Technical difficulties

"I will say only one thing," Slim announces, his curt tone drawing attention from the rest of our group and teammates gathered around us. He rarely uses the emphasis he's using now, that pretty much calls attention from anyone within a ten meter radius.

But he's not looking at the attention he's garnering. He's looking at me.

I have a sneaking suspicion about what he's going to say, yet I prefer not to speak just yet. I've been badgering him for a piece of his KitKat chocolate bar for the past five minutes, to no avail. He always refuses to share food, especially since he regained his appetite after his three-month-long cold. So I'd pretty much pushed my limits of annoying him, and I'd decided I would lay low for now. I know where his limits are, and I don't want to actually piss him off.

There's a difference between toying and annoying, the same way he knows when it's safe to insult me to make me smile along, as opposed to when he'd actually risk hurting my feelings.

"I will say only one sentence," he repeats, looking straight into my eyes, as he's wont to do whenever he's eager to avoid everybody else's searching looks, like during oral presentations and arguments. "And you'll know..." He hesitates on how to phrase his sentence. He's speaking in English, as we sometimes slip into it. "...Anyway, you'll know."

I know that he's not talking about something so trivial as a KitKat chocolate bar.

"I," he starts, brown eyes boring into mine as I politely gaze back, "am fucking pissed. There." And with that, he walks off to greet Mitch, eager to let his theatrics sink into my conscious and, I'm sure, to let me wonder at his reasons.

Everyone around us blinks in confusion. Slim and I have the annoying tendency of leaving many things unsaid, especially when speaking with one another. He particularly loves riddles, and I sincerely appreciate metaphors. This tends to piss people off, or at least confuse them beyond repair. This time is no exception. Slim has just thrown a phrase too insignificant and commonplace that it leaves little to wonder at.

But I know exactly what he's talking about, just as he'd said I would. There's so much lying below the words, so many subtle hints in demeanour, that only I can grasp by now. Charming.

And I cannot believe it.

I stalk up to him and demand, "Wait. Does this mean that tonight... You're not going to... 'yeah'?"

'Yeah' is the term he and I use to refer to his shameless making-out with Renee. Usually, no one really understands why I always grimace openly whenever he shows up and tells me, before greeting anybody else, 'Hey, CM, last Tuesday... "yeah".' This, as I said, usually prompts a disgusted grimace on my part, a very amused smirk from Slim at my reaction, and a seriously confused ripple of incomprehension from any onlookers. As usual.

And so, when I draw my conclusion and inquire about his reason for being so pissed, I drag a very bewildered look from Mitch, but a scowl from Slim.

"What's 'yeah'?" Mitch asks, but gets no answer.

Slim walks past me, striding some ways away, and I follow him, knowing that I'm right without him having to say a single word.

"I'm right, aren't I?"

He frowns at nothing in particular. "Yeah."

I knew he was meant to see her tonight, as grim as that prospect seemed to me. The connection wasn't obvious, as Renee hadn't been mentioned since Sunday, but I'd known. I'd just known.

"She cancelled on you, didn't she?"

He nods slowly. "Yeah. And for the dumbest reason imaginable. Something about homework due in three days. Like she can't do it last minute the way we do."

Ugh. Yeah, just this morning we'd finished our project. At two in the morning, to be exact.

I try to conjure up some sympathy for him, but I can't. All I can find in me is morbid curiosity and shameful satisfaction. I'm about to ask a new question, but he continues, anticipating my inquiry.

"It's the third time she's cancelled on me." He shakes his head and says, not looking particularly upset, "So I'm not going to keep on trying. If she wants to see me, it's her turn to ask me out. I'm tired of making a schmuck of myself."

I find this a little extreme. I can't blame him for wanting to be wanted, but he's got a tendency to be rough with these things.

"Wait. Was it three times in a row?" I ask, hoping that at least his anger will be justified this time. Three cancellations in a row would warrant this disgruntled sulking, but three times overall in the span of their, er, relationship would be extreme, and I'm getting ready to tell him as much.

"Yeah! In a row!"

Oh, nevermind the chiding, then.

Many things are fighting within me. For one, a hunger for chocolate that he hasn't quelled by Bogarting his own KitKat bar. For two, cheerful satisfaction that he's not going to be smooching Renee tonight. For three, shameful common sense reminding me that I should probably feel bad that his not-romantic-I-swear-it's-not-romantic endeavours have proved fruitless, on account of my being his friend and nothing more and all that. For four...

