《Our Trilemma》


 Chapter 1: Cosmic Pizza

    Getting straight to the point, I asked, "Do you want to hear our story?"


    "That depends," Mr. Author said. "What sort of story is it?"


    Mr. Author and I sat at a table in Cosmic Pizza, the town''s most famous restaurant. It was a gigantic establishment that was a cross between a very large office space and a Denny''s. Like a typical family-friendly restaurant, there were small walls and cubicle partitions separating some of the tables, except here they''re tall enough to conceal a seated person from their cubicle neighbors. Placed strategically throughout the restaurant, these cubicle partitions created about a hundred or so small eating areas with only a few tables and chairs in each. The building itself was actually a converted warehouse with who knows what above the ceiling, and the only indication of the restaurant''s size is the building''s exterior. Each little area had its own electronic kiosk that could be used to order and pay for food, internet access, or to rent one of their ¡°luxury chairs¡± at a college-student-affordable price.


    An inordinate number of these ¡°luxury chairs¡± were actually just exotic cushions imported from who knows where, or beanbags made suspiciously flat as if a large amount of stuffing had been removed.


    During the school year, Cosmic Pizza would be packed at all hours of the day and night, with the flat beanbags being their most popular ¡°luxury chair.¡± It was a legitimate pizza establishment that made great pizza, but it also doubled as an illegitimate overnight hotel for poor college students.


    The eccentric owner is actually a friendly guy I met on a few occasions. His name is "Cosmo," but it isn''t entirely clear if this is his first or last name, nick name, or some sort of pseudonym. Nonetheless, his name is perhaps, the least sketchy thing about him. Apparently he either was, or still is, the town''s only health, building, and safety inspector¡ªor so he claims. It''s actually one of his most favorite topics to discuss with his patrons, as in he mentions this at every possible opportunity. Even though I''ve heard this each and every time I''ve encountered the portly man, the actual details still eluded me.


    The problem is that I often can''t understand what the hell he is trying to tell me. Whenever he spoke, his voice was rough, and his always-slurred words came out at an unusual tempo. His disorganized thoughts were conveyed in a stream of consciousness that came directly out of his mouth. To me, he sounded like a lifelong chain-smoking Scotsman who''d recently been kicked hard in the balls during some perpetual search for more booze. The only thing about him that was more difficult to understand was how he could possibly be a fully functioning human being.


    "Well, it''s my story; a true telling of the past few months of my misguided attempts to help a cute guy with a very gay problem."


    "So, no werewolves, then?" he asked, but didn''t wait for an answer.


    The "What!?" I gave him was practically involuntary.


    This had apparently been the response he was looking for, because he then said, "Goood ¡­ ," drawing out the word like a house cat drawing out the suffering of a captured mouse. On the other hand, he sort of sounded like a comic book supervillain trying to hide his Bible Belt accent, and that invoked its own imagery. In that case, had there been an actual cat present, I would''ve been severely disappointed if he didn''t pet it while saying, "exxxcellent."


    I struggled to find an appropriate response to give Mr. Author, so the best I could do was mumble the obvious, saying, "Um, ¡­ like I said. It''s about real events that¡ª" but then Mr. Author interrupts me. "You''d be surprised at the number of gay werewolf stories that claim to be true accounts. Admittedly, some of them are just furries with very active imaginations."


    Really, I had no idea what the fuck he was talking about, but I could work with that because he wasn''t anything like Cosmo.


    Before I could actually say anything, he asks, "Do you always sound like you''re narrating a Budweiser commercial?" and then nodded once at me as if I actually answered his question.


    I considered the possibility that we weren''t having the same conversation, but I discarded that idea in favor a simpler explanation. As far as I could tell, Mr. Author will interpret my face as being a direct response to his questions. From this I reasoned that he was probably treating my ¡°what the fuck¡± expression as a complete and valid statement.


    "Maybe I should call him ¡®Mr. Sassy Author,¡¯ " I thought to myself.


    "Mr. Author" was just the name I used in my notes to refer to a selected handful of people who shared the same function. There were six writers in all living nearby, but any one of them could have been here, coincidentally, dining at the same time we were. For my purposes they were basically interchangeable.


    I gave him a brief, but polite, chuckle in response before waving that nonsense away with a gesture. It was only a figurative gesture, but I strongly wished was literal.


    Mr. Author asked, "So, ¡­ then, ¡­ what''s it about?" in a way that was definitely sassy.


    Given how tall he was, the aging Caucasian fellow spoke more softly than I would''ve expected for someone of his height.


    Answering him, I began to say, "It''s about the lies we told ourselves and¡ª" but then Mr. Author broke in again and said "Is this poetry or prose?¡ªBecause if it''s the former then I''m not interested," without giving me any chance to respond. "So can the poetry please, and just tell me why your story is so interesting." Then, after looking at his expensive watch, he added, "You have about a minute left."


    This guy was either very impatient or very intolerant of bullshit. It was either that or he was severely over-caffeinated. Despite being nearly three times my age, Mr. Author spoke quickly with the energy of a youth that should''ve long since passed.


    He had that unnaturally smooth face that comes from an overuse of Botox, and his hair was dyed in a rainbow of colors and styled stiffly against the top of his head. It almost looked like he styled his hair first, and then painted a rainbow on his head. When I first walked up to him, I noticed the distinct absence of reading glasses, and only now do I realize that this was a possibility I totally forgot to plan for. It was a sloppy mistake, even though it worked out in the end.


    Since Mr. Author preferred gestures over words, I reached into my bag to grabbed a small box, like the sort that might hold a ring, and a portable video player. In it''s current folded form, the video player was a bit smaller than a typical tablet computer, but still larger than a cellphone. On the outside it appeared to be a thick version of one of those mini-notepads that waiters in normal restaurants use to take orders.


    It actually has two screens that act together like one large screen when unfolded. The screens were designed to sit flush against each other so that there''s only a thin physical gap in the middle that was easy enough to ignore. Most of the video on the player is in HD, and this more than makes up for the small size of the viewing screen. I didn''t want to waste any more money buying something bigger for a one-time use item like this, especially given how common it is for people to watch video on their much smaller cellphone screens.


    I rose and placed both items on the table in front of Mr. Author, but without pushing away the book he''d been reading. There was plenty of room on the table for my purposes. Earlier, just before he closed the book and set it aside, I saw the title, ¡°Raunchiness in the New Millennium,¡± so I did my best to ignore it. I gestured to Mr. Author, asking if I may sit beside him.


    In response, he says, "This is how my husband should''ve proposed to me."


    I laughed genuinely at this, and sat down. There was no point in asking for a more direct answer to my simple request.


    In any case, it really was unintentionally funny. I had deliberately picked this particular video player due to its folded appearance, which I thought would be perfect for a meeting with Mr. Author. However, I hadn''t thought about what it would look like when both it and the box were on the table.


    Now that I was seated beside Mr. Author, I noticed that he opted for a rocking chair. This was somewhat surprising, but I didn''t let myself get too distracted by it. Thus far, he''d been still enough for me to think that he was in a non-rocking chair, which means that I could probably rule out the over-caffeinated hypothesis. I made a mental note to review this later.


    When I opened the little fake-notepad to reveal the double-screened video player, Mr. Author ¡°ohhed¡± and ¡°ahed¡± sarcastically because, of course he did. Even though I''d only just met him, it didn''t take me long to figure out that aspect of his personality. The player was on and already set to the relevant footage that needed only to be unpaused. It showed a still image on the screen of one of the campus'' lesser-used cafeterias. The scene was centered on two young men¡ªstudents¡ªseated next to each other, and unknowingly facing the camera.


    While I was propping up the video player, using its built-in stand, Mr. Author reached over to grab the small ornate box.


