Page 19 of Meet Cute

It feels good to have a friend.

“Real friends.” Finn echoes, inching closer across the table. “We’re real friends, Duncan… Hah… It’s… It’s really nice to have a real friend. T-Thanks for being my friend.”

To anyone else this would probably be a bit unnerving, I’m not dumb enough to ignore that. But it’s how Finn is, and I hate to admit that I find it sort of cute. Maybe because deep down I feel the same way. It’s not his fault he sucks at hiding it.

After putting away the remnants of lunch, the two of us walk through the almost-empty halls until we reach The Game Shop. With simple white walls and light wood plank flooring, the store is full of geeky activities.

Model kits. Card games. Shelves and shelves of board games. None of it’s for me, but Finn completely lights up. He excitedly speed walks over to the model kits, examining them with the glee of a kid in a candy store. He walks as if he’s trying not to draw attention to himself, even though it’s totally obvious.

“You build those?” I ask, lagging behind him.

“My dad did,” he explains while flipping over one of the boxes, “they always seemed fun. He said I was too… stupid to do them.”

I can’t stop the way my eyes roll so far into the back of my head I almost lose them. “I’m really not a big fan of your dad. He sounds like an asshole.”

“He is an asshole.”

“I’m not about to get in the way of you and your, uh, wooden kit thing. I’m sure you can do it.” The encouragement feels so robotic leaving my mouth. “Show me it when it’s done?”

All the negativity in the air disappears at the prospect of hanging out again. “Y-Yeah! Gladly! I’m gonna get it!”

Having so much influence over another person is kind of scary. He seems to just… do whatever I say, and I don’t know if that’s good or bad. It’s endearing regardless, but what if I say the wrong thing? Would he really do anything?

“Is that all?” The bored and visibly tired cashier says, running a hand through his long dirty blond hair. When Finn doesn’t say anything he breathes loudly through his thin nose, rapping his fingers against the counter. “It’ll be thirty-two fifty.”

With a tap of his card it’s all paid for. The machine spits out a receipt and we’re sent on our merry way. My phone says it's nearing four, but with how fast the sun is setting you’d think it was way later.

I should go home. I need to go home. Yet the thought of spending another night alone is so miserable. It’s probably way too soon to be inviting him inside my house, but I don’t care. I really don’t.

“Finn?”

“Huh? Yeah?” Whatever he was focused on mere seconds ago is completely out of his head, all of his attention on me and only me.

“Do you wanna come back to my house?”

The way his eyes shoot open makes me grin for a split second. “You… You want me to? Really?”

“Yeah,” I shrug nonchalantly even though my heart is one beat away from giving out entirely. “We can watch a movie or something. Uh… if you want. I dunno.”

“I want to!” Definitely no hesitance on his end, but thinking he would pass up the opportunity was just silly. “I-I’ll come, as long as you’re sure!”

Finn words it so awkwardly that my own nerves begin to subside. Of course I’m sure I want him there. Why wouldn’t I be sure? He’s really the only friend I have right now.

FIFTEEN

Haley

can you reply, please?? ik ur reading my texts.

She’s mad at me, and she has every right to be. One ignored text turned into ten, and now I’m too embarrassed to reply. I stuff my phone back into my pocket, turning my attention to Finn—who is kneeled down on the ground with his arm out.

Chalupa rubs himself all over my friend for approximately five seconds, before his tail shoots up and he lets out a curious sounding meow. Without another peep he races out of the room, gone as quickly as he came.

“He’s weird,” I say while kicking off my shoes. “What should we watch?” My raggedy old couch huffs when I collapse onto it, keeping a respectable distance from my guest as he joins me.

Getting him here was one thing, but actually having him here is extraordinarily nerve-wracking. How forward is too forward? How awkward is too awkward? I don’t have an answer for either of those questions, but it’s probably at the very least creepy to take notice of his cute green dinosaur socks.

“I like your place,” Finn says with eyes as wide as saucers. He seems super happy to be here, which has to be good. “It’s…” he sinks into the back cushion, “homey.”