Well, something has just slipped my mind and I'm trying to remember what it was before Slim's talking breaks into my thoughts again.

"I swear," he's saying, "that girl keeps making up stupid excuses, and delaying then cancelling all our meetings."

Meetings, he says, but they're more like dates.

Anyway, whatever, I can't say I understand him. Why anyone would want to see Renee on a regular basis pretty much escapes me. Maybe because I'm a straight female, but then a lot of male acquaintances have expressed the same kind of disgust for Renee's well-disguised-beneath-good-girl-looks sluttishness that I have.

But hey, it's none of my business who Slim snogs and who he steers clear of. I'm just there to help him sort it out and help him find good one-line comebacks for when his psychotic exes get pissed at him because he won't get back together with them. Oh, and I get lost with him downtown.

"We should go back to class," Gabriel ―the only other male in our movie team, also composed of me, Slim, AA, Iva, Laura and Maria― suggests. He's a good comedian, but he seems composed most of the time, a subtle grin always playing on his lips, the only sign that he's a little nutter.

As we walk up the stairs (that's five flights of stairs, friends), I express my sympathy to Slim for his disappointment. But after his theatrical yet very mysterious announcement, he doesn't look particularly concerned with his suddenly free evening. He even spreads out his arms and smiles, genuinely comfortable with it, as he says, "Hey, do I look overly concerned? It's not like I'm in love with her or anything."

Surprisingly, I'm actually inclined to believe him this time, judging from his expression.

But what am I forgetting? I'm forgetting something, and the thought haunts me as we enter the classroom.

It's the day where we pitch our film ideas to the whole class and basically explain our synopses to the teacher. Slim and I had gone before the break, as had Dom and Gen (speaking of which, Slim and my ideas gathered a lot more general enthusiasm than theirs did, but whatever, we already knew we rock a lot more than them), and a couple other students. So Slim and I had nothing better to do for the rest of the class than listen to the story ideas and exchange notes.

A guy is explaining his movie idea when suddenly something dawns on me.

I already mentioned that Slim and I are working on an audioplay for our university applications. I'd written it, he'd edited it, we'd done the voices, blah blah blah. It was a cute play, and it sounds okay. We'd finished it on Sunday, save for one detail.

At one point in the audioplay, the two characters kiss, audibly, in the middle of an argument. Oh, the arguing had been easy for us to record. One might say it came naturally.

But I could distinctly recall our obvious avoidance of the kissing sound until it became inevitable that we confront it. It was, on Sunday, the only thing left to record, and we'd agreed with shared horror that no, we would not be recording the sound ourselves, nor could we download a sound clip because it sounded too fake. Slim had, instead, announced that he would 'request Renee's help' in recording this particular sound.

If you see what I mean.

I'd shrugged it off. Whatever. It's true kissing Slim would make things very awkward. So I'd gamely grimaced and let him smirk some more in anticipation, the mysteries of his attraction beyond me.

Now, though, with the deadline quickly approaching (and no opportunity for mistakes), it dawned on me that...
'Hey, if you're not going "yeah" tonight, where are we going to get the kissing sound?' I ask, in a note, which I slide towards him.

Slim, as means of reply, simply draws ' :*( '

I am exasperated. 'That's not a reply. We need a solution, buddy.'

'I'm thinking about it,' he answers, and I can tell by his face that he hasn't got any ideas either.

A few seconds pass, before I ask, 'How about your sister and François?'

'They're not hot enough.'

I can't help but laugh at this. He's holding down a smirk.

In a whisper, I hiss, "Well, I certainly don't feel like asking your parents to help us."

He appears reasonably horrified by the prospect, but he can't help a chuckle as he whispers back, "Yeah, no, I'm not going to go up to them and ask them to smooch in my face―"

We interrupt ourselves to keep from laughing and from offending the person currently talking in front of us.

But we are still bereft of any ideas.

And time is running out.

Love,
CM

P.S. NO, KISSING HIM IS NOT AN OPTION.

P.P.S. I Don't CARE what Jesus Says about Stetsons, Lyx, I Am NOT Kissing Slim!