    Before he could take hold of it, I said, in a comically polite way, "No, no, no. Allow me," and then presented the box in the manner one might for a marriage propose. I said, using his actual name, "¡­ will you ¡­ put this in your ear?" and opened the box at the appropriate moment.


    Rather than a ring, the box contained a white wireless earbud sitting in shaped black velvet. This was apparently the right thing to do because Mr. Author laughed so raucously that I feared it would be loud enough for my friends¡ªthe putative couple¡ªto hear. As far as they know, I''m either gushing over my favorite author, engrossed in some arcane literary discussion, or that I was trying to hit on him. Regardless, it mattered little what they thought at this point. My primary concern was whether they would try to approach us sooner than I had planned for this scenario.


    "Hya, hya, hya, heh. And here I thought your were some humorless fan."


    "Ouch," I said jokingly, but with a smile Then, to myself, I noted that, "Technically, I am neither."


    "So, Ahmed," Mr. Author says with amusement, and then very sassily, he asks, "Do I get to keep these?" as he fiddled with the earbud I gave him.


    "Yes," I said, plainly. "Consider this a gift of appreciation; a ¡®thank you¡¯ for giving me the time to talk to you."


    He looked at me sideways in disbelief, and I nodded. I smiled again, more genuinely this time, because I was surprised at how extremely satisfying it was to evoke his bewildered expression.


    I pointed to a larger earbud, that was already in my own ear, in case he hadn''t noticed it yet. It was a shade of brown that matched my skin tone, but it was also plainly in the ear that was currently visible to Mr. Author, and notably not to anyone that might pass by.


    I then added, "But first, let me show you some of the footage that is already stored in the video player."


    Echoing me, he said, "Footage?" and raised an eyebrow while I resisted smiling.


    "Yes. Footage," I say, and then pause for dramatic effect. "You see, I have this hobby, ¡­ people watching¡ªlike going to public places to watch the crowds go by."


    I can practically see Mr. Author''s bullshit detector coming up with an error, and only now do I allow myself to smile.


    "I''m very good at my hobby," I tell him, because it was true.


    I took out my phone¡ªthe one I use for casual surveillance¡ªand opened up this program-turned-app that my cousins and I made for connecting to computer networks we''d compromised.


    "It''s similar to some of the work I used to do for my family. But we''ll get to that a little bit later."


    After selecting a security camera pointing at the putative couple, and then another covering some of the intervening space, I also selected the camera currently pointing at Mr. Author and I, but I quickly put that video feed in a different tab. I switched back, returning to the original tab with the view of the putative couple. Very unconcernedly, I place my phone down in front of me, like I would if I wanted to keep track of the time. Of course, and in accordance with my family''s traditions, this was technically true because, after all, my scenario was on a schedule. As the saying goes, "we are like glass in the dark; both technically transparent and hidden in plain sight," but I keep that to myself.


    Mr. Author did a double take when he saw my phone, and any humor that remained, drained visibly from his face.


    "Is that? ¡­" he asked, pointing to my phone.


    Rather than say anything, I switched to the other tab and waved at our security camera. There was a slight delay between my action and its appearance on my phone, but as soon as that happened, I switched back to the original tab.


    Gesturing first to the video player, and then to my phone, I quietly said, "Before. ¡­ After. The putative couple," and then pointed to each in succession, "my friends, Shin, which is short for Shinjiro Nezu-Rivera, and Kit Miller, which isn''t short for anything."


    I huff once at my little pun.


    Between the gifts and my unveiling, I was certain that I now had Mr. Author''s complete attention.


    But then he leans in towards me¡ªactually over me¡ªand says in a harsh whisper, "Are you some sort of spook?" which was predictable and unoriginal.


    I do not react immediately to his question, but I do suppress the need to role my eyes.


    It was a rabbit hole that I didn''t want to fall through quite yet, and so for fun I turned and gestured for him to remain silent with a gentle and barely audible "Shh ¡­".


    My act, rather than being enigmatic and ambiguously serious, was likely ruined by my bemused smile. However, at the very least, it was creepy as fuck. Still, in the end, anything he might''ve been planning to say, died quietly in his mind.


    ?


    The putative couple were still recognizable as being the same people on both screens, but there were some notable differences. Shinjiro developed this subtle afterglow effect that put him on the sexy side of cute, while Kit''s transformation was much more pronounced with both his body and with what he wore. It seemed like he''d finally finished growing into an adult.


    Both looked healthier now, with Kit appearing especially so. His once sunken cheeks now looked almost supermodel attractive, and with the T-shirt and shorts he wore, his skin was visible enough to illustrate how exceedingly talented Shinjiro was with the use of makeup. Nonetheless, he still showed signs that he was resisting Shinjiro''s makeover, but overall, that war had already been lost.


    On the older paused footage, my friends looked somewhat mismatched, but on the real-time feed they looked liked they belonged together.


    Even seated at a table, their usual dynamic was always there. Shin was the skinny and short one, while Kit was taller and far more muscular. This contrast alone was noticeable, but not in a ¡°David and Goliath¡± kind of way. Both were still fairly average in height, but what they wore could accentuate their differences, or make them less apparent. Back then, before my meddling, they had almost diametrically opposing styles. Now they almost look like they coordinated their outfits, but in reality it wasn''t ¡°they,¡± it was all just Shinjiro. He deliberately chose those outfits so that they would match without seeming like they were.Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.


    In the old footage, Shin wore a tight fitting black T-shirt with a mess of gray, red, and blue that was some sort of printed logo or design. His black hair was shorter than it is now, but still styled fashionably in a meticulously messy way. To most, he looked vaguely Asian or Hispanic, but few ever guessed that he is actually part Asian and part Hispanic. His father is a Japanese immigrant turned naturalized American citizen, while his mother was a Hispanic immigrant who''d been separated from her parents at a very young age.


    Kit originally had a sort of grungy and disheveled appearance, but now that''s been mostly abandoned. It wasn''t that his clothes looked old or dirty, but rather that they didn''t fit him very well. Just as he had in the frozen frame of the video, Kit sometimes wore an undershirt that was either too big or very loose on him. However, what compounded the issue was that whatever he wore on top of that tended be too small.


    Still, even beneath his grungy appearance, it was hard to hide his athletic build. His sharp facial features and high cheek bones would have made him very attractive, but there was also a hollowness there that, overall, made his face seem only slightly attractive. This worked against him, in a sense, because his good looks hid health issues that neither he, nor Shin, were aware of. However, his unflattering attire was kind of deliberate because he did not like the attention he garnered when he appeared as attractive as he really was. There''s more to it than that, but the gist was that Kit was just as fucked up on the inside as he looked on the outside.


    In the video, he wore a gray T-shirt beneath a camo colored hoodie, unzipped, with its long sleeves rolled up enough to show a few scars on his forearms. Both the shirt and the hoodie were baggy on him, practically draping his frame, but the hoodie seemed slightly smaller. His large biceps and wide chest were often difficult to hide, and this time the sleeves on the hoodie were tight enough to show hints of his muscular physique.


    He looked to be well-tanned, but that was just his complexion. His light-brown hair was messily unkempt, and with the way it hung over his ears and piercing amber eyes, it desperately needed to be cut.


    Mr. Author sat hunched over examining the still image, but he seemed hesitant to touch the device. He was former alumni from some bygone era¡ªprobably the stone age¡ªwhere they might, or might not, have used writing slates instead of paper. Actually, I doubt it was that long ago since the school name still had the word ¡°Zephyrus¡± in it. Even though he is not part of the faculty, he has some sort of long-term relationship or association with the university, the details of which I did not care to learn. The only relevant bit was that he has been on campus regularly enough to know that security cameras were not common in the classroom or cafeterias.


    He turned to me, his eyebrow raised, giving me a look of distrust. Before he could say anything, I pressed a button on the video player¡ªa real button and not the fake digital kind¡ªand the footage immediately began to play. Just as in the real-time feed, the two sat next to each other on the same side of the table having some sort of discussion. Shin was talking animatedly, while Kit sat motionless, like the play button had no effect on him.


