Survival Of The Fittest

((Ophelia pregame start.))

Bus stops were a boring place to be at. There was no wifi connection so she had to use her precious data to watch The Office. It also smelled like urine which she assumed it was because of the party going on last night. Her hand on her chin, her earphones plugged in and her eyes staring at Kelly being yelled at for going to juvie, she wondered about her life.

High school sucked. Everyone said it was normal, that high school was the worst part of their lives but Ophelia was different. Actually, maybe not but she still felt like she was unique in a way. She was painfully lonely but enjoyed it. It was hard, she wanted social interactions whenever she wanted but didn't want to be bothered by people.

She basically wanted the impossible: to be in control of others. If she was more charismatic or able to behave in a socially accepted fashion, she could have been able to do that. Instead, she was a weird girl who wore weird clothes like a trench coat with a rainbow shirt and skinny jeans.

She didn't really have friends too. She didn't have anyone close to her, not even her parents were allowed near her inner core. She preferred being alone than having bad company, that's what she convinced herself. She was, however, craving for someone to call her a friend. Receive some kind of recognition as an individual. Despite being a weird girl, she had normal feelings.

Her bus was late. It was always late. It was a routine, almost. The same driver with the same people with the same Ophelia with a different outfit. She stepped in the bus, greeted the driver with a nod and a feint smile and took a seat on the city bus.

For some reason, Lucas' alarm clock hadn't stopped beeping when he hit snooze earlier in the morning. The flimsy bluish cube had gone about its habit of beeping once every second for a count of five and slowly building up speed before he grabbed it and squished the big round button on the top, but even that didn't help to stop the beeping. He heard it in between every bite of his toaster waffles in the morning, in every anxious step he took back and forth to stop himself from taking a shit in the hallway while his brother sang to himself loudly in the bathroom, and in between the lines of the day's edition of the Chattanooga Times Free Piece he read on the bus to take his mind off of it.

In many ways, that only made the whole situation worse. The gambit that his motion sickness, a feeling with which he was already accustomed, would drown out the sound of the alarm in his mind's ear was, regrettably, not paying off. The two feelings fused together into a pounding ache that jabbed him in the belly and in the temples, striking him over and over like some Vishnu deity with four open palms pressing into every place that could possibly hurt. The usual delays in the CARTA bus service were compounded by his pain, seconds stretching on into eons.

When he looked up from his paper and saw that someone he vaguely recognized was getting on the bus, Lucas was quick to adjust himself. He uncrossed his legs and folded up his newspaper, letting it sit on his lap. He felt more dead than alive, but he couldn't let that show. His foot started tap-tap-tapping on the ground without his notice. Could this bus get its shit together? He wanted to get the day over with so that he could crawl back into bed and curl up with The Bell Jar for his eighth straight read-through. Lucas couldn't decide if he was reading the book because he liked it, or out of force of habit. Overdue library books piled themselves up in the corner of his and Milo's room, and he was sure that a copy of The Bell Jar was sitting in there somewhere as well.

He could feel his heart beating in his throat. His imagination painted a picture of a heart with eight legs made of vein tissue clawing its way through his trachea, writhing underneath his skin. Lucas shook his head to clear the vision from his mind, blinking a few times for good measure. Now, something in the side of his neck was hurting, feeling like it was ready to pop. He wasn't comfortable in his own skin, and the pains in his neck and stomach and head reminded him that he wasn't comfortable in his own skin, and now the small of his back had a small fire burning inside of it and he wasn't comfortable in his own skin, and a drink would probably calm him down but it was too early to be wanting for some alcohol to take him away from the feeling that he wasn't comfortable in his own skin, and how long had he been tapping his foot for again?

The girl sat down. Lucas looked at her and nodded his head in quiet acknowledgement. Maybe if he said something to her, then the awful noise in his head would go away, he reckoned, so he sat in silence.

She felt watched. She didn't know. Sometimes, she felt watched when she watched porn on her phone and she made eye contact with the camera. When that happened, she took a piece of chewed paper toilet and pushed it against the lens. The feeling of a TSA agent staring at her stopped and she went back to watching porn.

That wasn't something she felt right now. Her neck felt watched. It was watched often, she shaved her head. Maybe that's why she knew, when she shaved her head people stared. They peeped and gazed and stared and pointed and squinted. They all had their eyes on her shaved head, never asked anything. Some people said she had cancer, maybe out of compassion or as a joke, she told them to choke on shit. When people she stared, she just raised her head and kept her face straight. When they got too close, she curled her upper lip and said something mean. They left her alone. Everyone should leave her alone.

