The Starving Children Want Ice Cream

Sandy

I saw that girl again in class. The one that was just isolated. She was breathtaking, but I'm not so shallow to just define that as her, of course. It was like she was in a bubble her peers forced her into. They all just kept trying to get as far away from her as possible, as if she had some sort of highly contagious disease. That just didn't make any sense to me. How could someone become so isolated? So alone? Maybe I should try talking to her later...

Snapping fingers brought me back to reality, and suddenly I realized; I missed everything Mag just told me. Fuck.

"Hello? Earth to Andy?" she called as she was snapping her fingers in front of my eyes. She flat out refused to believe my name was Sandy, so to her I always was, and always will be, Andy. Andy is much cooler than Sandy. No one uses a name that sounds so retarded. Except my parents when they bestowed the greatest name on me as if it were a blessing from God. If God was trying to "bless" me, then he's doing one hell of a job. I have a theory my parents were high or something when they decided to name me after a stereotypical southern squirrel from Spongebob.

"Huh? What?" I responded cleverly. I missed every single word she said. She's going to rain hell on me for this later. "What were you saying?"

She sighed and rolled her eyes. "Every time Andy Roberts. Every time."

I smiled at her. "I'm a lost cause, huh?"

She briefly pushed a red finger forcefully into my temple and released, letting me fall back into my chair. She returned my smile, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear.

"There are no lost causes, friend, only determined fuck-ups." She let out another breath. Before I could even try to argue with that completely outrageous statement (I mean, I wasn't a complete fuck-up), she cleared her throat.

"Sometimes," she said wistfully, "I wish my name were Andy. Like wouldn't that be a badass name?"

I gave her a cautious look. "Careful when you spell that name. Andy with two i's makes you sound like a lesbian pornstar."

She smiled sweetly. "I'd make the best lesbian pornstar."

I was at a loss for words. "Well, ya got me."

"Anyway," she started again, "I was talking about Jeaus."

I raised an eyebrow. "Jeaus? What kind of name is that?" I responded. It sounded like his parents just went into a random word generator and this was the result. Or they were just on something like my parents and named him an off Jesus. Like he wouldn't be as great as the real Jesus. No one can compare to the real Jesus, so let's give him the second best thing. Hmm...Jeaus! Perfect! His life definitely won't be utter shit. Maybe God has a soft spot for kids with fucked up names. That soft spot being where the sun don't shine.

"It's foreign," she retorted, "and you're one to judge, Mr. I-Don't-Think-I-Fuck-Up-But-Am-Actually-An-Ass."

"Ouch," I said, putting a hand on my chest, "at least spare my ego! Damn...so harsh..."

She chuckled, her eyes crinkling at the edges. That was one of her charms; her facial expressions were always great. Always perfect.

"Will you ever let go of the damn ego?" she asked.

I shook my head defiantly. "Nope. Never. It's the essence of my very existence. I can't just let it be. Then I won't be who I am."

"It just gets fucking tedious at times--" she paused, as if considering her words carefully, trying to arrange the perfect attack. Then, she continued. "All the time. It's tedious all the time."

Yep. That was her pass time; bashing my hold on my very being. I didn't really care; despite her understanding on practically everything in the universe, she couldn't grasp why I was so attached to who I was. And how great I was (and still am).

I sighed. "Okay. You made your point. Now, about the Jeaus guy?"

"Right," she said slowly, "so, do you know what nationality he is?"

"Odd question. Should it matter?"

"Maybe not," she said, her nail tapping the edge of her phone case, "but it's a bizarre combination, you know? Like, you'd never expect it looking at him."

"What is he?"

"French and Peruvian."

"Wow. Would have never guessed."

She nodded. "Exactly."

"So what? Are you planning to make a documentary about the everyday life of a French Peruvian?"

She laughed at my horrible joke. Of course, I thought it was pretty good, but I knew that was a pity laugh. Like a 'no one would ever laugh at that, so let me help you out' kind of laugh.

"No. Fate paired us to do bullshit math problems."

"Come on, all math problems are bullshit."

"Damn right they are." Her finger stopped. "But it was just something different, you know? In this bleak, fucked up, routine world, I discovered a different person. One that has an actual personality."

"I guess such rarities must be saved."

"Are you calling me a savior?"

"Hey, if anyone's a savior, it has to be me."

She gave me an unconvincing look. "Well, I don't think saviors can be dicks."

Another punch. "Damn you are ruthless, woman!"

She smiled. "I try."

To be honest, I was a bit of an asshole most of the time. It's not a thing I have to try hard at, really, but at times I do stretch it a bit. It's just that everyone I met try to "fix" me, like I just had to be perfect. Sure, Mom's a lawyer and Dad's a doctor, but I feel like their need to make me perfect goes beyond just my parents' occupation. As if my life wasn't already a tempest and all I had to keep me afloat was a pool noodle. But through all the assholes that tried to bother me, Margot came along. So far, she was the only person that didn't try to fix me; rather, she accepted me for who I was. Sure she'd bash my ego all the time, but that was kinda fun for me. It's almost as if she has a knack for stumbling upon unique personalities, like that Jeaus guy, and Quentin (who I still have yet to meet), and me. Even if I were just one of her filler friends I wanted to be an interesting one, and I thought I was to her. I never thought I would meet another human being in the world that could ever compare to her altruistic thoughtfulness.

Then, I met Adelaide.