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16: My Girl

                16: My Girl

        Roundhouse pizzeria is directly across the road from the skate park, so there are no possible ways that I can think of to attempt to sway Fred from waiting for me to purchase a pizza to take back to Byron's and Graham's. After more of his self-righteous (but no conceited, and more as a way to confide in others, of course) talk of his own accomplishments in skateboarding – which there were many of – I then realised that I had already promised to spend the night at Byron's, thankfully being the first one to sleep in the third bedroom.

        Standing on the tiled floor, with Parks and Rec playing on the TV hung in the top corner of the establishment, Fred passes his phone from hand to hand, whistling to himself to take away from the silence between us. I don't want to delude myself into believing that he genuinely sees me as a friend, but more as means to an end where Charlie's anger is concerned, but it was moments like those in the skate park when I was able to bond with someone about something I love. His cap is still on his head backwards, and looking at him in the mirror behind the counter, the bottom covered by unnecessary plants for decoration, and he is looking at the menu above.

        “Hi, how can I help you?” Fisting the twenty dollars in my palm, the material paired with the bite of my nails pushing against my skin, I blink at the worker. Roundhouse pizzeria evening staff always have sleep and boredom clouded over their eyes, and this one is no different. The smile on his face may suggest otherwise, but I have been around Byron long enough in his sleepless state to know exactly what fatigue looks like.

        “Can I have a large pepperoni, and a half and half meat feasts and Hawaiian?”

        “Ten minutes,” after nodding his head, he holds up both of his hands, ten fingers up, as though I don't understand the concept of ten minutes. I watch him prepare the pizzas, and then put them in the large oven, all the while Fred remains silent and broody sitting behind me.

        “What's Byron's house like?” I watch him in the mirror, he doesn't look up at me but looks engrossed in something happening on his phone and the world beyond it. I've never liked conversations with people who aren't fully invested into said conversation.

        I shrug my shoulders, running my hand through my hair, “It's really nice.” And it is, for whilst Byron staged an overly done house tour. This had resulted in being dragged by the arm from room to room, barely able to get a look around long enough to actually form an opinion before being carted off elsewhere. The only distinct thing I remember was not being able to take a look in the general direction of Graham's room, and I wonder what he's hiding in there.

        “Is he planning to have a house warming party anytime soon?”

        “This weekend.”

        “Oh.” His lips purse at this, and he begins typing something on his phone. I don't add that the chances of Fred being able to bring a 'plus one' like he seems to be doing so, are extremely slim. Byron and Graham have already established some kind of rule where they're going to be highly selective with whom they let into their house.

        “One large pepperoni, and one large half and half.” Ten minutes of broken conversation filled with awkward pauses, and now I'm taking two large pizzas into my arms. I half expected Fred to buy something just because we're here, but he doesn't move from his spot and his phone doesn't stray from his hands, either. I smile at the employee, handing over the twenty dollar bill and letting him keep the change as tips.

        “Yo, Yo, Yo!” I turn around to face the front door of the pizzeria, to find Dean Richards waving his hands in the air in a gun sign, a larger than normal grin on his face. Dean never smiles at anything, so this is enough of an indicator that he is on something, which is most likely illegal.