So her neck felt watched, she closed her phone and put it in her jacket's pocket. She loved that jacket. Her plaid jacket was her favorite, she saw it and she bought immediately. She didn't care if it was oversized and kinda old, she wanted it on her, wrapped around her body. She loved her jacket, it was a great one. Kept her warm and safe, and she kept it clean and neat. Like an armor she wore, she carried it around everywhere, ready for any battles.

She looked slightly to the left. The staring person wasn't there. She shifted her body softly, to look a bit farther. In her head, she was freaking out a bit. She wondered if she was the girl in horror movies that went in the basement to search for a friend that went to have sex with her boyfriend but wasn't seen again. Was she that girl? She wondered, she wondered. She gripped her jacket tighter.

She squinted, then suddenly, she turned around. She saw him. The starer. That person was in high school with, she stared at him for a few seconds. She didn't know how to react, so she just stared but then squinted softly. He wasn't doing anything wrong, he was reading a newspaper. He must have thought, "Oh! It's that weirdo girl who shaved her head! Ah! Maybe I can poke her with a stick and say she's a wild animal! Yes! I'll go poke the creature that committed social suicide!".


...or maybe he didn't.


She didn't what to think but she knew what she wanted to think. If he fucked with her, she was going to deck him. And call him a 'faggot' or something, today was her fucking day and nobody was going to fuck around with her.

She was staring daggers at him.

Every point the veiny legs of his spider heart touched inside his throat, words erupted, bile bubbling to the surface. Lucas managed to keep his mouth shut. He sat up a little more, straighter, trying to appear a little less skeezy. He wasn't getting good vibes from this encounter at all, even if he now recognized the person and was able to attach a name to their face: Ophelia. She was a smart girl, but he couldn't quite grasp what her motives was, which drove him up the wall. He could detect some kind of resentment coming from her direction, though it was hard to pick up from among the background alarm call, subsiding now to a slow dull thumping pain in the back of his head.

Was this a special kind of resentment, or was it the background radiation kind, the kind that came from inside his own skull? He couldn't tell. He wasn't comfortable in his own skin. Lucas wished that she'd say something to him, confront him about it, so that this awkward cold war of mutual misunderstanding would come to an end. His mouth wouldn't open, so she would have to be the one to do it. A couple of seconds passed by, and there was still just silence between the two. He stared now out the window at the vague shapes of trees passing by. Coughed. Took his glasses off of his face and cleaned them with his breath and the corner of his shirt. Shifted again.

She wasn't one of her friends, was she?

A jolt went down Lucas' spine. That would explain the particular feeling of resentment coming from her, one informed by time spent among people who probably wouldn't have the nicest things to say about him. Lucas could practically hear the click of camera shutters inside of his brain, news stringers rushing to the scene of a crime against social convention, ready for the catastrophe to air on eighteen channels of bad memories on display 24/7 inside his brain. The only way to keep the course of events from turning into mental headline news would be to intervene, even if it meant he wasn't comfortable in his own skin.

"Hey," he said, leaning forward a little, "You're Ophelia, right?"

Even if this risk didn't pay off, it would at least help him frame the event in a different way. The first few times he described his feelings of lonesomeness to his social worker, she tried to help him see the events as more nuanced and intricate than unbridled hatred and dislike on the part of the opposing party. Now, it was time to put that into action. Ophelia likely didn't have a problem with Lucas as a person, but with something he was doing.

"We have AP Bio together, right? I missed class yesterday, I was wondering if you wouldn't mind sharing some notes."

Worst case scenario, they didn't have a class together. Best case scenario? He'd be able to talk during the bus ride, and the sound of his own words would drown out his thought-voice.

Isn't it ironic how the only way I can get myself to shut up is to find a way to start talking?

He knew her name.

Obviously, he would know her name. Ophelia was known for her temper and attitude and look. She was staring at him profoundly, trying to open him up like a broken watch to see every nook and crannies, trying to find out why he was there with her on the bus.

She had questions, but her questions didn't need to be asked since she knew the answer. He spoke to her. Nobody spoke to her unless they wanted to insult or mock or taunt her. Sometimes, they started nicely, commenting on her outfit or makeup but Ophelia knew it was a ruse to get near her and mess with her head. Ophelia was stronger than that, she knew what she was doing and she was in control of the situation.

AP Bio... Did she have that class? School days just went by quickly, mindlessly going to her courses, doing her work, thinking about eating, farting and watching videos on her cellphone. AP Bio, maybe she had that or maybe she didn't. She just knew she had some science classes that were involving the human anatomy and shit, maybe that was AP Bio. Or was AP Bio something else? A drug? Slang for calling her a dyke? An insult? She didn't know, she didn't know how to trust Lukas.

