The Girl Who Wore Jordans

Chapter Forty-One

I just finished reading "How I Met Your Brother" and absolutely LOVED it, so that's why this is dedicated to PureAwesomeness67 (aka the author). You all need to go read it. Like, now. Or after you read this. 

Chapter Forty-One

      “So…” he said.

      “So…” I said.

      “How’s it going?”

      “Fine, you?” I asked vacantly.

      “Fine,” he answered, allowing the room to be submerged in tense silence once again. After a good two minutes and five seconds of unwanted taciturnity, he finally decided to speak again. “Well, this is awkward.”

      “Thank you, Captain Coherent, for that brilliant comment. You deserve a Nobel Prize for concluding something like that,” I rolled my eyes sarcastically.

      “Are you ready to talk yet, or are we just going to sit here and pretend that everything’s normal?” he sighed, clearly not a fan of my wit.

      “Well, you’re standing, actually, and we’re not ‘pretending that everything’s normal’, because it isn’t, Eric,” my voice came out leveled as my eyes began to travel around the room, taking in everything, and acting as a much-needed distraction.

      It was a nice room, and almost fit the expectations I had for what a teenage boy of his caliber’s room should’ve looked like. A rich, navy shade coated the bare walls, the only things obstructing the smooth application of color being two windows and a framed jersey. His bed was the focal point of the room, placed in the center, the headboard sited against the back wall. Propped against the walls were a bookshelf full of physical recognition of all his accomplishments and a desk that looked to be abandoned of all real usage. A darker rug of crimson fitted the floor, complimenting the royal tones of the walls nicely. The room itself wasn’t bad, but it just felt… empty. It was too clean, also. Honestly, though, what did I expect? He was a teenaged boy.

      “Is your favorite color blue?” I questioned, taken by the walls.

      “Red, actually,” he mumbled.

      “Do you have OCD?” was the next query to exit my mouth, in regards to the odd sense of sterility the room possessed. Normally, boys of his age weren’t exactly known for their outstanding cleanliness. Well, the ones I knew, at least.

      “Uh, kinda,” he trailed off, switching gears quickly. “I swear, it wasn’t me who proposed the idea of dinner.”

      “I don’t doubt that it wasn’t,” I merely nodded, continuing to slowly swivel my head about the space.

      “But,” his tone was slightly optimistic, “since we’re both here anyways, are you going to let me apologize and explain, or what?”

      “I’ll take the ‘or what’ route,” I opted.

      “So, is this the part where I ask how you’re English paper on why Romeo and Juliet’s relationship was doomed from the start is going?” he tried to joke, though I didn’t see the humor.

      “No, because, as I said before, I’m not going to pretend that this is normal, because it isn’t. Oh, and I finished the paper,” I added the end part for my own amusement, though it wasn’t all that clever.

      “If we can’t pretend that this is ‘normal’, then what can we pretend that this is?” he bit the bottom of his lip, switching his weight from one foot to the other.