    Kit sat with his elbow on the table, using his hand to prop up his head, facing away from Shin while staring off into the distance. At first glance, it appeared as though he wasn''t even listening to his friend, but based on his expression, he was simply trying to hide his amusement.


    Shinjiro was in the midst of explaining something, his hands moving lively while he talked. "¡­ numbers! Seriously, the first week was just about numbers; real, imaginary, natural, and blah-blah, whatever. Then he added stuff like addition and multiplication and called them groups, and I was like, ¡®Am I even in the right class?¡¯ thinking this was some low-level remedial course."


    Without hiding his amusement, Kit turned to face his friend directly. It was sudden like he''d just come to life. "Hahaha. Well, you weren''t totally wrong there. Did you even think that it might be a high-level advanced course?"


    Shin crossed his arms and grumpily said, "No, not really. I just ¡­ ," but then didn''t bother finish the sentence.


    Kit did not hesitate to finish his friend''s thought. "¡ªyou just assumed you wouldn''t do something as dumb as take a high-level math course?"


    "It''s called ¡®Modern Algebra.¡¯ Algebra! I thought it was like, solving-quadratic-equations, algebra," he said, and then reacted to Kit''s amusement, adding, "Fucking hilarious, right?" his words dripping with sarcasm.


    The audio was pretty clear but slightly tinny and distant in that way people tend to associate with hidden or clandestine footage. Some of that effect was added artificially during editing because expectations needn''t always be subverted.


    Shin''s mood changed quickly, and he said, almost pleadingly, "Are you sure you don''t know any high-level math?"


    "Yeah, ¡­ I''m sure," Kit said with a sad and defeated tone. "And you''re sure you can''t drop it?"


    "It''s been almost a week since the end of the add/drop period. I tried the professor but he didn''t seem to be very ¡­ sympathetic. The registrar says, ¡®sure you can drop it, but you''ll just fail that course for the semester.¡¯ Very helpful."


    Kit sat up and said, more seriously, "We''ll just have to find you a tutor."


    "I think the people who''d tutor that subject, are also taking that class."


    Kit said, with a goofy smile, "Technically, they can''t tutor a class they haven''t taken yet," which made Shin glare at him. "Okay, okay," he added, placatingly. "I get what you mean. But there''s got to be someone that''s taken it already."


    Shin''s attention shifted to something in his hands that he was fiddling with. After a few seconds of that, he spoke, but was sadder and less lively than before. "I asked a few people in the class and they said I was pretty much fucked. This course is taught every other year, and only juniors and seniors take it." Then he looked back at Kit, concern evident on his face as he said, much more quietly, "All the students that took the course have already graduated."


    "Shit, man," Kit said, sitting a bit straighter. "I don''t think you''ll be able to pass that class without some help¡ªlike divine intervention¡ªso you might have to think about taking a different math course over the summer to replace it." He looked away and added, "But yeah, ¡­ that''s for your degree requirements. As for your GPA ¡­ I don''t know, man."


    Clearly displeased by this response, Shin changed the subject.


    "How''s organic chemistry 2 going?"


    "I think everyone in the lab course hates me."


    Shin laughed and nearly choked on some chips he was eating. "Pfft! Hehehe, why do you think that?"


    "They all sort of stare at me when I''m not looking."


    Shin mumbled something unintelligible, and Kit gave him a grunt-like "Huh?"


    Instead of responding, Shin quietly finished off the small bag of chips, but his expression had become noticeably gloomy again. Like that they sat in companionable silence, which was a common occurrence for them.


    Finally, after taking a drink from his water bottle, Shin said, "Maybe they see through your awful disguise," his voice nearly monotone, but tinged with what I now recognize as regret and resentment. That was always the tone he used when he talked fatalistically about his friendship with Kit and the impossibility of their being something more.


    Completely oblivious to this, Kit said, "It''s not like that," somewhat defensively. "You know how it was back then," then they lapsed into another of their periods of companionable silence, both appearing distant and contemplative.


    It took me a moment to recall what I''ve learned, since then, about the taboo topic Kit mention.


    ?


    During one of his high school''s summer breaks, puberty had been kind to Kit and his wardrobe. Due to a growth spurt, he outgrew most of his clothes while growing nicely into others. Around this time, he got a rather stylish haircut and ¡°acquired¡± some new sneakers to replace the boots he wore throughout his childhood. When the new school year started, his transformation overcame the stigma of his thuggish reputation that remained even after he left that gang.


    He changed his life around and now people were finally beginning to recognize him as being hard working and studious. Initially, people simply didn''t recognize him at all, with some even mistaking him for being a new transfer student. Eventually, most people realized who he was, but this only made him more famous and remarkable. He gained a following of sorts in the form of a growing gaggle of girls that seemed to always be around him. They were hangers-on that constantly flirted with him, and while some of these girls were friends with one-another, they generally sabotaged his attempts to get to know any of them individually.


    They quickly became more aggressive and more direct, professing their own undying love for him while painting their competitors as being disingenuous and unironically duplicitous. Neither Shin nor Tessa were around him during this time, each for their own reasons, and a lot of Kit''s friends had been in, or were related to, the gang. Up until that point, even his good friends in the gang would unintentionally keep drawing him back into gang-related affairs, and so for him to truly leave he had to cut ties with all of them.


    He was alone and lacked the skills needed to deal with high school social drama. However, it wasn''t so much that he didn''t know what to do, but rather what he did do was ¡°creative and disastrous,¡± and from what Shin learned, some of his efforts were hilarious. Kit banned Shin from tell me about specific details when he found out that I was snooping, but from what I understand, Kit tried to ¡°manage¡± the group of girls in a way similar to how he managed his subordinates in the gang.


    And that''s as close as I''d been able get. From there, the details become vague and sketchy. There''s just a gap that takes up most of the 11th grade, and part of the 12th grade. When asked about this period, both of them, alone, were always evasive, and I''d always have trouble getting them in the same room at the same time after probing too deeply into this subject.


    Questions remained about how this fits into his grungy clothing style or how Shin and Tessa eventually returned to him. Something happened between Kit and Shin, and my best guess is that it relates to some of Shin''s revelations at the end.


    That''s the best I can do. Someone else in my family will have to figure out the rest.


    Mr. Author had paused the video and was staring at me while I was lost in my thoughts with a likely pensive expression. This man was more intuitive or observant than I gave him credit for.


    He deserved a reward, but I didn''t have any cookies at the moment, so I said, seriously, "I still don''t know what happened. Even now, they won''t talk about it. My only guess is¡ª" but then he raised a hand to silence me.


    "I assume you have more of this," and he waved his hand with a flourish, then finger quoted, "footage."


    I said, "Yup," plainly, and waited for Mr. Author to continue. He was hooked, and he didn''t even complain about the size of the video player.


    Speaking in hushed tones, he said, "It''s better if I''m not biased towards your theories in this," then after a few moments of hesitation, he added, "You''re after some sort of book deal, right?" I nodded. "Then it would help if I could interview each of them on their own."


    "Of course," I said. "Just not today."


    He scowled at my simple response. I could see the gears turning in his head, and I was now convinced that I ended up with one of the better, ¡°Mr. Authors.¡± He''ll need a few moments to process this.


    Despite my many talents, I wasn''t much of a writer, ¡­ at least, compared to a professional. Mr. Author''s function in that respect is relatively straight forward.


    Then there''s the fallout and aftermath at the end of this scenario to deal with, and I wanted to avoid doing that if I could. Hopefully, my literary agent will be able to help with some of that, and for the rest, there are those handlers from my family that I set them up with.


