Seduction

16

Firkle couldn't take it anymore.

Every. Single. Day.

Ike would see him and he would say something so nice or he would compliment him or he would brush his hair behind his ear or-

"Are you still thinking about that conformist?"

"Pete!" Henrietta says, unenthusiastic but upset nonetheless, "I told you not to say anything to him."

"Yeah, well, when he's smoking all of your pack instead I won't mention it."

Firkle crinkled his nose and handed his half smoked cigarette over to Pete who just finished his. Pete flipped his hair out of his face and accepted the cigarette, placing it in his mouth without a word.

"Why are you telling everyone my business?" Firkle asked, his face heating up.

"Tch. We stick together. You being all ga ga over some conformist, football player isn't something that exactly normal-"

"Geez, Henri," Michael interrupts, putting down his fountain pen, "You act like we have a code of honor or something."

Henrietta scowls at Michael, placing the end of her cigarette on her lip, but not actually smoking it. Pete nods, "What's so great about this conformist anyway? What type of fangs did he sink into you?"

Michael raises an eyebrow at Pete, opening his mouth to say something, but Pete cuts him off, "Shut up. That's not what I was talking about."

Michael laughs and Firkle tucks his hair over his ear and looks down. "I don't know. He's just so..."

Henrietta makes a gagging noise, "You're so gross. Having feelings in my room? How dare you."

Michael chuckles and Pete laughs. Michael shakes his head and combs his hand through his curly hair, "Sounds like you got it bad."

Firkle flushes, "What should I do?"

Pete shrugs, "That's a personal problem for you to solve-"

"Pete!" Henrietta warns, "Be nice to him. He's young."

"And dumb," Pete rebuts.

"Does he like you?" Michael asks. He'd given up on trying to write anything else, simply more interested in helping Firkle.

Firkle shrugged and Pete took a drag of his cigarette, "I don't know. I don't like him. He makes me feel sick. Should I fight him?"

"No!" Henrietta says sternly.

Pete laughs, "You'd die."

"Plus, it doesn't sound like he'd even fight you," Michael contributes. Firkle rolls his eyes.

"Yeah," Pete says, "Sounds like he wants to fu-"

"No." Henrietta glares at Pete, then knocks her cigarette ashes into the tray.

"You should ask him out," Michael says with a slight smile.