Cliché

chapter 18. blocked on ig

If an author isn't good at writing, there are going to be many, many confusing aspects of their story. Why are there so many goddamn characters with generic -ss names I can't remember? Why is the main character so stupid? And why does the progression of time make no sense?

The answer is yes. To every question.

Confusing, right?

I slam my carton of chocolate milk down onto the cafeteria table, dramatically grabbing the attention of both Brie and Evan.

"Something's wrong."

"Yeah, with my lunch. The beans are hard and the cheese tastes like watery plastic," Evan grimaces, violently attempting to stab his spork into the black box of inedible school food— if it can even be called food.

"No." I shake my head absentmindedly. "I mean yes, but no. Something else is off. With today."

"You mean the way time jumped a month and a half? It's September now." Brie frowns.

"Now, that was trippy," I agree, nodding. "I turned in an assignment with 8/18/XX at the top only for my math teacher to tell me it was actually September 29th. But no, it's not that, either."

I turn in my seat, directly facing the center table from my view of the cafeteria. There, sitting with his tray of inedible lunch, is the Quarterback. Alone.

"Where the hell did all my love interests go?"

"You still have pretty boy Brandon over there." Evan shrugs.

"And Evan!" Brie jumps in.

"No. I don't count."

"Iris, I'm sure they'll be back soon," Brie says reassuringly, ignoring Evan's protests. "Maybe the author decided to be reasonable for once and wrote in the storylines one at a time."

And from there, Brie begins chattering away happily, while Evan puts aside his opposition at being called my love interest and clings to Brie's every word like a lovesick puppy (even though he tries to be cool and pretends he doesn't— description subject to a bit of dramatization from your lovely main character). Reluctantly, I swivel back towards our table, deciding to drop the subject before I ruin the mood.

But I can't stop thinking.

What if the author actually decided to write them off? What would happen to their real identities?

And who would be next?

Maybe that's why we're not talking about it. Because of the fear that anyone at this table could be expended.

And no one would be able to do anything about it.

Stupid author.

-⚘-

I stare out the window, watching as the houses passed by in a blur of neutral colors, like a paint smear. The tapping of Jasmine's scrolling and the rumble of the car as it passes over the street accompanies Brie's soft humming, like what a melodic arrangement for a quiet ride home would be like. Too soon, Phillips drops all three of us off at my house, pulling out of the driveway as we wave and head to the front door.

As I dig through my backpack for the key, I falter. My love interests' disappearances have been bothering me the entire day, the worry weighing heavily in my stomach as if I had picked up a rock off the ground and ate it. Slowly, I hand the key and my backpack to Brie, who looks up at me in slight surprise.

"You go in first," I say, giving her a small smile. "I'm going to check on something."

"Sure. But don't stay out too long. We have some movies to binge." Brie laughs, before turning to Jasmine and ushering her inside the house.