    This was ultimately about the money and contribution points, but just as with everything else I do, there were additional goals I had in mind. After all, she finally made contact with me again, after all these years. Even though it was just a one-word childish insult¡ªthat I totally deserved¡ªit''s proof that, perhaps, she has been watching us this whole time. Honestly, if that had been the only goal of this scenario, then I''d personally consider it a huge success.


    As for the other goals, I am not terribly optimistic.


    Then again, we''re a bit overdue for a major expos¨¦ on my family, and I think this will be the first for this millennium. My approach could garner me plenty of points, even if it doesn''t become popular. But if the book does becomes popular, then that will secure my standing with the Neutrality Faction for awhile.


    Its popularity should please the Persistence Faction, and the Prosperity Faction will like the royalties. Since I''m a Green, letting Growth manage the copyright will be enough to satisfy them. They wouldn''t want to recognize my work any less than Persistence and Prosperity.


    After that, the general public will eventually forget about my family again, as they tend to do with brown people.


    Mr. Author seems to be about ready, and just in time to interrupt my machinations. He finally asks, "I take it that there''s some sort of time constraint here?"


    I think the wait was worth it, so I tell him, "Yeah. We have several more hours, which should be enough time for me to show you the highlights, offer background info, and share my thoughts with you. The rest is footage saved on that," and I pointed to the paused video player.


    Then out of the blue he asks, "So, what are you?" and once again, what the fuck.


    At this, all I can manage is a "Huh?"


    "Are you a government spook or do you work in corporate espionage?"


    I shake my head and think, "That''s, ¡®what the fuck,¡¯ " Then I say, "Neither. I worked for my family and helped manage its many members¡ªmy relatives¡ªand its tangible assets," and my voice is calm, casual, and relaxed because its just the usual.


    "Is it perverted¡ª" he begins to ask, but before he could finish his question, I cut in with an amused "Pfft, no," while feigning offense. That''s a new approach, but still expected. "There''s more than enough porn in the world," I tell him, "and it isn''t as though the internet is in dire need of more dick pics."


    Alas, he just ignores my little joke, and I mourn the death of an unappreciated joke. Instead, Mr. Author continued interrogating me with his harsh whispering.


    "Then what is it? Why is your family so much into surveillance?"


    "They''re not. This surveillance stuff is pretty new."


    "Then, What Is It For?" he said, and I could hear the capitalization of those words in his voice.


    We were getting a bit off topic here, and it was time to move on. "Let me put it this way: I hope you are enjoying your free lunches. Don''t forget, it expires at summer''s end."


    His eyes went wide and he mouthed, "this was you?" and then takes out the card I made.


    I pointed to the card with my chin and said, "Nice work, wouldn''t you say?"


    He puts it back in his wallet and then begins to examine me again, as if he''s seeing me for the first time, and he does this unabashedly with what appears to be suspicious curiosity. It takes him only a moment of thinking before he asks, "Why me?"


    "You''re the professional writer that showed up today. I wasn''t sure when ¡®today¡¯ would be, so I simply arranged for there to always be a suitable writer here at the right time of day." Mr. Author looked like he was going to ask that question, and so I might as well get that out of the way now. "And, no. I do not have you under any surveillance," and then I pointed to our security camera and added, "other than that."


    Thankfully that had worked. Mr. Author nodded and I resumed the video.


    ?


    The putative couple were still companionably silent. I realized that, technically, I too had been part of their moment of silence, thinking about that mystery period as they likely were. No doubt this was part of what Mr. Author saw when he caught me lost in my thoughts; a silent moment that spoke volumes.


    Then again, Kit had already been staring off into nothingness when the footage began because, by then, he''d already finished his lunch. Shinjiro, on the other hand, was still eating something¡ªprobably one of those granola bars that I saw¡ªand on his plate was a still untouched sandwich cut in two.


    He looked at his friend''s empty plate with an expression of concern that made it seem like his granola bar had suddenly become distasteful. Then, while Kit was apparently distracted by nothingness, Shin took one half of his sandwich and placed it on his friend''s plate. On video, Shin''s actions appeared to be obviously sneaky. He said, "I keep telling you to pack more food for your lunch," sounding more annoyed than concerned.


    As if he knew what was there, Kit picked up the half-sandwich without even looking, and took an overly-dramatic bite, adding an exaggerated and unnecessary "Gomp!" sound effect.


    Presumably, the bite alone hadn''t been dramatic enough.


    After that one bite, he put the half-eaten half-sandwich back on his plate and said, dejectedly, "I already eat most of the food."


    "No, you don''t," said Shin as soon as Kit finished the sentence. "You just eat more than me, and that''s just biology and physics."


    At this, Shin squeezed Kit''s arm and said, "Where do you think these muscles come from?"


    Weakly, he turned to pull his arm away, as if to keep up appearances, but Shin didn''t let go.


    His gay best friend''s hand seemed to linger on his large bicep for a moment too long and then, as if in sudden realization, Shin let go with a quick jerking motion.


    Unbeknownst to Shin, Kit smirked for a brief instant while he was turned away. Before he could turn back, his gay best friend swapped his half-eaten half-sandwich with the other still uneaten half. Compared to how sneaky he was when he first did this, Shin now swapped sandwiches with a magician''s sleight of hand.


    Despite his size, Kit moved gracefully. He sighed and said, "Fine ¡­ ," agreeing, but only reluctantly so.


    Without looking, he carelessly grabbed the half-sandwich from his plate, and took another overly-dramatic bite, seemingly intent on finishing it off. Between bites he began to say, "I just ate two sandwiches and¡ª"


    "Yeah, you had a small breakfast because you didn''t want to finish off the cereal," Shin interjected. "Now there''s like a little bit left. What am I supposed to do with that?"


    Instead of responding, Kit simply finished the half-sandwich in another companionable, if not slightly grumpy, silence. That''s when Shin put the original partially eaten half-sandwich back on Kit''s plate.


    Seeing this he complained, giving a bemoaning, "Hey!" before adding, "I hate when you do that."


    Nonetheless, he still finished off this half as well.


    Eventually, Shin''s mood changed so that he now appeared wistful and unconcerned. He was hard to read sometimes, so this was undoubtedly not how he felt. He said, "You should get going," without any emotion.


    "What?"


    Shin casually said, "Your girlfriend, you fucking moron."


    Kit shot up and said, "Oh, shoot! I forgot. Thanks!"


    While he hastily gathered his things, Kit ruffled Shin''s hair who just sat there as if he didn''t notice it. This might have something to do with the fact that afterwards, his hair looked just as stylishly messy as it was before. Both men grunted their good-byes, but Shin remained where he was, exactly as he was, unmoving and inactive as if he left his body empty and uninhabited. Just as Kit had done before, Shin sat there motionlessly with his elbow on the table and his head propped up lazily by his hand.


    As soon as it was clear that Shinjiro had settled into that position, the video briefly sped up. The effect made him look like he was lively, moving at a normal speed and fiddling with something on his lunch tray, but from what I recall, he didn''t move much. Then, as soon as the video returned to its normal speed, a man walked into the frame and sat down behind Shin at a nearby table.


    That man was, of course, me from several months ago. I¡ªor I should say, ¡°Video-me¡±¡ªsat there, quietly, while pretending to play with something on¡ªhis¡ªerr, my phone. There was nothing interesting on my phone. The reality of it being that I was simply waiting for the right moment to finish making my surprise entrance.


    --- ======================================== ---

 Chapter 2: The Lies We Tell Ourselves

    I hadn''t changed much since then, still as handsome as always. On video, I was dressed in a silky navy-blue button-down shirt with the top few buttons undone to reveal a plain green T-shirt underneath. The video quality was high enough to capture my stunningly light-green eyes, which was, of course, intentional. In all, I looked professional, yet casual.


    At this, Mr. Author laughed and said something unimportant, but I ignored him and just watched myself on video.


