Plunge.

Division Two

“This is like one of those movies where one of the protagonists suddenly disappears and the one left gets schizophrenia.”

“What?”

“Nothing,” Shane smiles. “Just pass me the glue gun.”

Shane Ellis is the son of my mom’s best friend, Kaila. When we were kids, our moms used to have book clubs together, along with the other moms in the neighborhood. Of all the kids they bought, Shane and I got along the best. At some point when I was five years old, Mrs. Ellis stopped bringing Shane. I never bothered to ask her why. He goes to the same school I do and we see each other every day, but we never really hung out before. He was never a best friend, anyway. He just used to be a playmate.

A few days ago, mom asked Mrs. Ellis to bring Shane once again, because she said I spend way too much time alone. And now I wonder if that’s all Shane is ever gonna be – a playmate.

But I have to admit, Shane’s company really lifts up my mood. I guess I am too tired of being alone.

The day before, Shane and I got assigned to do a project together. We were to build one model of a typical house, and another, a futuristic one, where we get really creative with – any design that we want.

When we were working on it, I told Shane my dilemma.

“There,” he says as he glues the mailbox down. “We’re almost done with the normal house. Exhibit number one.”

“So…” I start. “Any comments? Suggestions? Violent reactions?”

“Not really.” He holds the house up to admire our project. “But I do have an instinctive implication.”

“Really now?” I get the scissors and I start to cut the walls for house number two.

“You see this as a negative thing, which is a natural response being human. Yet I see it as an opportunity to improve my problem solving skills.” He bounces a Styrofoam ball on his head.

“You’re saying…?”

“I’m saying that if my best friends suddenly disappeared, it’s no coincidence.”

“But they didn’t disappear. For all we know –”

“But you don’t know, do you?”

I raise my eyebrows. “What’s your point?”

“My point is you’re creating an illusion. An illusion based on only one possibility over thousands.” He pauses, his unfamiliar spring-green eyes looking directly towards mine. “I say, we investigate.”

The ambience suddenly becomes eerily silent. I tense at his proposal. Shane has a point. His face was triumphant, knowing that I have gotten caught in his little web. He’s right. There were millions of possibilities. How could anyone just go with one? There’s only one way to find out.

“I’m in,” I say with a mischievous smile.

*                              *                                 *                                       *                                   *                                 *

“Uh, yes, this is him speaking.”

“What’d she say?” I whisper.

“Of course, of course. I assure you, Mr. Ashen is very professional.” He covers his phone with his hand and mouths the word wait.

I roll my eyes.

“Yes, he’s sold quite a lot now. Uh, Mr. Ashen would want to require certain information as to who was the latest tenant that occupied the room in question?” Shane stalks off to our kitchen, while I plunk down the couch.