Flirt

                                    

                                          
For @luticens
                          
~
                          
"We still on for after school tomorrow?" I ask, plopping down at our usual table in the corner of the room where the lights sometimes flicker out.
                          
"What?" Michael looks up, clearly confused. He has his headphones on, blasting music, but he slides them off in order to hear me.
                          
"I'm just double checking our plans to go to your place after school since you totally bailed on me last week," I frown, the memory clearly unpleasant to me. Michael had left me waiting at Seven-Eleven (the spot where we'd meet up to get food before going over to one of our houses) for hours, claiming that he "forgot". I had completely seen through Michael's blatant lie, but couldn't get the truth out of him.
                          
"Wait- is tomorrow Friday?" Michael asks, trying to look confused about what day it was. Moments like this where he tries to show any sort of faux emotion, I'm reminded why he didn't do theatre. Well, that and he has awful stage fright.
                          
"Yes, dumbass," I say, rolling my eyes. "Don't lie to me, man. I can tell right away."
                          
"I, uh... I'm not lying. I really did forget."
                          
"Michael, you count down the days until Friday. What's going on?"
                          
"I just-... well, Richie asked me last week if he wanted to hang out again and so-"
                          
My eyes widen and my jaw drops. "You mean... Rich? Like... the Richard Goranski?" I ask, totally awestruck.
                          
Michael, in turn, snorts. "God, no. I mean the new kid. From Maine or Michigan or something. I dunno. Last week he called it hanging out. This time he called it a date." 
                          
My chest lurches and my throat tightens. I knew I should have made a move. Now someone else has and Michael's probably falling fast and hard for this other "Richie" kid. "That's great, dude!" I exclaim, trying to look genuine. "You've finally scored yourself a man and-"
                          
"I don't like him."
                          
"Wait, what?"
                          
"At least... not like that. He's cool and all, but... not my type. He's got glasses. Only nerds wear glasses."
                          
"Michael, you wear glasses."
                          
"My point still stands."
                          
Well, he's not wrong.
                          
"Richie, he-" At the snap of my head in Richard Goranski's direction, Michael grabs my face and makes me look way to the right. I focus in on a boy who's sitting under a tree, smoking. It isn't a joint or blunt though, it's a cigarette. Like, those things that are actually bad for you. The ones that give you lung cancer. I already don't like that. He probably thinks he's all that and he's so cool, but he's not. He's just stupid because he's gonna get lung cancer and die. Idiot. 
                          
"That's Richie," Michael says, and I search his expression for any sign of him feeling his heart pound in his chest or his skin turning pink. Fortunately, I find nothing. "He's super into the 80s, like more than me. He looks like he could be too. I'm fairly convinced that he just time traveled here from then."
                          
Michael's right. Despite this kid's relaxed nature, his outfit screams a wild personality. His shirt clearly used to be white, but was not covered in a number of stains that would probably never come out. His jeans have weird patches on them all over. He's got a green and blue Hawaiian shirt thrown over his shoulder like a jacket, and his converse are covered in guck.