She squinted softly, she tried to stop staring at him. It was hard, very hard. Her brain was telling her that if she stopped watching him, he would jump on her back. She was wondering why she couldn't trust him but a tiny voice inside of her kept poking and poking her insides, telling her she was in danger. Was that anxiety? Yeah, that was anxiety, she was anxious out of nowhere. That was anxiety, right? Right? She wasn't sure, she was breathing normally and her heartbeat wasn't beating loudly but was she anxious?

She didn't know, she didn't know if she was anxious or stressed but she was angry at Lukas for some reason. Very angry, as if he mocked her in a way she didn't know. Maybe he talked in her back, everyone did that anyways, nobody could lie: they all spoke about Ophelia in her back. She knew that, and she knew that was a fact. She barked at him softly, in a quiet and softspoken way. She didn't trust him but she still didn't want to seem crazy, because she wasn't crazy.

"I'm not going to school. I don't have the notes. Anything else?"

"Oh," he said, faltering, "sorry to bother you, then."

That was one way for things to turn. In an instant, she had turned quick and dismissive. Lucas had definitely said something that had made her upset, and the possibility that Ophelia had some long-standing bias against him was one that grew more and more realistic every moment. Was it worth it to keep asking questions, or would that just prolong her annoyance with him? She wasn't going to school—was she skipping? Was it alright for him to ask about that sort of thing?

He wouldn't venture to try. He had already bungled things enough; the last thing that either of them needed was more awkward fumbling around in the half-awake haze of the morning. Lucas shifted again in his seat, and reopened his newspaper. A small part of him was relieved that he wouldn't have to talk to her anymore, but the same small part knew that it probably wouldn't be that easy just to drop things like that.

She'd probably be more fun to talk to with a drink in her system, he thought. The second he heard the words inside his head, a wave of shame washed over him drawing the phrase back out into the ocean. The skin of his shoulders felt cold, so he set the newspaper down on his lap and started to rub them to warm himself up, one arm crossed over the other. The bus rounded a bend, and his stomach lurched. His regret over getting out of bed in the morning was mounting, creeping up on him, threatening to pull him under. He imagined how the text to his mother would read.

"I had to turn back from going to school today, because my stomach hurt and it felt like I was going to vomit everywhere. I have my house key, I'll be staying at home today."

To which the response would probably come,

"That's fine honey, you didn't look very well this morning either Just get some rest and I'll call the school for you."

But nobody wanted to put up with his burdensome bullshit today. He knew that the moment he walked in the door to his house he would be greeted by silver-tongued sympathy and a lozenge of lies that he wanted no part of. Neither did his parents—they'd have to put a call in to the office, and then the office would talk about the absence policy, and then his parents would have to sit through that long and droning explanation that greeted them every single time they called in despite the fact that he had only been absent five times in the entire year, which was still not that good but a step up from the fifteen times the year before and the eleven times the year before that. In eighth grade, he had received an award for perfect attendance and then failed to show up on the day he was scheduled to be awarded it. How about that, then?

His shoulders felt warmed up again. Lucas picked up the newspaper, and went back to reading.

Then, he felt cold once more. He fought the urge to put the paper down.

Sorry to bother you.

Oh, she wasn't bothered. She kinda enjoyed the conversation. He didn't insult her or anything, and even though she was pretty blunt, he was nice to her. She wondered how she could appear less bothered, maybe smiling would help. She never smiled, her teeth made her feel insecure.

Wait, this is great! Yes!

Today was the chance to make friends! Or at least try, she didn't really understand how to make friends. In movies, they just chat while sitting next to each other or survived something traumatic or whatever and they became inseperable. That wasn't the case of Ophelia and Lucas, two teens sitting on a bus. She kinda wanted to speak to him but she didn't know what to say.

She could try being honest. Yeah, honesty worked sometimes. She didn't need to insult people and lie to them in their face for them to go away, something a simple 'fuck off' or 'go away' worked perfectly fine. Lukas was meek, kinda anxious, kinda weird. Perfect friend for her, a girl who was meek and kinda weird but not really anxious.

She looked outside, seeing the foggy sky. She liked fog, it's really pretty and makes her feel kinda weird, like in the movie Silent Hill. Apparently, it was also a video game, maybe she could check it out on YouTube at home.

"Uh, I'm not bothered. Don't... worry about that."

These were good words. At least, she thinks so. They weren't hurtful or anything. Her tone was wavering after the 'don't' because she wasn't sure if she should continued but she did it anyways. Oh, she was so eager to make friends but her face said otherwise. It was neutral, calm, restrained but inside she felt a tiny spark of excitation.

