1. Fish Don't Like Orange Slushies

                                    

                                          
Saturday, March 4th.
My marker screeches against the whiteboard on my bedroom wall as I cross out yet another assignment I've just completed.
"Come on, Billy, live a little!" Barb, my neighbor and somewhat best friend, says.
I can't decide if I hate the sound of her sentence or that of the marker more.
"I'd rather not, Barbara," I reply flatly and open my math textbook on my desk.
"So this is how it is? We're on full name basis now, William?"
My face scrunches. "Ew," I begin.
The wheels of my chair rumble against the wooden floor when I spin around to face her, sat on my bed. "Don't call me that." I notice the cup of orange slushy in her hand and decide against commenting.
"It's your name," she states as if I was dumb. I'm not.
"It's horrendous." I turn back around, busying myself with trigonometric identities.
Barb sighs behind me. "Still your name. What would your parents think?" She sloshes her drink in her cup, knowing I asked her a thousand times not to eat or drink in my bed.
"That it's horrendous. They agreed it was a pregnancy-haze-induced mistake," I say over my shoulder.
"Unbelievable."
My pen glides over the gridded paper effortlessly. If math isn't the definition of happiness, then what is?
"Even they stick to Billy, that should tell you something," I mumble.
"That tells me you should go outside more. Touch some grass maybe?" she claps back. I roll my eyes at my math homework and stall for a moment.
Birds chirp outside. My fish wiggle in the tank next to my desk. The sun slowly droops, closer and closer to setting for the night. Barb's slushy sits in her cup, slowly melting into repulsively sticky orange water. I think about it a bit, come up with a good, intelligent answer.
"I've touched plenty grass in my youth. Enough to compensate for a whole grass-less life, really."
Barb gently kicks my chair with her dirty sandals. I try not to gasp, offended. It's real leather and she knows it.
"You're still young, Billy." I return to my homework, disinterested.
"Thank you."
"What?"
"For not calling me William."
She flops on my bed with a soft, muted thump. I hope she put the slushy away before doing so although I highly doubt it.
"Ugh. I can't with you."
"Neither can I, yet here I am," I say and add a mediative shrug.
"Yeah, here instead of raving. Definitely not a flex. The most lit party of the year, tonight, ring a bell?"
I frown so hard I fear my brows might meet in the middle. "Raving? Flex? Lit?" I swallow back some disgust. "Have you been talking to other people, Barb?"
"Believe it or not, I have other friends."
My frown falls. My mouth curves proudly. "You're right."
"What?"
"I don't believe it," I say, smiling even wider.
"You know what?"
"What."
"Either you come with or I kill your fish." I snap my head towards the tank and, lo and behold, she holds her slushy over the open lid menacingly.
"Have you lost your mind!" I stand up immediately, panic animating me.