    "Crushing on your straight best friend," I finally said, in the video. "That rarely ends well."


    Shin turned his head slightly, as if he only begrudgingly deigned to acknowledge my presence, but, it wasn''t nearly enough to actually see anything behind him, let alone me. I recall being suitably impressed by his lack of reaction to my surprise entrance.


    Nonetheless, I still shook my head, perfectly in sync with my on-screen counterpart, and then said what I had only thought of back then, "That just won''t do."


    Video-me smiled in that mischievous way that guys tend to consider as one of my more endearing features¡ªafter my eyes¡ªand said, "I know modern algebra," and Shin immediately twisted his body to his physical limits to look directly at me.


    The last time I saw someone move that quickly was when I shocked one of my cousins with a hand-held taser. Unlike last time, I felt shame as I flinched¡ªthough only slightly¡ªin response to Shinjiro''s unexpected lightning-fast contortion. When he locked eyes with me, it was like staring into the hungry maw of a starving beast.


    Seeing it again from this perspective, it was more accurate to say that he instantly ¡°reacted.¡±


    By appearances, Shin summoned every ounce of pleading desperation that he could muster, and then asked, "How much!?" as if he just ran a marathon to deliver that message.


    In retrospect, I had expected to see a more subtle level of desperation, but instead I got the debasement of a condemned prisoner pleading with their executioner. It was probably the modern-day capitalistic equivalent of dropping to the floor in an eastern-style kowtow. I laughed uncomfortably while eyeing our surroundings, which had been a practically involuntary reaction at the time. This hadn''t been my original intention, so I did not bother mentioning this to Mr. Author.


    With a dismissive wave to Shin, I said, "Heh, don''t worry about it. This is just my good deed for the week¡ªor really semester, I should say."


    "Bullshit!"


    I gave him an inarticulate, "Uhm, ¡­" and then held my hands up placatingly while looking around again.


    As politely as I could, I gestured to the desperate student that he might want to speak more quietly.


    At a normal volume he said, "Sorry," to the lunchtime diners around us, even though my suggestion had only been a ploy to help calm the desperate student. But then, as if he knew this, he said, "Bullshit!" again, but much more quietly this time.


    "Okay, okay," I said, trying to regain control over the situation. "How about we start with a conversation? You know, humor me, if you don''t mind."


    He untwisted himself and said, "Sit!" while pointing to the seat opposite him.


    It wasn''t where I had originally planned on sitting, and as a result, my back was to the camera.


    Nonetheless, I sat down, and when I did so, he said, "Talk."


    I said, "Woof."


    He said, "Talk, bitch," because I walked right into that one.


    In any case, with the pleasantries aside, I got straight to the point. "I want to resolve that problem you have with your best friend."


    At this, he laughed so hard that this time he actually did disturb the nearby diners. However, when they looked at him, Shin abruptly stopped laughing and tried to play it off as a bad cough.


    "One," he began, while counting with his index finger, "that''s not possible. He''s straight, has a fucking girlfriend, and isn''t attracted to guys. And two, why would helping me be payment for your services?"


    I leaned forward and similarly raised my own hand.


    "One, he probably isn''t straight, and he likely has feelings for you. I can show you my evidence later. And, ¡­" I said, but then paused.


    He scowled at me, but instead of responding with his words, he simply lowered his index finger so that only his middle finger remained. The gesture wasn''t subtle.


    As if to correct him, I gave him a ¡°two¡± with my middle and index fingers. "And two, by ¡®resolution,¡¯ I mean you force him to unequivocally make his choice; either you or his girlfriend. Before that, we''ll put him through the ringer, collect evidence, and force him to confront his own sexuality and his feelings for you."


    Mr. Author shakes his head, and I pretend not to notice. Shin never noticed the mistake, but it didn''t matter because I could''ve easily lied my way out of it if he had.


    "So¡ªthen, what?" Shin asked, obviously intrigued, but still giving me his middle finger. "You want me to stop being his friend?"


    "That part is up to you."


    "No," he said quickly. "I''m fine just being his best frie¡ª"


    "Bullshit," I said, like it was my turn to say it. "What happens when he gets his girlfriend pregnant? Are you going to babysit his kid? That''s what a best friend would probably do."


    This caused Shin to flinch enough to stop giving me the middle finger.


    Initially, I thought I''d spoken casually enough, but then I felt like it might''ve been a little harsh. After that hypothetical, I tried to asking him a less theoretical question. "I don''t know how long you''ve had this¡ª"


    "Eight years," he said, before I could even finish the question. There was very little emotion in his voice.


    "Is that the crush, or how long you''ve been friends?"


    "Both," he said, matter-of-factly. "I wasn''t sure about my sexuality back then, but the moment I saw him I knew I was gay and that I liked him."


    "Huh? ¡­ Um, ¡­ wow! ¡­ That''s an obscenely long time. What do your friends think about this? One of them must''ve noticed something."


    He turned away, in what I thought at the time was embarrassment, and said, "I don''t really have any other friends."


    Social isolation was actually one of the criteria I used to select candidates for this scenario, and I had plenty of observation time to reject those that displayed crippling psychiatric issues on video. Based on my observations, this seemed more extreme than I had anticipated. At the very least, I knew enough about Shinjiro to know that I could approach him like this without him being immediately put off by a random eavesdropper interrogating him and questioning his best friend''s sexual orientation.


    "What do you mean?" I asked. "That guy''s been your only friend this entire time?"


    "Sometimes, not even him," he said, wistfully. "Like you might guess, we''ve had fights and stuff. When that happened I was just mostly alone. I guess, that''s when I realized that I didn''t want to lose my best friend over something stupid like this."


    Without really thinking about it, Shinjiro implied that his own feelings were unimportant, especially compared to his friendship with Kit. This was a common enough delusion for situations like this, and at the time it seemed like he still clung to it.


    Mr. Author knew better though. "You''re wrong. That isn''t what this is," he said. "Well, ¡­ it IS partly but¡ª"


    "Yeah," I said. He didn''t need to explain this. "I know that now, and I SHOULD have known it then, but I didn''t, and I found out I was wrong."


    Meanwhile, video-me continued affably interrogating Shin by asking, more delicately this time, "Did you ever, otherwise¡ªI mean¡ªif you don''t mind me asking? ¡­"


    Shinjiro looked at me and laughed weakly. "I don''t mind ¡­ it''s just, whatever, you know?" he said, nonchalantly. "But yeah, I''m still a virgin. I never even bothered trying to get that far with anyone else."


    "There''s nothing wrong with that," I said quickly. "That''s fine and all."


    "Riiight, ¡­ " he said, sarcastically. "Is this the part where you tell me that you''re a virgin too?¡ª"


    "What!?" I said, a bit too quickly. "N¡ªno! I mean¡ªno¡ª"


    "Relax," he said with a laugh. "I''m the one that''s supposed to feel embarrassed here."


    "No you''re not," I said, defensively. "But ¡­ if you don''t mind me asking? ¡­"


    "Really? I think we crossed that bridge already. Go-head," he said, and waved for me to continue.


    "Were you¡ªuhm¡ªtrying to save yourself for your best friend?" I asked innocently enough.


    That had apparently been too much. I pushed him too hard with that question, and the mistake had nothing to do with overestimating our growing familiarity with each other, in the conversation. If anything, it was the opposite. I thoughtlessly made erroneous assumptions, but it wouldn''t have mattered if we''d been more acquainted, as close friends, before I asked it.


    Rather than considering his claim about being as friendless as he was for eight years, objectively¡ªwithout either accepting or rejecting it¡ªI dismissed it and even underestimated how much he had already opened up to me. For whatever reason, I really was the first person familiar enough with Shinjiro and his crush to ask a question like that. I assumed we''d already settled, and dismissed as delusional, Shinjiro''s idea that his friendship with Kit was really enough for him. After all, even though it wasn''t an optimal situation, it wasn''t inherently delusional. Some people do find that the friend zone is a cozy enough place to live in for the rest of their life.


