error. And I've got the recipe now."
"And that is?" I raise a brow and pin my arms over my chest, staring at my soon-to-be boss intently.
"Scramble is basically my rendition of everything I hated about dating apps." Kyle flicks an abandoned receipt off the table, resting his head on his hands. "Real connection and safety were my main goals, and when it came time to hire people, I assembled a team." Kyle opens his mouth again but stops himself. "Do you actually want to hear this? It's a long story."
Perhaps you're the one making it a long story.
Pursing my lips, I nod. It isn't like I have anywhere to be. I'll resolve the LE issue shortly, and Winn is busy. Hopefully not busy puking. He has managed thus far without me. Why would he want me shadowing him? That's what he didn't want, correct? "I have time," I say, swallowing a lump in my throat.
I have time...
According to the half-done makeup job, Winn came into school with, he doesn't.
Kyle's voice is jarring, ripping me out of my head. His words seem to mash into an inaudible chunk. Only when he yells does my brain register his words. "Teens need jobs too! They're capable of doing non-fast food jobs!" He brings his hand over his mouth, clearing his throat. "Anyways, that doesn't mean every teen needs a job. Some have other commitments, and others really are just immature buffoons. And so, through a long toil of trial and error, I made a hiring process..."
Does he go through this spill every time he hires someone? How does he have this much time on his hands? Is he always this long-winded?
The table tilts, shifting my elbows forwards and causing Kyle to flip the plastic onto himself. Quickly, he shoves the light object into place and brushes off his shirt. "Where was I?" He taps his chin. "Ah, we were talking about you. Yeah, at our weekly meeting. Just protocols since Winn hadn't hired anyone in like two years," he assures, "But Winn always has good picks..."
Thus far, I have determined three things. One, Kyle talks in circles. Two, I have all of this information written concisely, without storytelling flair, on the paper Winn gave me. Three, Kyle has a knack for being distracting, which is great.
"Don't look at me like that!" Like what? What did you say? I manage to keep my eyebrows still. "That must have been why he chose you. Because he wanted to-" Kyle pauses. "How old are you again?"
Refraining from clenching my jaw and staring at him straight-faced, I answer in my calmest voice, "Sixteen."
His face scrunches, and his jaw slacks. "Aren't you a freshman?" Kyle questions, clearly doing the math.
I sigh, and instead of glaring at this poor human, I glower at the darkening sky. "I am. I got held back in kindergarten," I state the fact simply.
His mouth forms an "o", and his eyes dart past me as he grimaces. "Well, anyways. He probably wanted to hire you because he saw potential... Got no clue, he's an anomaly sometimes." Kyle situates himself, straightening his back and uncrossing his legs. "Now you're unreactive," he mutters to himself.
"Are you aware I can hear you?" My eyes narrow, and my brain questions why I'm here again. The only answer I can muster is a moot point now. I'm meeting my mother on Sunday. Why would avoiding her matter now? Or my siblings for that matter.
"Do you need me to spell it out? You both even look good together, for crying out loud!" Kyle flails his hands in the air and rolls his eyes. "He not only probably finds you attractive physically, but he wouldn't shut up about you in general," Kyle pauses and pulls out his phone, unlocking it.
"Alright." I nod, my heart rate increasing as if I'm sprinting on the track.
"Look, you still don't get it?" Kyle slams his phone onto the table, showcasing a stream of messages. "He likes you. The guy may not say it aloud, but it's pretty damn obvious."
My eyes pin to the top of the screen where Winn's name sits in bold. Winn Elsher the top reads.
The screen holds a string of Winn rambling, Kyle posting gifs of proposals, and too many heart-eyed emojis to count. "What are you trying to prove?" I stare into Kyle's ice-blue eyes, finding glimmers of glee.
"Winn doesn't usually paragraph type," Kyle mutters. My chest tightens. That's true. "He also doesn't use double punctuation unless he's being defensive," he points out. Also, true, Kyle. "So..." He gestures for me to finish.
"I don't feel that way," I state. My shoulders go rigid as I force my facial muscles to relax. Not once have I looked at Winn and said to myself, I would love to hook up or date this guy, or anyone, for that matter. But Winn... what does he think about me? Curse this. Curse you, Kyle. Why? Why now, of all times?
Kyle grins. "But you do!" He rests his elbows on the table again.
I swallow a lump in my throat, attempting to regulate the beat of my heart by deep breathing. "Alright." Kyle reaches for his phone and places it in his pocket, wearing a frown.
What do you want me to do, Kyle? There won't be a happy ending. Winn acts like there isn't. Why would I tell Winn I "love" him when he may not survive? When I don't have the kind of attraction? When have I felt the feelings usual high school sweethearts have? The longing looks that glow in my peer's eyes, and the comfort couples feel when they hold hands just seem like empty promises.
There is no defining the bounds of infatuation. There, feelings exist to be broken.
True love doesn't exist.
