THE ADVENTURES OF FRANK AND RYAN

12

THE IMPORTANT THING, Francis thinks, scribbling in the margins of his textbook, is experience.

Consider, then, where would he be without having experienced his fair share of break-ups? Without having gone through the cycle of frustration and bitterness and anger, at least once?

All well and good, but there are two problems. One: a break-up means ending something solid and real. Whatever the hell is happening—sorry, happened—with Ryan was vague and shapeless and nebulous. You can't really call one drunken make-out session and some conversations a relationship. More of a build-up to something.

Something which never even had a chance to begin.

Not that it would've mattered. All that coy shy play flirting only for it to turn out whoopsie daisy! Ryan's disgusted with the thought of his mouth being anywhere near Frank, so much so that he has been pointedly avoiding Frank for the last few weeks.

Tense jaw, averted gaze. If there's nowhere for him to go: nothing more than a curt "hi" and "morning." Tell-tale signs of shame and fizzled out anger.

The second problem is that Francis isn't bitter or angry. He's confused, which hurts so much more. 

The important thing, Francis writes, is experience.

He couldn't go to the library, because he's still kicked out, and he can't study in his dorm because Jeremy'd hang out and that would make it incredibly hard to focus on anything, and literally anywhere else on campus would mean the off-chance that he'd run into Ryan. And something about him felt weirdly pent up, and after one very brief but satisfying hookup with some guy from his Stat class, he'd come to the conclusion it was definitely not sexual frustration. It was something else, and it was hard to tell if it was magic or emotion. Almost always impossible to tell the difference. So, he did the most logical thing.

He called Shani, and asked her to pick him up and drive him to curse club.

Molly's interior today has been cleaned out—courtesy of Shani—and gone are the neon signs that hang on the wall whenever David or Jeanne or Hassan are in here. It's well-lit, and there is hardly any sound apart from that of Shani tapping away at her phone. Francis no longer feels pent up. It has been blissfully silent, for the most part, up until now.

"Not to interrupt your sulking," David says, leaning onto the table, "but you have any idea where I can get the readout for case 103-K?"

Francis looks up at David. "I'm not sulking. I'm studying. In curse club. And what the hell is 103-K?"

Shani, who hasn't glanced up from her phone, says, "He made that up, Francis."

"Alas," David says, sighing, "I've been found out. Jeremy texted me. Said something about Francis's panties being all up in a twist. Any way I can untwist them?"

"No," Francis says, and frowns. "Jeremy? You guys still talk?"

"On the occasion," David says, vaguely.

"That means Jeremy helps David with the," Shani says, glancing at David, "how did you put it? Less savory and slightly illegal aspects of curse breaking."

"You expect a black guy to do slightly illegal things and get away with it?" David says. "Jeremy's very understanding about it."

"Jeremy's not understanding about anything," Francis mutters. "He's an agent of chaos."