A friend? That'd be great!

Lucas perked up, and put the paper down. Had she shed some of her cold demeanor? Perhaps he was mistaken in the judgement that she was in cahoots with anyone who disliked him. Maybe she was just slightly standoffish. Lucas could empathize—no, he embodied that in several respects. It would make him a hypocrite to judge someone for acting weird when it turned out that they were just being slightly awkward.

Either way, this was a good chance to start talking, which was, by proxy, an opportunity to stop his inner voice mumbling around in his head, brushing up against the walls, nervously rocking back and forth, looming over each and every movement. The words he fed himself were those of a news stringer stuck at the scene of his last scoop because his car broke down, desperate to get moving again. He tried to remember what it was that got him thinking about news stringers this morning, but came away from the dusty archives of his memories empty-handed.

He tried to force himself to smile. To look friendly would be to invite more conversation, after all. Despite his best attempts, however, he only succeeded at looking slightly awkward. If someone were to walk up to him with a hand mirror to show him just how idiotic he looked, he'd bat the mirror out of their hand on impulse. The people that he thought of as his friends told him his smile was endearing, but whenever he saw a picture of himself he wanted to tear it up. Unfortunately, the pictures were usually on people's phones, so he had no choice but to make an attempt to knock it out of their hands. His reflexes were never fast enough.

"If you say so," he said with a shrug.

He wished he could leave it at that, but something inside of him wanted to know more. Press for more answers to questions he probably didn't even have yet. Overshoot his bus stop and miss out on school for the day. Spend some time gallivanting around the city, alone or in company. Emboldened, he decided to stoke the flames of the conversation a little more, hoping to share in at least a few moments of warmth before he inevitably said the wrong thing and the fire went out.

"If your destination ain't school, then where are you heading?" Lucas asked, leaning forward in his seat. "I mean, if you don't mind my asking."

Somebody wanted to listen to her. That felt weird but good. Nobody ever listened to her, her parents didn't care and her brothers didn't try. She craved attention from her peers, good and positive one. Not the bad one that makes you feel like crying, but the one that makes you feel like smiling.

She rarely felt it, she rarely felt that the smiles she directed at her weren't taunts or insults. She rarely felt like the sights of others on her shaved head was anything else than mockery, readying a comment to hurt her. She didn't feel like that right now. Maybe Lucas was lying his way through, maybe he was trying to get her guard down but she didn't care about it right now. She felt like opening up.

"I'm going to the mall."

More words Ophelia, say more words. You just said you went to the mall, you need to say more! Something more important, more value, more meat around the bone like your English teacher said when he read your essays. The meat around the core, more fluff, more content around the thesis. Not everyone knew her purpose as a human being so they needed some kind of help to find it out. She needed meat around the argument.

"'M'buying a dress."

She seen it. It was pretty. A very pretty, delicate dress. She needed her jacket to avoid getting dresscoded while wearing it but she wanted it on her. It would complete her outfit, it wouldn't make her look butch but she enjoys dresses. Maybe she wasn't a butch lesbian, maybe only a chapstick one. Or maybe she wasn't even a lesbian but she enjoyed having an identity to relate to when she felt bad, and girls are pretty hot. Especially Dolly and Marceline and Ivy, even though she was a bitch and she would run her over with a car, oh and Mikki. She had pretty hair, she liked Mikki. Oh and also Forrest, pretty name for a pretty girls.

Yeah, girls were pretty, she liked girls, girls are good.

Lucas nodded. This was playing out very well, all things considered—what he would have considered her being tight-lipped just moments ago now seemed to be just her own quick and to-the-point way of articulating her thoughts and feelings. Sure, Lucas hated the mall and all of its consumerist over-indulgence, but it was as good a place as any to go shopping for practical things, like clothing. Now that he thought about it, clothing was probably the only thing he could see himself ever buying at a mall, in another world where he concerned himself with appearances. The food over there was overpriced, the atmosphere was suffocating, and anything else he could find online or at a locally owned store. Malls were where the big department stores dug themselves in, though—they were called anchor stores for a good reason—and usually they catered to teenager's tastes better than any smaller store could.

He longed for the day that the local malls would start going under. Every online video he watched about dead malls enticed him, daring him to buy a train ticket and get out to explore for a weekend. At least one short story with his name on it had centered around the protagonist making their way through a dead mall in the dead of night, often modeled after one nearby. If he was still around when the fake plastic ziggurats of Chattanooga closed their doors for good, he'd be the first to take a video camera inside.

