Hush

27: Three Teens And a Dog Walk Into a Bar

A/N: Rare drawing of Kitty in this Universe up there ^^

"What exactly are we doing here, again?"

"We're waiting,"

Though Kitty wasn't happy with the answer, it was true. We were at the back of the school, waiting for one John Laurens. Not that she was aware of that last part, of course. (I was seriously hoping she wouldn't have an aneurysm from the shock.) I had already talked to John about my madness of a plan and though pretty nervous he agreed to let it happen. And maybe, just maybe, it wouldn't go down like the Titanic. I didn't blame him, I was nervous, too. Scared shitless, in fact. Well, I mean, she already hates him (hate might be too strong of a word. Highly dislike him because of the rumors that orbit around him like space trash around a satellite would be a more accurate wording) I'm simply hoping that once she meets him, she'll change her mind. Like I did.

Because why would anyone hate John after getting to know him and his stupid freckles and obscure facts? Just this morning he was telling me about how so many koalas in Australia have chlamydia. Absolutely disgusting information that had no place in my brain. And yet there it is. Okay, maybe I can see how could somebody mildly dislike him if they happened to have an aversion to gross facts. But not hate. No way. He's too good for that.

"Yeah, no shit, Alex. You already said that." Kitty groans. "I just wanna know why,"

I was about to say some other vague bullshit that would probably frustrate Kitty even further and lead her to pull my hair (it's her way of asserting dominance for having shorter curls. It doesn't hurt, but my dignity is slightly wounded each time). But then, the barking started. And every single little stupid hair in my body tensed up as if I had suddenly decided that sticking a metal fork on a toaster was a good idea. Not long after I started talking to John I learned one thing: where the dog is, the boy will usually follow. Meaning that if Brutus was already here, barking at ants and rolling on the itchy, recently cut grass, John couldn't be too far behind. I felt as if my heart was going to do a prison scape out of my rib cage.

Kitty's first instinct upon seeing Brutus was shrieking and then immediately making a hiding spot out of my flannel. I will assume that the answer to my earlier question is no, she does not like dogs. Meanwhile, I leaned down and petted Brutus' mostly bald head behind his ear the way I leaned he liked it.

"Hey there, Brutus," I greeted the dog.

"You know this dog?" Kitty asks, peeking out from behind me.

"Yeah, he's a good boy. Don't worry,"

"That's– whatever. How come you know this random dog?"

I shrug, and I seriously think a strand of my hair was about to be yanked out of it weren't for the awkward voice seeping in between the barks.

"I uh– hi."

I turn toward the voice and, of course, there is John. Standing awkwardly, shifting his weight between his long legs, fiddling with his paint-splattered fingers, biting his stupid lips. He looks like a nerve wreck, and possibly so do I. But the sight of him still inevitably makes me smile, and I go to him.

I grab his hand. Sweetly. "Hey, John. Uh— this is Kitty. Kitty; John." I introduce them.

John waves at her the way you wave at that one friend you haven't even spoken to in years and don't really feel like speaking to again but you still have to acknowledge because your parents decided to suddenly become best friends in the middle of the mall and it would be rude not to otherwise.

I don't think it matters, though. Kitty's just standing there, looking like she didn't even process the greeting. Her eyes are comically wide and her jaw might have fallen off if it weren't literally attached to her head. It's like I just announced Freddie Mercury was my best friend. In those tense seconds, I hold John's hand tighter and hope he doesn't mind the cold sweat.