    It may seem like a mild and insignificant mistake¡ªor even ironic, given my callous departure. Shinjiro''s situation was improbable, but thinking about the improbable is sort of what I do.


    At that thought my mind wandered again. Even now it was difficult to grasp how long it had really been since I worked for my family¡ªor really¡ªfor Grandpa. Has it really been 12 years already, since our little group disbanded? I suppose that really was a long time ago. Technically, it had been longer still since my lessons, but not that much longer. Back then, she taught all of us that our real work¡ªthe real game¡ªstarts when we begin to consider improbable scenarios; that when the time came, our job was to anticipate the impossible.


    I assumed that for Shinjiro''s delusion to have lasted this long, it surely would''ve become something strong and robust, and thus difficult to break. However, that sort of robustness comes from bearing the scrutiny of critics and weathering the attacks of naysayers.


    Instead, his delusion was really just the wishful thinking of a lonely teenage boy, except that it had persisted, unchallenged, nearly long enough to graduate from college. It was a delusion that would''ve begun as a fragile thing, and regardless of how long it has been, it would''ve remained as such even after all this time.


    With a scoff, Mr. Author called it a ¡°rookie mistake,¡± and said something anecdotally about soldiers who were found holed up, unaware that their war had ended decades ago.


    It seems like he had some military service, so I made a mental note to eventually look that up. As curious as I was, I was still respectful, and thus I avoided guessing about whether he fought for the north or the south. I would, of course, find that out later.


    Ultimately, the result of my mistake was made evident in the video. Shin''s eyes began to water, and it looked like he was struggling to stop himself from crying. I felt the shame of my sloppiness all over again, but really, it was a shame that wasn''t even that.


    With his voice trembling, Shin answered the question I shouldn''t have even asked. Quietly he said, simply, "I don''t know."


    I reached to him from across the table and said, pleadingly, "Hey, wait. No¡ªno¡ªno. ¡­ I didn''t mean to¡ª"


    "Yes you did," he said sharply. "And don''t apologize. If I had confided in anyone then ¡­ maybe ¡­ years ago," and he stopped to close his eyes. He seemed genuinely surprised when a tear fell from each. Shin was on the edge of breaking down but visibly fought against it, seemingly refusing to cross that line.


    I thought it was both strong and stupid, and just the sort of personality trait I''d expect from someone in his situation. Regardless, I knew that Shinjiro didn''t want to cry yet, and so I helped him with that.


    I told him, "I want to document this," but then he looked at me in disgust and said, "¡­ the fuck?" but I held my hands up placatingly again. "Hey, wait¡ªwait. I mean, just a few video or audio recordings for my notes, and an eventual book without any personal identifying information about you. And we''ll work out splitting the royalties later."


    He gestured to himself and said, "This," and his voice wavered once more before he finally won the battle against his own tears. Internalized disgust and self-loathing, I thought, but he continued. "This can''t be that interesting. Like you said, this is probably something that happens to every gay person."


    I winced at this, but only partly in guilt. What he said was something I merely implied with my opening line.


    "Yes, it''s common, but not That common," I said, because it was true and I wasn''t about to baby him. "Now¡ªthough, with what you just told me¡ªgeez¡ªeight fucking years¡ªthat''s very unusual."


    "Then what''s so interesting about us?" he said, and while I noted his choice of pronouns, I didn''t comment on it.


    This wasn''t that sort of situation.


    Instead I said, "Originally, you were just one of several pairings I came across over the years. There are others in this school that I was considering, but your situation seemed to be the most straightforward of the lot." I grimaced at my own choice of wording and looked away shamefully. "Not even just one friend?"


    "For me, not even one. For Kit there was his little brother, others he abandoned out of necessity¡ªso they don''t count¡ªbut there was also someone who regularly wandered into and out of his life. She''d actually been my friend before I came out."


    I knew what that meant, so I said, angrily, "Why would he be friends with¡ª"


    "He wasn''t," Shin said defensively, but with some force behind his words. "She invited herself." Then Shin took a moment to collect himself.If you come across this story on Amazon, it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.


    Only then did I notice the small towel he held, but just like before, I''d been distracted and hadn''t seen when he got it.


    I wanted to ask about Kit''s little brother, but I could already imagine plenty of scenarios where his little brother wouldn''t have been able to stop this train wreck of a friendship Kit had with Shinjiro. In any case, the moment had passed, and the picture was clear enough. There would be time enough for that later.


    Shin spoke calmly again, but there had been a weariness in his voice. "She had been out of both our lives for a few years, but they made a deal that helped me. The cost was that she could talk to him again, and there was some sort of minimum amount of talking time he had to keep up. And he did. He kept it at the minimum until ¡­ ," and then he looked away silently.


    "You don''t have to talk about anything you don''t want to talk about. I might pester you, once or twice, but in the end I''m a gentleman."


    "It''s fine," he lied. It was an obvious lie. Then he said, "She''s here."


    I put the pieces together and said, "Holy fuck! She''s his girlfriend?" and he nodded grimly.


    "She''s changed. I believe she has. I just haven''t seen her because ¡­ ," he began, but then I said, "Of course," so he didn''t have to finish that thought.


    "But they still think it''s because of her homophobic crap. We were barely teenagers then." I nodded and he continued. "I think she also might be afraid of me or something. ¡­ I don''t know."


    "Well," I began, "regardless of what I initially saw about you two, this is definitely a story people would want to read."


    Very plainly, he said, "No"


    "Uhm, ¡­ ¡®No,¡¯ what?"


    "I still want to know your original reason for choosing us. I''m guessing you didn''t approach any of the others yet. What are you really trying to do here?"


    Mr. Author laughed and said, "Damn. Even as an emotional wreck Shinjiro''s still pretty sharp."


    I nodded, but then gave Mr. Author a smile that was more of a feral grin that said, "Yeah, but I''m sharper."


    Needless to say, at the time Shinjiro stumped me. I had been sort of confused because I was pretty sure I''d already given him a decent enough answer. To Shinjiro, I said as much. "I already told you. Your situation is relatively straightforward. Basically you two already look like a gay couple, even though he has a girlfriend. And then there''s ¡­ ," I hesitated only a moment to come up with something more emotionally convincing.


    A bit of honest dark humor, I thought, would work perfectly.


    "I heard, ¡®You fucking moron?¡¯ " I said, with finger quotes, "and I thought, ¡®ouch, that had to burn.¡¯ " The effect was immediate. Shinjiro laughed and seemed to draw strength from this bit of levity.


    Dark humor was very effective.


    "He''s an honest guy," Shin said, "but he''s not always honest with himself. Since you noticed my¡ª" and he waved his hand, "my problem¡ªit''s pretty easy to see, right? Being subtle isn''t going to make it anymore obvious, so I don''t hold back when I catch him being dishonest with himself or sometimes ¡­ when he''s just so fucking clueless. I try to call him out on it, but the fucking moron misinterprets it and¡ªI can''t really explain how he does this¡ªbut whatever it is he imagines to be the problem, he usually thinks that the solution is to ¡®try harder¡¯ or something."


    "Like, I called him out on how he prioritizes me over his girlfriend because, ¡­ yeah," and he seemed to come to some sort of realization. "That really was what I was doing, huh? I thought I gave up, but I never stopped doing shit like that. I''ve always tried to get my ¡®best friend¡¯ to admit that he loves me because I''ve always wanted more," and when he said, "best friend," there was still plenty of self-loathing left.


    He nodded to himself and I let him continue without comment.


    "So instead of looking inward and asking himself why he keeps prioritizing me over her, he gets really guilty and then tries to be more attentive to his girlfriend. I call him a ¡®fucking moron¡¯ because that''s his conclusion too. He agrees."


