Coincidences

Act XLV

Click went the lock. Mr. Reed flicked the light switch and the fluorescent light bulbs sparked to life. This is the first time I've been here, and apparently Zoey beat me to it. So did Rocky, but for other motives. It's crazy to think I'm about to reach an entire year here in this town, and I still haven't gone to places I should have went.

The room was spacious for a guy like him. It looked like he likes things tidy and clean, since the school trophies were neatly set, his desk was completely organized, and his pictures of him were perfectly aligned. He has one with the police uniform, but with a different background.

Mr. Reed sat down, tired from the assembly.

He asked me, "Martin, how was my speech?"

"Ok, pretty much," I said, too lazy to think of a different compliment. He didn't seem satisfied with the response.

"I worked so hard on that. Perhaps I worked too hard on it," he chuckled unnervingly.

"Maybe, Mr. Reed."

"You know what?" he spoke. "Call me Johnny. Not Mr. Reed."

"I'll still call you Mr. Love Expert."

"No, just Johnny. Maybe I'll call you Marty."

I begged, "No, not Marty. They used to tease us with our nicknames. Since our names end with the letter 'y', they call us 'cute' amd 'adorable' in a very annoying way."

"Excuse me, tease who?"

"Tyrone and Rocky."

"Oh," he marveled. "And now there's Zoey."

"Come on, it's super annoying. You didn't have to add her to the topic. Heck, even your name can end with 'y'."

"Then, 'y' are you so pissed about it?" Terrible pun, yet he seemed proud of his joke.

I couldn't bother to answer. The topic's nonsense, after all. I mean, when I was little, they used to pinch my cheek as they said, "Marty, Marty, aren't you a lovey-dovey?", when they saw me with a girl, or any kid my age, to be exact, mostly Ty and/or Rocky.

"So, how's Zoey? Is she better now?" he called, taking me from that moment of shame. I gotta stop reminiscing at random times.

"I don't know, Johnny." I felt weird when I said that. I guess the name hasn't grown on him yet, at least, for me. "Beats me."

"Well, girls are like that. Like a book. You have to read them," he pointed out, using his sharp tongue to make bizarre analogies. "And they think that boys are like toddlers. Incapable of reading. Immature."

He let out a brief "ha", but I thought the immature part was that one that got my attention the most. Almost describes the Rimsons.

"In that case, let it slide. Let the book do the talking. Girls love to talk," he jested. He must be easily amused with making fun of the opposite gender. Odes to him. A clap and a half. A medal, first place.

"How is that gonna work?"

"Trust me. I know. I have experience."

"Experience?" But then again, we're talking about a guy with a thousand jobs an hour. He himself clarified that fact.

"I've had many jobs, been in many places, seen almost everything."

"Sure thing. Principal, cop, doc."

"Marty." Doc and Marty. What a coincidence.

What's a bigger coincidence is the TV running a whole movie marathon on "Back to the Future" in that very night. And Dad watched it. All.