February 6, 2018

    "What on Earth happened to you guys?" Julian asked when we walked into school a few days after the accident. 

     Well, I walked. Kila hopped along on her crutches.

     "Oh," Kila answered nonchalantly, "nothing much. Sam just tried to commit a murder-suicide, that's all."

     Julian squinted. "Wuh?"

     "Yeah, he decided to get us hit by a car on the drive to my place," Kila continued, ever dramatic.

     Julian's golden-brown eyes widened. "What?"

     I sighed. "It's not like that. We got in a car accident, that's all."

     "That's all?" Julian was on the verge of a breakdown.

     "Neither of us were seriously injured," I said.

     "Speak for yourself," Kila snorted.

     "Are you okay?"Julian asked.

     "Yeah, I just told you, neither of us-"

     "No," Julian interrupted. "Are you okay?" His eyes were almost . . . pleading.

     I looked into his eyes. "Yes, Julian. We're both fine."

     Julian sighed a sigh of what I hoped was relief. I smiled. 

     Kila started giggling. 

     Then, I realized that Julian and I were still looking into each other's eyes.

     I blushed, looking at the ground. "Shut up," I told Kila.

     "Hey!" Kila exclaimed. "I'm injured!"

     "That's the only thing keeping me from pushing you over."

     Julian, at this point, looked very confused. 

     Before I (or Kila ) could explain, the bell rang, and all of us were officially tardy. Great. Kila had an excuse, but Julian and I were in trouble. We went to our respective classes: choir and art. When we both got out of the classes, we both had the same punishment: lunch detention.

     At our school, lunch detention wasn't just going to the disrespected teacher's classroom and writing "I will not be tardy" down on a piece of paper one hundred times. Lunch detention was like regular, after-school detention, but for lunch and free period. You would go to the office, get a stern talking-to from one of the secretaries, and then you would eat your lunch under the supervision of whatever teacher had to watch you on that particular day. That day, Mr. Fletcher was the supervisor. We were lucky.

     Mr. Fletcher was a younger teacher, fresh out of college, who was passionate about his subject. He was handsome, fit, and couldn't grow a beard yet. All the students knew, or had reason to believe, that he was a stripper. Namely, a SnapChat video that was spread around the entire student body last year. Even I got it. It was of someone, who looked suspiciously like Mr. Fletcher, stripping down to a bright red thong and dancing around a metal pole. None of the students cared. He was nice, and he didn't really believe in punishing kids. We all knew that if his bosses were to find out, he would be fired within a heartbeat. So no one snitched.

     Everyone knew - that is, every student knew - that Mr. Fletcher used his lunch period to catch up on the sleep he lost when he was working at night. Whenever he had both a day and a night off, he slept for half of it, and graded papers for the other half. He had a pretty good system going on. However, when he was assigned lunch detention, it was a little more difficult. He decided to make a pact with the lunch detention students; he would let them talk among themselves and basically do whatever they wanted, as long as they were quiet, they didn't snitch on him, and they woke him up if another teacher was coming. It all worked out.

     "So," Julian started in the detention room, "what are you going to do for your birthday?"

     I frowned. "What do you mean?"

    "Well," Julian said, "it's kind of a big deal. You only turn seventeen once."

     "Yeah, it's almost like numbers have an order that they follow, that, in normal situations, does not repeat."

     "You know what I mean. You get to have bottom surgery when you're seventeen. That's something to celebrate."

     I looked around, making sure no one overheard him. "Julian, you can't just stay stuff like that out in the open around here. Not unless you want someone to shoot you with a hunting rifle."

     Julian frowned. "That's a little absurd. Besides, I can so I will."

     "I won't allow it."

     Julian make an indignant "uh" noise, but said no more on the matter. Instead, he focused on my birthday. "We should throw you a birthday party," he said excitedly.

     I laughed. "Who's going to come besides you and Kyla?"

     "Your family. And Piccolo, of course."

     "Piccolo?" I asked, confused.

     "My dog," Julian explained.

     "Why'd you name your dog after an instrument?" I asked.

     Julian laughed. "I didn't," he said. "Piccolo means little one in Italian. I named her when I was six."

     The scene of baby Julian receiving a cute little puppy and immediately naming it smol bean played in my head. An "aww" escaped my mouth.

     Julian's face flushed. "Anyway, the birthday party will be . . . Hmm. Are there any places you know of that would be good for a party? That you can walk to, considering the fact that you totaled your car."

     "There's a small park in my neighborhood that no one ever uses. It's a couple blocks away from my house."

     "Perfect. I'll need you to send me pictures so I can prepare accordingly."

     "What?"

     "You need decorations. A tent. Maybe some posters with penises on them."

     "No. No penis posters."

     "Fine. What is your favorite color?"

     "Green," I answered immediately.

     Julian stared at me. "Okay," he said, after a pause. "If you get the chance, send me pictures of that park tonight," Julian said as the bell rang.