Only Differently Designed // ODD

7. Only Social Butterfly

"Did you find your book yet?"

"I think you already know the answer to that, Mark."

"Well, have you at least found out who borrowed it?"

I rest my cheek on the palm of my hand. "Nope."

"Agent Double-Oh-Eleven as far as I can see this case isn't moving fast enough," Mark says in a deep voice. "I want concrete evidence on this book's whereabouts, or I'll have to hand over the investigation to your rival, Agent Flip-Flop."

"Consider it handled." I reply monotonously.

Mark observes me for a moment, blinking a couple of times. "Don't tell me Scarlet invited you to another turkey sandwich."

"Worse – I was invited to her house."

"That's great!" Mark exclaims, and then shrinks when he sees the look on my face. "It isn't?"

"Of course it's not! You know how much of a potato I am in situations like these. I'm not exactly good at..." I wriggle my fingers in the air, searching for the right word, "mingling with people."

"But it's a start, and you've spoken to Scarlet before haven't you?"

"Scarlet isn't the problem here – her friends are. The ones I embarrassed myself in front of last week. They're coming too, all three of them."

My mind flashes back to the time I sat with them on the grass, unable to pry my mouth open, not even to offer a few decent words.

"You didn't embarrass yourself–"

"Yes, I did, and I can't even back out this time because it's for a History project. We're working in groups, and I was chucked into Scarlet's."

"If it bothers you so much why didn't you tell Scarlet you didn't want to be in her group?"

"Because she didn't ask for my permission in the first place! I didn't realize she had added my name to her group until the professor read our names out loud."

"At least you know Scarlet," he reasons. "It would've been worse if you were put together with a bunch of kids you've never spoken to. The professor would've probably done that – collect all the leftovers into one group."

I want to argue, but I can't help but agree as well. "True, but she should've asked me first–"

"Come on, it'll be fine. You don't have to be a social butterfly; it's just a school project for Santa's sake, not a party! You're good at History aren't you? Just do your job, make it a presentable project, and get a good grade."

I slump back on my chair. I am good at History, though, aren't I? I imagine Scarlet frowning at a paragraph in the book, and me pointing out what she's missing, and her face brightening at finally understanding the lesson. I feel a naïve flutter of excitement in my stomach. As soon as I do, though, I mentally slap myself for fantasizing about something so ridiculous.

"You don't have to 'mingle'," he adds, making air quotations.

True. I don't need friends. I only need Mark – and good grades.

"Yeah," I nod. "Yeah, you're right. Just a school project, that's all."

"That's right, Agent Double-Oh-Eleven, I'm glad you found your resolve."

"You sound like you swallowed a frog."

Abandoning his deep voice, Mark says, "You know, I have to admit I feel a tad bit jealous of you."

"Jealous? Of me?" I emphasize the last word, seeing that luck and I aren't exactly the greatest buddies.

"Yes! I mean, you get to go to a classmate's house. You get to speak to kids your age and do all those ordinary little things which people take for granted. I'd like to be able to do such things too," his green eyes wander around the library dreamily. "Even things as simple as buying a latte or lending someone a pencil–"

"You really don't want to lend anyone a pencil," I joke. "It either never returns, or returns mutilated."

Ignoring my comment, Mark rubs his bushy eyebrows, and says, "My point is, if I can't enjoy these privileges, the least you can do is enjoy them yourself – for me."

I want to say that although I have access to these privileges he yearns for so much, I can't always be part of them. I can't always talk to people the way I want to. My voice is unreliable, a leg that causes me to limp, and the easiest way to keep from falling down is to hold onto crutches – crutches of silence, of keeping my distance, of maintaining a limited relationship with my peers.

But Mark is my friend, my only friend. And when a friend asks for a favor – no matter what the nature of this favor is – you ought to comply.

I salute solemnly. "Consider it handled."