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"You two seem to be doing better," Tyson noted as he watched me unfold the paper.
"I take my leadership role very seriously," I said, distracted as I looked at our drawings. Noah had given me the sketchbook sheet we'd been drawing on during the meeting. Everything looked normal until I got to the bottom, where she'd written:
Nice play. This round goes to you.
I frowned, re-reading the words.
"Hey, step into my office for a second?" Tyson asked. "I want to go over some of the promotional ideas the sales team wants you to do."
"Sure." I nodded and absentmindedly followed Tyson to his cubicle.
Round? What was that girl talking about? Why had she looked upset? I thought the doodling was a nice bridge for us, something to bond over amidst the stress of work and the Inkmic competition. It was kind of my way of apologizing, too. I shouldn't have come into the office guns ablaze. When I saw my comic already in the top ten, I needed to celebrate. The rank was validating, and that feeling went straight to my head.
I'd come off as cocky – no surprise there — but also, maybe inconsiderate. No, definitely inconsiderate, I could see that now, which was something I'd been consciously trying to work on. I hadn't had much of a chance after putting distance between myself and my family, plus avoiding nearly all social interaction outside of work.
I cringed as I played back the words I said to Noah before the meeting. No wonder she thought I was an asshole, attempting to distract her from the changes implemented.
As soon as I stepped into Tyson's cubicle, I went straight for the most comforting-looking object: a small blue figurine that looked like a chibi alien, with its oversized eyes and tiny lips. Tyson was a hoarder of all things fidgety, so I thought it was safe to assume this was one of those things, but as soon as I picked it up, he inhaled sharply and reached for it.
"Careful, Sage. That is not a toy," he said as he cradled the little guy.
I laughed. "Your jump to Dad Mode is nearly seamless."
Tyson scoffed nervously. "I might spend too much time around Harry."
"Oh?" I asked. "Tell me more."
All amusement drained from his face. "Not like that. You’re acting weird. Are you okay?”
I took a seat on his desk, trying to make my expression as neutral as possible. I felt weird, but I didn't think he'd notice. I wasn't exactly an easy read. After spending years in low-income housing and struggling to make ends meet, a kid had to learn how to mask any kind of weirdness, or else they'd be questioned and potentially taken away. I'd seen plenty of my friends disappear, so becoming unreadable was a survival tactic.
"I'm good," I said quickly. "Just concerned about your sudden obsession with untouchable figurines…"
Rule one of burying your weirdness: deflect.
"They're not figurines." Tyson placed his alien back down on its stand carefully. "They're stop motion models."
I perked up. "Are you and your brother finally making your film?"
Tyson's smile was shy. In a building full of artists who talked about their work all day, he avoided discussing anything outside of what he was editing like the plague. He didn't like being referred to as an artist, but the guy had talent; maybe not enough to work on staff, but enough so that his work was fun to look at. Most times, that's all that mattered. Seline, Harry, and I had been trying to convince him to start making his own stop-motion film for years. He'd always brush us off with the excuse that he didn't have time for side projects.
"We are attempting to make something," he corrected. "A film is a large stretch. More like a short, conceptual piece."
"Since when?"
"Since last month. Harry and Seline finally convinced us." He shrugged. "It was at my barbeque. You were the only invitee who didn't show up."
My shoulders sagged. "I don't remember."
"It was right after you turned down Harry's invitation to Marissa's recital," he reminded me. "But before you turned down Seline's invitation to her marathon."
I winced and tried to swallow the feelings of guilt that wanted to crawl out of my throat. "I've been a bit busy."
The reason I said no to all those things was the same reason I'd kept my distance from my family: I couldn't give anyone any part of me when I felt so...hollowed out. I couldn't explain that either, because words didn't work like that for me. Only art did, but the art I created at work was too difficult to communicate through nowadays, especially when I was hindered by the guidelines set in place at Harpy. Thankfully, my work on Inkmic provided some sort of outlet. Still, most people in my life preferred my colorful superheroes, not my dark, depressing, sci-fi characters.
"Besides, since when are we friends with co-workers?" I asked, only half-teasing.
"Since I aged out of the club scene," Tyson said. "And I refuse to go to bars with spoken word poets."