    Then Shinjiro looked straight at me, as if I had the answers he sought, and said, "I don''t know anymore. ¡­ I don''t know if¡ªdo I even still think he might actually love me?" and he looked away again to stare blankly at the remains of his lunch. He started playing with the granola bar wrapper and then spoke quietly, almost like he was talking to himself. "I thought I gave up on that, but I guess I''m just used to ignoring my own feelings. I''m the fucking moron who convinced myself that they don''t matter or they aren''t real or¡ªor whatever. ¡­" By the end, he''s clutching his chest like he''s having a heart attack. His eyes glistened again with unspent tears and he looked at me defiantly, as if I was a proxy for his pain, or I had answers that I wouldn''t share¡ªtechnically, I did have answers I wouldn''t share. Then he points at me and I hear some of the anguish he bottled up over the years. "But you see how I feel! Why won''t he? Why Can''t he?!"


    Shinjiro stopped, apparently surprised by his own actions or maybe by what he said. I wasn''t sure which. Stuff like that was never really clear with him.


    Nonetheless, he got over the emotional outburst fairly quickly, probably because he was ignoring his feelings again. When he spoke next, he was as calm as he was before. "It just ¡­ I¡ªI call him a ¡®fucking moron¡¯ because I hurt."


    ¡°Wow,¡± was all I could think of back then, but I had the good sense to not say it. Unfortunately, that was somewhat literal because, other than ¡°wow,¡± I had no idea what else I could have possibly said about this.


    In my planning, there weren''t any variants of my scenario for a situation like this. I hadn''t intended to encounter something this fucked up, but rather than realizing how sloppy I was, back then I merely saw my lack of foresight as being a failure of my imagination. I know why, of course. At least, I do now. It was because my original scripts weren''t entirely derailed, and even if I''d done more research ahead of time, I''d still probably pick Shinjiro and Kit as the subjects of this scenario.


    On video we both lapsed into a brief silence.


    Because I still had control of the situation, I decided to go back and answer his original question. Quietly, I broke the silence and said, "What I''m doing? ¡­ Why I''m doing this? Think of it as an experiment. I want to show people how to spot this situation, to be more attentive, and to have ways of resolving it."


    Lying is second nature to me, but those lies made me feel dirty. I''m listening to myself here and I just feel dirty all over again. Mr. Author looks at me, but I look away.


    The observant old man who had a way with words said, "You pulled that out of your ass. You just told him what he wanted to hear," as if he was trying to explain something to me.


    My reply was simple. I told him, "That''s what I always do."


    In the end it worked, but I knew well enough to not mindlessly justify my methods with my results.


    I needed this situation to progress a little bit; to work it into the next part of my script. With Shinjiro''s next question, it was evident that it did just that.


    He looked at me, emotionally spent, and asked, "How are you going to fix this?"


    "Resolve this," I said. "I only said ¡®resolve.¡¯ I can''t fix a broken heart, or the lies we tell ourselves."


    On the video I licked my lips in a nervous habit. I hadn''t realized how shook up I''d been at that time. Thankfully I got all that crap out of my system. It had been several months since this scenario began, and now it was finally at its first conclusion. Hopefully, this will be the final conclusion as well.


    To elaborated, Video-me said, "We can force him to make a choice, but he can always choose wrongly, or even refuse to choose at all."


    Shinjiro asked me, "How?" again. Then Mr. Author says, "I liiike him."


    Of course he did, but it made me wonder if he''d make Shin the protagonist instead of me.


    "Despite how fucked up this is, it''s still a relatively straightforward situation. This means that there are obvious and straightforward things we can do."


    Before he could ask me yet again, I added, "So first off, you need to spend less time with him. Right now, he doesn''t have to think about how much he needs and wants you because you''re always there. Secondly, he needs to know that he can lose you and that others can take his place. Thirdly, you need a life; your''re own life where you can enjoy yourself and have fun. To put it more simply, you need a fake boyfriend to make him jealous, and I''m offering."


    On the video, I see myself squint while I try to assess Shinjiro''s reaction, but his expression was almost inscrutable. Regardless, if I didn''t press on, I''d probably lose him. Thankfully, Mr. Author did not ask me why that even mattered.


    Hoping that I was on the right track, I began to say, "Of course, there''s more to¡ª" but Shinjiro stops me and asks, his voice still weak, but his tone now clearly accusatory, "Is that what this is about?"


    I did not expect this response at all, and that little delay made it all the more confusing. I gave him a bewildered, "Huh?" before I had a chance to realize what he meant by "that." I said, "Wait¡ªwhat!?" because I realized that delaying his vitriolic response like that was actually an excellent tactic for throwing someone off guard. Of course, I Simply Had to make a mental note about this, even though it hadn''t been the best time to be distracted. For some reason, I thought my speech was ¡°pretty good¡± and ¡°self-explanatory.¡±


    ?


    Mr. Author pauses the video and starts laughing. Actually, I should say he paused the video SO THAT he could start laughing at me. Apparently he felt that his laughter was worth the interruption.


    In between breaths and giggles, he says, "¡­ and you came up with that ahead of time and thought it was ¡®Pretty Good?¡¯ Hahaha, but you didn''t think he''d take it that way?! Hah, haha ¡­ ," and I wait for him to get it out of his system.


    Then I say, "Are you done?" but I am not bitter about it or his laughter.


    His ridicule was well-deserved by my dumb mistake¡ªthough really, it wasn''t even that; it was just ¡°sloppo.¡±


    There was a theme here about being honest with yourself while lying to everyone else, or at least I could see that being in the book. As the narrator, Mr. Author would need some insight into our thoughts, and if I don''t give him enough to work with, he''ll probably focus on something stupid. This meant that if I wanted a nice or amusing portrayal of myself in the book, hiding my mistakes simply because they were embarrassing wouldn''t help that. I had to at least be aware of my own introspective thoughts when talking about the introspective thoughts of others.


    The old man raises his hands as if to tell ME to stop, but admittedly, and to his credit, he himself abruptly stops giggling. After he pretends to zip his mouth closed, I tell him, "When I wrote it, that wasn''t at all where I was going. I was aiming for something more ¡­ noble," and of course, that sets him off on a new round of giggles, because surprise, he wasn''t done after all.


    ?


    When the video resumes, I hear myself say, "Listen," in a serious tone to Shinjiro. "There will be no sex¡ªat least not between you and I¡ªand I''m not making a porno, so that''s not an issue."


    However, back then, just like right now, I still couldn''t tell what he might have been thinking. Shinjiro had that neutral expression of his where he could be thinking about almost anything; good, bad, and everything in between.


    That was the first time I ever saw that expression, but I never found an effect strategy for dealing with it. All I can do, is all I could do back then, which was to continue as planned. On video, I looked at him seriously, and said, deadpanned, "Furthermore¡ªand this part is very important¡ªI forbid you from falling in love with me."


    Shin laughed, and like that, suddenly the tension in the air was broken. By this point I notice that the cafeteria had thankfully emptied out a bit, but there were still enough people present for the din of background noise to sufficiently mask our conversation.


    With some more levity, I said, "You laugh, but I can be very charming and romantic."


    It''s enough, and we began to banter again.


    "I thought this was just supposed to be fake?" he asked.


    "You can''t make him jealous by studying modern algebra," I said. "For the purposes of this experiment, you will have actual fun. We''ll hang out, and you will experience life without him, and perhaps, briefly forget about him. You are one of my test subjects, after all. My methods rely upon how you act on your own around him, and I don''t want to rely upon your acting skills, if you even have any."


    "What you''re suggesting is sort of fucked up. You know that, right?"


    "Says Mr. Eight-years," and this got me a weak laugh. "I will not touch you without permission, nor will I put you in any compromising situations, except when you go batshit crazy, should that even happen. I will not trap you in a basement, threaten you, or sell you on the black market."


