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I stare at him, stunned. “Did you just … call me a simpleton?”
“Nah. I called your town backwards and five steps behind the rest of the world. Like I said, this town needs me.” He cracks his knuckles and folds his arms.
I smirk at him. “Simpleton,” I mutter, doing my combination. “I may be a lot of things, but I ain’t no simpleton.”
“Well, you sure are taking your time to open your locker.”
I get the combination wrong. Again. “You’re distracting me.”
“Uh huh,” he mumbles, letting his lips curl up in amusement.
I finally manage the combination, then yank open my locker and stow away my things—or at least I try to. My chemistry book plays a game with me, not wanting to squeeze in between my pre-cal and English books, and I have to exercise a bit of grunting and creative Tetris knowhow to get it to fit properly without bending pages, breaking spines, or setting fire to anything.
“The hell is that?”
I didn’t realize Vann’s peering inside my locker. “A moogle.”
“A what?” He leans in, getting a better look at the doll sitting on the top shelf. “Looks like a fat white gerbil.”
“It’s a moogle. It’s from a game series.”
Vann quirks an eyebrow at me. “From that Deadly Knight game you’re waiting on?”
“Oh, you mean you actually listened to all my rambling Friday night? It’s Dread Knight II, by the way, and no, moogles come from Final Fantasy.” I shut my locker—causing poor Vann to jump back in surprise, to my utter satisfaction—then continue leading the way down the hall to the gym without any further explanation. It’s just as well, because he doesn’t ask for one.
When we push through the doors, a few of our classmates are already changed and sitting in little clusters on the floor, talking to each other. One or two of them notice us, looking up and drawing quiet as we pass by on our way to change. In the noisy locker room full of chatter and commotion, we head to our lockers in the back and promptly start changing our clothes.
Okay, seriously, this is really strange, feeling like I’m “with” Vann right now, moving from class to class in a two-person unit. I’ve always been a single unit. A loner. I’m not used to this. Should I strike up some more chitchat? Tell him who Mog the moogle is and why moogles love to dance? Bring up Dread Knight again? Oh, I could mention how his demon dude’s flaming chain whip reminds me of the Belmonts from Castlevania! Ugh, can’t I think of anything that isn’t game-related? Should I ask him how his first period was? No, that’s stupid. Obviously it was boring and horrible like mine.
Wait. Am I boring and horrible? What if he’s only with me by default? What if, had Spruce been a bigger place, he would have actually found more likeminded people? It’s suddenly a very real possibility that he might be hanging with me because I’m the only option. I’m a default friend. I’m a just-because friend.
Stop that, I chide myself. He likes you. It’s obvious. And he shows it by continuing to be sort of awful and insult everything you enjoy.
Vann is probably just one of those people who acts one way in front of others, then loosens up when it’s just us. I simply need to play it cool, chill out, and go with the flow, like debris in a stream.
And just like that, I’m a piece of debris, apparently.
I really need to think this out better later in private.
“Yo, Tobes! Toby-Toby-Tobes!” comes Hoyt’s voice from down the aisle of lockers.
I turn to him shirtless, having only gotten my tiny gym shorts on, and see him flanked by Julio and Benji several paces away.
Before I can respond, I feel the strong and certain presence of Vann as he slowly comes around and plants himself in front of me, facing the bold trio of jocks at the end of the aisle. In just a pair of shorts himself, shirtless, he stares at them without saying a word, as if daring Hoyt and his idiot friends to do anything.
I watch as Hoyt’s confidence does a somersault and half a tap dance before, with a shrug, he wisely decides to head off. Benji and Julio follow him, their gazes lingering on Vann as they go.
The moment they’re gone, Vann calmly returns to his locker and proceeds to slip on his shirt. After a moment of appreciating what just happened—and perhaps shamelessly admiring his bod—I allow myself a moment of safety as I put on my shirt, too.
And that’s exactly how I feel the rest of gym class. Vann, for whatever reason, doesn’t once leave my side. Even when we split up into groups for an exercise by randomly-given numbers from Coach Larry, Vann disregards his assigned group and stays with me, since the numbers would have split us up. Coach Larry either doesn’t mind or doesn’t notice, as no objection is made, and Vann and I carry on with the routine together.
