Page 28 of My Roommate from Hell
This is haaaaaaaaard
I never imagined I’d think this, but I wish Zarmenus were here. He is undeniably a great icebreaker. I’m sure people would’ve approached him if he were here. I scan around, looking for anotheractivity to do, maybe a chance to meet new people. Could I try the Ferris wheel and hope that I get seated next to someone? That would be a pretty cool friendship origin story. I have one of those with Ashley: we first bonded when I played Mr. Bumble and she played Widow Corney in our school’s musical production ofOliver!It was my first and last foray into musical theater, and also an experiment run by a new music teacher to run a musical cast with only freshmen. The experiment was not repeated the following year.
As I approach the Ferris wheel, my phone buzzes again.
Remember, you’re Owen freaking Greene. Anyone would be lucky to be friends with you.
I’m not sure that’s true, but it’s nice she said it. As I’m approaching the line for the Ferris wheel, I notice a cotton candy stand. I haven’t had cotton candy in years, but I like it, except for when the sugar hardens and gets stuck to your teeth. Still, the flavor is worth it. In the line, the girl in front of me is wearing a hot pink leather jacket that’s studded with silver studs. It’s amazing, and I want to compliment it, but she’s facing forward and I’m not exactly going to tap her on the shoulder.
She gets handed her free cotton candy, and as she turns back, she smiles at me.
“I love your jacket!” I blurt.
“Oh!” she says, stopping, surprised but obviously happy at the compliment. “Thank you!”
“You’re welcome.”
She walks past me, and goes over to join her friends. Ugh, why is this so difficult? Isn’t everyone kind of in the same boat I am? Maybe it would be easier if I stuck a sign on my chest that told everyone I want to make friends. There are surely some people here looking like I am, but it’s impossible to know who those people are.
I take my cotton candy, which is a shade of blue so bright I doubt it existed on Earth until it was cooked up in some lab somewhere, and walk farther into the carnival. The cotton candy is exactly as Iremember it, only I don’t really mind it getting stuck to my teeth. At the end of the carnival is a bouncy castle, and a big inflatable boxing arena where people stand on podiums and try to knock each other over. This seems like the sort of thing Zarmenus would love.
I watch one of the battles between two girls. It’s vicious. I take a bite of cotton candy, and it glues like cement to my teeth. As subtly as I can I try to pry it off with my tongue.
“Er, hey, can I ask you something random?”
I turn, and find I’d been so distracted by the match and the sugar stuck to my molars that I totally missed someone approaching me. He looks about my age, and is exceptionally well put-together. His check-patterned dress shirt fits perfectly, tucked into slim fit jeans, and his skin is so free of blemishes he looks like he’s been filtered. His hair is just as neat, with a skin fade leading up to tight curls.
“Er, yeah!” I blurt. Did he notice me picking at my teeth with my tongue? Did that look weird?
“My friends and I want to do the fighting thing,” he says. “But our numbers are uneven and I don’t have anyone to go against.”
“Oh.”
“Any chance you want to fight me?”
He laughs a little at the end of that question, as if he realized what a ridiculous ask that is.
“Um, yeah, okay!” I say. I look up at the arena where one girl absolutely pummels her opponent with the inflatable baton, knocking her clean off the platform. I swallow hard, already bracing myself. I’m not a violent person, and I know I’m not going to be good at this. It means I’m probably in for a thrashing.
“Amazing,” he says, offering me his hand. “I’m Tyrell, by the way. Tyrell Finch.”
“Owen Greene.”
We shake hands. It might be a little formal, but I’m guessing from the way he’s dressed and his general demeanor that Tyrell is the kind of person who appreciates formality.
There’s no line and the previous match has just wrapped up, so before I can really piece together what is happening I’m kicking offmy shoes, putting on a used and still slightly sweaty helmet, and holding an inflatable weapon. I climb up onto my platform while Tyrell does the same on his. Down below, a group of about five—Tyrell’s friends, I’m assuming—are watching.
“Get him, Tyrell!” calls a guy with dark brown hair.
I grip my weapon tight as a whistle is blown. This is harder than it looks. The platform I’m on is narrow and rotates, so even balancing requires concentration. Tyrell seems to be having the same problem, and wobbles so much that I think I might win the match with him falling off on his own.
“This is hard!” he calls.
“Yeah!”
He manages to stop rotating and tries to attack me. I block it, then push back at him.
And it’s game on.