Logically, this is a fleeting gesture. Though I've never taken Winn as a shallow human, not to this extent.
"Don't you at least like his personality?" Kyle questions.
"Yes, of course," I say immediately. Who doesn't like Winn's personality?
"So his personality is attractive?" I nod, not liking how Kyle's grin becomes wider. "Do you find him ugly?"
"No more than I find anyone else."
"You can be in love without being romantic," Kyle says, crossing his arms across his chest. Kyle starts up, screeching at a volume somewhere above one hundred decibels. "Love isn't just attraction and romantic gestures! It's more! Being more than friends isn't just the physical attraction part or romance part, it's wanting that closeness and having that mindset!" he preaches. His gestures become wilder as he continues, his eyes burning brighter.
"Where are you going with this?" I question, dubious.
"Okay, let's pretend you actually admit that you like Winn." Kyle side-eyes me, daring me to interrupt. "Can you even give ten reasons why the relationship wouldn't work?" Kyle raises a brow, triumphant in his round of questioning.
One, Winn is going to die. Two, if he felt this way, he should have said something... Actually, no on two.
I move my eyes to the orange-hued sky and cross my ankles, mindlessly rattling off a list.
"Okay, I didn't expect that... those actually seem like solid answers," Kyle murmurs, tapping his chin. "Long distance relationships and personality clashes can be worked through. It's about understanding and setting boundaries."
My eyes narrow. "Are you trying to give me relationship advice or convince me to 'confess' to Winn of my o so sweet desire to be with him?"
"Oh, right well, does any of that matter to you?" Kyle asks, pressing his body flat against the table. "You obviously haven't stopped being friends with him."
"Look, I don't have any clue about dating or romantic relationships," I state. Right, I only have Dad's key phrase. Not all fairy tales have happy endings, their fantastic mess that I'll hopefully clear up Sunday, and the "love" between my peers. Not to mention the obscure relations seen in YA romances. That's a tangent to why I don't read romance anymore. Sci-fi is better. "I haven't kissed anyone or held hands. I haven't fake dated or fake married on an elementary school playground. So, Kyle, what do you make of that?" My jaw tightens while a weird sensation buzzes within, my heart pumping abnormally.
"Doesn't matter," Kyle replies, for once a short sentence.
"What psychological game are you trying to play, Kyle?" Why would any of your words hold any meaning? Why would anything matter anymore? He's going to die, isn't he?
"None." Kyle stands. I follow his movements. "It's not a game. I'm telling you what I've noticed and learned over the years. You learn much about people when you're in charge of a dating empire." Kyle sighs, motioning the direction we came from. "I'm not trying to charge your views. I'm trying to give you a new window to look through. Winn too."
"Fair enough." I quicken my pace as we start across the crosswalk. The sun hangs a mere thirty degrees, and the sky shadows in a violet hue with strings of blue swirling throughout the mixture.
"If you give yourself pros and cons and ask yourself if those matter, it's easier to decide." Kyle glances at me from the corner of his eyes. "Do the pros outweigh the cons? Which ones matter? I mean, does Winn's social circle actually matter to you?" He picks up his pace after we walk a second block. "Think about your pros. Why would Winn be a good fit for you? Is there a real reason why you shouldn't get your feelings out in the open?
Inhaling, I stare at Kyle, noting how his face blazes with passion and how his forehead wrinkles with his smile. "You seem knowledgable beyond your experience with Scramble," I say.
His grin grows wider. He and Winn are comparatively similar in that department. "I've taken some psychology, communication science, and business." His eyes look to the sun. The remaining light bounces off his pupils as he blinks the blinding light away, shading his eyes with his hand. "My course load has helped with stuff."
My mind twirling around Kyle's disposition and string of words, I produce a sentence. "You're interesting, Kyle," I say, mimicking the shield he sets above his brow.
"I try my best." He grins, staring at my car. "I hope to see you at Scramble's party soon. Have a good evening, and don't forget the lesson today. Which is..."
"Don't stand in front of strollers." I motion to the woman behind him. His eyes widen, and he steps aside.
Kyle scratches his ear as he moves his gaze back to me. "Relationship advice of the day. Love exists even when romantic attraction or physical contact isn't present in exclusive relationships." He glances at his righthanded wristwatch. "I'd say the barrier between platonic and romantic relationships isn't physical attraction, but someone's mindset." He smiles and nods one last time before he jogs past me, his yellow shirt making him stand out from the crowd.
Switch my perspective, not change my mind.
Love... it's a mindset.
If we think it's platonic, it's platonic.
If we think it's familial, it's familial.
If we think it's romantic, it's romantic.
And maybe, I could love Winn that way if I switched my perspective and swiped away all platonic barriers. I could see a guy with cons that aren't impactful and pros that I wish the world could share.
After all, hesitation is pointless.
Rounding off blocks first is an advantage. Why not take it? Start when the gun sounds.