Freshman Girl and Junior Guy (a short story) INTERIM GODDESS OF LOVE PREQUEL

3. Tuesday Evening

It's early evening again, and I've been alone here packing canned goods and instant noodles for fifteen minutes.

I know he's going to show up soon, because he does that now. He isn't someone I hope to see anymore. I know I'll see him.

I'm excited of course, but at the same time embarrassed. Nice guys check up on their friends, make sure they don't walk home alone when it's dark out, right? That's all.

Being nice is a long way off from buying flowers, going out on a date. Being my first kiss.

Stop it. Oh god. Embarrassing.

"Sardines and sausages," someone says, coming up beside me. Of course it's Quin. "Not bad."

"Most of them with lids you can flip open," I reply, trying to be casual. "Which is so helpful."

"You're right. No one donates can openers."

"Quin," I sputter, "Why are you here? Don't you have basketball practice or something?"

It sounds like an accusation. That's not what I'm actually saying, though. Him being a basketball player isn't what is making me so extremely sorry for myself right now.

"We don't have any, because of this," he says, pointing to all the donated goods occupying most of the basketball court.

"You could have said something," I whisper.

"Said something about what?"

"That you're in the team." That you're one of the most popular guys in school. That you could be talking to anyone right now, walking anyone else home.

He is shaking his head, and it moves his entire body, making his arms lightly brush against me. "Does it matter? Should I give you a list of all my extra-curriculars?"

I sigh. People who are popular, they don't get it. They don't see that there's a line that separates me from them, and no one can just cross it. You have to be unique. You have to be special.

My hair is just this flat dark thing on my head that falls to my shoulders. My skin is this thing I've been struggling to make decent with products and powder. My clothes are what I can afford.

I'm just me.

Maybe it makes him feel better to have a freshman scholarship kid for a friend. I don't know. Like I'm his charity case or something.

"It's because we suck," Quin says, and he sort of pushes the hair out of his eyes when he does this. "I don't tell people I'm in the basketball team, because we suck."

I laugh. "Seriously?"

He nods. "We haven't won a game in two seasons."

"You can't suck that badly."

"Oh, we do. Any popularity we have from being on the team is unearned. We're not the guys you think we are."

Unearned? Who says that? Old people. Rich people.

He's just making me feel better, I'm sure of it. Even if his team loses every game, he's still...he still looks like that. Talks like that. Like he owns the world.

"How many days have you been packing goods?" he asks.

"This is my third shift," I say. "I had another shift in this morning, with Sol. Feels good to help."

"Did you put your name in for Flowers For A Cause yet?"

"I haven't." I say that firmly, as if I hadn't whined about it to Sol. "You think I should?"

Quin is smiling at me, but now that I know what I know, I have to believe that it's a smile and nothing more. "Won't hurt. And it's because you want to help, right? Putting your name gives someone a chance to help too. Of course someone will buy you roses. Don't you want to know who your friends are?"

Yes, I want to know who my friends are. Are you my friend, Quin? Only that?