    At this he mouthed, "What the fuck?!"


    "But I will make inappropriate jokes. Nothing sexual or¡ª" but then I stopped to think about what I''d just said. "Actually, scratch that one. I think I can only say that there won''t be an inordinate number of sexual jokes."


    "Okay, okay, I get it. You''re a funny man. Fun-ny."


    "Damn straight, I am!"


    I let the silence linger to encourage Shinjiro to make a decision. Like most of my candidates, he''s pretty smart, so he picked up on this immediately. He bit his lip and looked off to the side.


    His indecisive mumbling was quiet, but it was loud enough to break the silence of a still bustling, but increasingly empty, cafeteria. "Uhm, ¡­ I guess, ¡­ maybe, yeah?" he said with a shrug. Then something must''ve clicked because that was the end of his indecision. "Actually, yeah! Why the hell not! Sure, sign me up for your bullshit. If anything does happen, he''ll just kick your ass."


    I responded with mock offense. "My ass? I can totally kick his ass."


    Shin said, "I''d like to see that!" and just like that, we came to terms, ¡­ of a sort.


    "Okay, we''ll make that one of our dates. I''ll reserve one of those rooms at the rec center."


    "You''re thinking about the Personal Defense Center, and FYI, he works there."


    "Even better," I said, with a overly-charming smile.


    Shinjiro stared at me for a long moment, and I let him appreciate what he saw. Of course, I had nothing to fear in that department, but admittedly, it had felt like he was only then seeing me for the first time. While watching myself, I could vividly recall feeling the scrutiny of his gaze. However, I did seem to ruin the moment by striking poses like a fashion model.


    He shook his head. "Just who are you, anyway?"


    "I''m a grad student in radio astronomy," I tell him, because its true. "I spend most of my work/school time in the observatory, but I also have an office near here."


    Sometimes I am honest to a fault.


    I couldn''t begin to guess what he might''ve been thinking at this point. Even in the good times thereafter, I recall how hard it was in moments like these, to read Shinjiro.


    Without saying a word, Shinjiro began packing up his lunch supplies, leaving the remainder on his tray for disposal, and then unhurriedly put his jacket and book bag on. The jacket was more of a dull red spring coat with blue patches and shapes all over it. His book bag was mostly blue and black, but with a mix of red at the seams. It all matched very nicely.


    At the time, I had no idea where he usually went to next. After lunch, on days like this, he tended to leave my ¡°viewing area¡± and only returned, sporadically, in random locations up until his next class. That was American History which was still several hours away, assuming he even bothered going to that class.


    He moved silently and gave me no indication of what he was planning. I didn''t mind though, even if that''s technically¡ªno Literally¡ªsupposed to be my job. As I would come to understand, this was actually typical Shinjiro behavior. So there I sat and waited. I had nothing to awkwardly fiddle with or to distract myself with, other than my phone, but I wasn''t about to do that. As far as I knew, he was about to leave With me, or Without me; the latter, presumably because he had enough of my crap. The next stage of my scenario was relatively straightforward, but that''s assuming he actually said something before he left.


    At the last possible moment, when he looked like he was about ready to leave, he finally said, "So what happens now?" sort of as if the question had been an afterthought.


    "How about we start by introducing ourselves," I said, on video, "and then we''ll go on our first date; a simple walk and talk about campus, if you want."


    He shrugged noncommittally and sat back down.


    "You can use this time to talk about all the stuff that you haven''t been able to unload on anyone for the past eight years."


    Shinjiro reacted evasively. He looked away and mumbled, "Four years," and initially, I thought I''d merely misheard the apparent inconsistency.


    "Excuse me?" I said, simply as a question, rather than an exclamation of surprise. I was fairly certain that I did not mishear anything, but I sensed that this was a traumatic or sensitive topic. There would be time enough for that later, too.


    I pretended to not notice any of this, and continued with the introduction. I said, "Oh yeah! Hi, I''m Ahmed Sulleyman," while reaching across the table and offering my hand.


    Then, without missing a beat, he took my hand and said, "I''m Shinjiro Nezu-Rivera, but you can call me ¡®Shin,¡¯ " and then after a pause he said, "Our target is Kit Miller."


    Using some of my natural charm, I said, "Well, it''s nice to meet you, Shin," before walking around the table.


    After getting my own jacket, I presented my arm for him to grab and asked, "Would you do me the honor of joining me on a walk about campus?"


    He said, "What the hell. Why not," and took my arm in his, before adding, "Then, as you do beseech. A pleasant walk, a pleasant talk, along the briny beach."


    Back then, I hadn''t realized that I flinched or tensed slightly when he said that, probably because of how easy it was to play along. Sometimes it was just fun to pretend.


    "Am I supposed to be the oysters?" I asked. "If you''re the walrus, then does that mean you want to¡ª" I began, but then he drew my attention to his lunch tray. Then, like a good fake boyfriend, I carried his tray while we both walked over to the appropriate receptacle to deposit it.


    "I''ll expect our future fake dates to be more fun. You hear me?" he said, and I nodded. "Remember, I get fun, and I get tutoring in a math class I have no business being in, or the deals off."


    "Of course," I said in my sappy faux-romantic voice. "As you wish."


    ?


    To Mr. Author''s obvious annoyance, I turned the video player off and put my phone away. It was so perfectly timed that when he looked up in annoyance, a cubicle wall swung open to reveal the putative couple, in the flesh.


    If the look intimidated Kit, he didn''t show it. I expected Shinjiro to appear unperturbed, and he did not disappoint. Initially, he probably felt intimidated until he, nearly instantly, decided that whatever happened was my fault. He says to Mr. Author, "I hope he hasn''t been harassing you," and I silently muse that, all things considered, he wasn''t entirely wrong.


    In response, the wizened old man merely says, "Nor I, him."


    "Cultureless heathens," I add. "Is it safe to assume that you aren''t here for literary advice?"


    With a dismissive wave, Shinjiro says, "Shush. We''re just leaving. And we''re taking the leftover pizza."


    "Of course! Why else would you have brought your mule," I said, pointing to Kit who carried a take-out bag.


    Shinjiro ignores my banter while Kit looks satisfied and thoroughly whipped. That still weirded me out a bit, so I tried to avoid thinking about what it took to get him to that point.


    "So, are we still on for tomorrow? This ¡®cinematic adventure¡¯ you told us about."


    "Yes, indeed," I said, while resisting the urge to say something that would be comic book supervillain nefarious.


    "And you said you had more cookies?" Kit asks, because I trained him so well.


    "I do indeed. We''re meeting at my place, after all."


    Shinjiro says, "Good. See you then," and we all say or grunt our replies.


    The putative couple departed, and I watched them leave using the security cameras.


    I turned the video player back on and said, "Most likely, I will never see them again," and then added, "That time restriction you asked about¡ªit''s my flight that leaves tonight. Red-eye flight and all."


    "And where the fuck are you going?" he asks, not so much surprised as disappointed.


    "Home," I said simply. "I am a grad student in radio astronomy, like I said, but I''m not a student here," and sighed because, of course, that''s the part he doesn''t figure out himself. "The sort of radio astronomy I do, can be done remotely. In fact, that''s how we do it, as in, most of our group uses the telescope over the internet¡ªwith complete control, actually. I was only here for one semester to help upgrade the telescope. The rest was my vacation time."


    Mr. Author looks at me for a long and terrible moment. I can see him war internally with his desire to ask me why, and his desire to figure it out himself. At least, that''s what I hope. In the end, just as I''m wondering if I should catch an earlier flight, he smiles like a satisfied house cat, while I try to not be intimidated. I tell myself that his response means he accepts my challenge, rather than something potentially worrisome.


    Very casually¡ªbut not too casually¡ªI smile and show Mr. Author how to load the next video on the player.


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