Complications

12|handles

Tyla Bradley

Three hours later and we had nothing done.

Every time I thought we're getting back on topic Walker would bring up some crazy question and distract me. I'd learned a lot of random things about him and vice versa.

His favorite color is red, and his favorite article of clothing is ball caps. I asked the first question and he asked the second one. It continued in that manner except for when I had us in topic with fundraiser planning.

Dream vacation: I'd go to Europe, Walker wants to go to Australia, for the rugby he said. Greatest achievement: I won the best art piece in my middle school art show and his was getting seven touchdowns in one game. Of course.

If you had to lose a limb what would it be (that was Walkers question)? I said my non writing arm. He said a finger which I argued wasn't a limb. I don't know why he asked the question because by the end of it he said he refused to lose a limb because he wouldn't be able to play football anymore.

Him and football.

His passion astounds me, thrills me. I wish I was that passionate about something, anything. Even my love of writing is not as great as his love for football.

I'm learning we're not very similar, which isn't surprising. I would've guessed that but it's kind of funny. How did we get here?

I'm getting a headache from shaking my head and rolling my eyes at him.

"We're not doing that Walker!" I exclaim trying to cut off his horrible fundraiser idea.

He sighed, dropping his head on the table. The bell rang ages ago and I haven't checked the time in forever. I don't know why, but my watch always picks the perfect times to die. It has to be at least five. The clock on the wall in the lab hasn't changed since I walked in here despite how many times I've check it. And the two of us can't agree on anything.

"The dunk tank is a brilliant idea, what are you talking about?!" He exclaimed dragging a hand through his extremely messed up hair. I'd noticed he tended to do that when he was getting anxious. Planning a fundraiser seemed to be unrailing him.

"Who would we have being dunked?"

The only thing he's thought about is the dunking, not where we'd get the tank, or the people getting dunked. What's the goal amount we're shooting for? What will Corn think? He just likes the idea of it and that's all! It's a little infuriating but I'm just trying to get him to come to the same realization.

"I'm sure you could get Rivers to do it! That would really bring in the money. We'd be hmph..." I smacked him and he cut off, glared at me, moved his seat further away and proceeded to say, "now that we have the fundraiser solved let's play more twent..."

I skidded my chair and smacked him again.

"What the heck Bradley, stop slapping me," he laughed hard and lightly tapped me back.

"We're not doing the tank."

"I know you want to dunk Silver, that would be satisfying wouldn't it?" His eyebrows dancing up and down mischievously. 

I rolled my eyes, I'd never admit it but that would be satisfying. Getting him to do it though, impossible. He has never been the selfless, help with a fundraiser type. I narrow my eyes at Walker studying him. He's leaning back in the compote and spinning back and forth slightly. His arms are folded over his chest which accentuate the muscles in his arms. He always seems to look good, no matter what. Despite the fact that he was volunteered to help he's keeping a happy attitude and actually making this fun for me. Somehow, in a silly messed up way.