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» CHAPTER THREE «

"I..I gotta go." I feared what he would do to me. I went home and just sat on the couch. I replayed our little "encounter". I remember each crack he made at me and I even laughed at some.

A knock came from the door. I opened it wearily and found Brian. I panicked and slammed it shut. Another rapping came from the door. I opened it and winced, "Don't hurt me."

"It should be me who should be saying that," Brian said, "Can I come in?" I hesitantly let him in. He sat down in the armchair across from the couch where I placed myself.

"You know, all of our quarreling is kinda...childish," he told me, "How about a truce?"

My fears swept away like sand in a desert storm. "Beg pardon, but this is coming from you. You, the one that tortures anything and everything that I possess, desire or like. You, the one that insults me more than he takes a breath daily. I frankly don't see the point. You're just going to start again later."

"I promise I won't," he stated, "I thought about it when I was on the road. I treat you like dirt beneath my feet. And you only insult me in defense. You and I are both equals, if not you are more mature than me."

"Whoa, dude, did I slap you THAT hard?" We laughed. "Nah, seriously. I think we started off on the wrong foot. I was just dumped by that guy. I get really pissy when that sort of thing happens."

"So, peace between us?" Brian assured.

"Yes sir, but I might slip once or twice," I warned him.

"That's cool." Brian got up and we hugged. "So what's your name again?" he teased. I punched his shoulder. "Oww, that right of yours! You ever look up boxing?"

I shook my head. "But wanna discuss it over lunch?" I offered, "We can pick up some eggs on the way there."

"And a new shirt, too." Brian looked at his shirt in disgust. I apologized again. In the car, Brian spoke to me. "Do you want some friendly, constructive advice?"

"What?"

"You need to stop saying sorry and start being stable about your feelings."

"Lemme give you some constructive advice, too." I smiled. "One: your fly is open and two: you need to stop being ‘this-is-mine-that-is-yours'."

He blushed as he "zipped up". I winked sympathetically. "I've done worse," I comforted him, "I was in a middle school play of Grease and I tripped and went head first. My undies revealed to all eight hundred plus students and families."

"How humiliating!"

"I know. I was called ‘Whitey-Tighty' until the end of time." We turned into a basketball court. "What are you doing?"

¤ Chapter 4 ¤
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