Seth Unseen

Part 5: The Soul of Wit

The halls of Middleton High School feel less cluttered and less suffocating nowadays. Not because there are any fewer people, but because I'm walking with someone—Ken—after our thrilling algebra class heading to lunch. When you're not alone, you're less aware of yourself; you feel like you're part of the crowd rather than some foreign organism that's just trying to survive. This is new to me.

My newfound comfort among the masses does little to assuage my anxiety after finding out that I have to join the float committee. I didn't even know that the program existed until Mr. Shell employed a surprise attack. He had me cornered like a defenseless animal and I didn't have any say in it. It was traumatizing.

Ken and I walk at a leisurely pace through the halls without talking. It's too loud for us to hear each other anyway, and I'm far too consumed in my thoughts to offer any good conversation. I do, however, look up at him occasionally so that I have something to smile about.

When we reach the cafeteria, I sit at my usual seat as Ken waits in line to order his food. He has a higher tolerance for food than I. He's brave like that.

He returns with his cheeseburger substitute and french fry adjacent meal and sits across from me.

"Looks good," I say sarcastically, staring at Ken's plate.

"Yeah, I'm starving," Ken says earnestly.

You never really know how sarcastic you are until you're around someone who isn't.

"I liked our chat last night," I say, and then take a sip of my Capri Sun. Pacific Cooler of course.

"Me too," replies Ken, hiding his smirk by looking down.

"Unfortunately, the news I received today was not so good."

"Why?" Ken looked up, concerned as if I was actually injured.

"Mr. Shell pulled me into his classroom and accused me of not having any school spirit. Apparently, my lack of extracurricular activities won't look good for colleges and I need to start now."

"So what are you gonna do?"

"Every other group and sports team has been filled up, so I have to join the float committee."

"Oh."

"Yeah." I drink from my Capri Sun to calm my nerves.

"I didn't know that we had a float committee."

"Me neither. I suspect the Hellmouth at the center of the school is to blame. My Saturdays for the next four weeks are shot."

"I'm sorry."

"There are worse things I suppose. I can't think of any right now, but I'm sure there's something."

"Well, I um ... wanted to ask you something." Ken says, looking stressed and wiping his brow. "Do you want to see a movie this Saturday? We can go at night so it doesn't interfere with your float group. I've got baseball practice in the afternoon, but afterwards I'm free."

"Oh, sure," I laugh. The way he led up to the question made it seem like it was going to be much more serious than it was. Ken is intense that way. Even when we were in my room playing video games, he kept his eyes locked on the screen and barely blinked like it was life or death, like he didn't want to fail. It was charming actually and it shows that he truly cares.

"What do you want to see?" I ask. "Friday Night Lights?" I have zero interest in the film, but it has football in it so I assume that Ken will like it.

He thinks for a moment and says, "What about The Incredibles?"

"I didn't think you'd be interested in seeing that."

"You like superheroes, so I figured you'd like that." Ken eats his burger, unaware that I'm staring at him. It was a small gesture, but it was big at the same time.

Ken offers to take me home in his black and battered Pontiac '97, and I agree. He's embarrassed, but it's the kind of embarrassment that comes from something you love. It didn't matter to him that he didn't have the nicest care, he worried that I would look down upon it. I come off as vain—and I am—but that's only as it pertains to myself. I like that he's more down-to-earth.

We spend the rest of the day together—homework be damned. We go to TGIFridays and order sundaes and just drive around for hours, talking and talking. I did most of the talking, but he grunted and agreed every now and then, so I knew that he was paying attention.

It's dark by the time we reach my development and we sit in quietude near my house, but not close enough for my mom to peek out the window and see us. It's a comfortable silence. I would think that some people would have to build up to this for it not to be awkward, but for us, it comes naturally.

"I know I don't talk much," Ken says, then clears his throat. He's leaning against the door, staring out in front of him. "And I'm not the best at showing it, but I like you. I just wanted you to know."

He looks away as if he doesn't want to see my reaction. This is the most that he's talked all night and it means a lot. It's something that I have felt, that's why I didn't press him for a response after the bathroom rendezvous—as much as I wanted to—and now it's paying off because it's coming directly from him, unprompted.

I reach my hand over and rub his back and he turns to me with a look of surprise. Suddenly, we lean in and start kissing with the same passion we had in that bathroom, only slower, like we're more mentally aware of how we feel. I know it's probably hormones, I'm a logical person, but right now I don't care. I really, really like him.