"The mall sounds like a nice time," he agreed, "a good reason to skip school, anyhow."

What were the odds that Ophelia had ever wanted to snoop around an abandoned building? Not good enough for him to put forward his own interest in the hobby; that much was certain. If the conversation ever drifted there on its own, he'd be more than happy to drop his guard and share about his own experiences with underground Chattanooga. There was probably a better way to share his dissatisfaction with giant capitalistic multinational corporations without going straight to fantasizing about their collapse.

"But the mall's just a bit too busy for me, personally," Lucas confessed, "Too many people around. A bit too noisy and cluttered for me, yeah. When I skip, a nice walk in the park does just fine."

He rubbed his eyes for a moment. His stomach was starting to ache again, but he was willing to put up with the mild discomfort for now.

She looked at him while he spoke. She didn't know but something about him was off, not in a bad fashion like he was about to pull out a gun or anything but he looked anxious, stressed, even scared. He was a little ball of stress, that's what she assumed while she looked at him. Maybe he has fighting with his parents or maybe he was scared about college and the incoming enormous debt he would have to pay off or maybe he ate something that had mold on it.

Looked ill, but okay at the same time. Almost as if he was juggling between the two, trying to make himself look as composed and calm as possible while being a storm with a layer of thin skin over it.

She listened to him. He didn't like the mall, but that was okay! Ophelia didn't like the mall either, she liked shops where she could nice things and being able to walk aimlessly without being stopped by a random person. She didn't like the mall for similar reasons but the worst one was the possibility of walking into someone from school. She hated it, she wanted people from school to stay away from her at all cost. Walk in parks were fine, but she never went on them by choice. When she missed the bus, she cut corners and walked through the park. She enjoyed it when it wasn't too hot or too cold, just enough to wear a comfy outfit.

"Yeah, I understand, it can get overwhelming."

She chew on the insides of her cheeks, and she felt the raw flesh and the blood flowing in her mouth, mixing with her saliva. She didn't know what else to say! She had no idea what to do! She wanted to smile but she hated her teeth, so she smiled with her lips. She wasn't even looking at Lucas anymore, she stared at the ground and she wasn't even happy so why did she smile? No idea, she had no idea, why did she smile? Why did she curl her lips without any hate in them? No idea, she had no idea, no idea! Not a single motherfucking idea, why was she here?!

She sighed and looked back up. She cleared her throat, moving her lips against her will. She didn't know any better so she spoke to him.

"I still like the mall though, I like walking around even though I'm buying nothing, it's chill. It's nice to see pretty things and go like 'wow if I sold my kidneys I could buy that', you know?"

He let out a small laugh at Ophelia's line about the kidneys. Most of the stuff in the mall—most of the stuff he saw in store windows in general—was far out of his budget. His summer internship that had netted him a cool just under nine hundred dollars was long gone, and his bank account had slowly been drained of its blood. He would often skip lunch just to save up money so that he could walk to the bookstore, inevitably find himself gasping at how a two hundred page novel could cost twenty dollars, and dejectedly spend time looking for a cheaper deal before walking out to return to his starvation.

"I getcha," he said, smiling all the while. "Believe me, I getcha."

Ophelia looked like she was distressed, yet not entirely so. There was something about her facial expression that led Lucas to believe that she felt somewhat trapped by his presence, but that same facial expression was, on the surface, a smile. There was a good chance he was reading the situation entirely incorrectly, of course, but at the present moment he felt that he could trust his intuition. Drawing attention to this fact was out of the cards, of course; nothing would disturb the peace the two of them shared faster than putting on a therapist mask and pretending to care about her insecurities. They weren't quite at that level, he figured.

The only thing he could do was sink further down into pleasantries. He debated between asking her if she was from Frazier's Glen, and asking her if she had a job. In the end, he decided it was more than a little rude to ask about money. He'd have to go for a safer option instead.

"At the same time, though," Lucas mused, scratching his chin, "there's something equally alluring about having to dig through an old store to look for something, y'know? At the very least, window-shopping from the inside is fun too."

Rubbing his eyes had left smudge marks on his glasses. Lucas took them off his face and put them so that they hung from the neck of his shirt, one arm on the inside. His prescription was, in all likelihood, harsher than it needed to be—without his glasses, he had perfect vision up to roughly ten feet, with the absolute cut off point for being able to read a sign around twenty feet away, by his own reckoning—so he liked to take the glasses off and see the world through his own eyes sometimes. In his experience, it helped him to remember important moments with greater clarity later on down the line.

Even though it was just a mundane conversation, he felt like this was one of those moments.

Ophelia liked digging through clothes. She loved finding weird and strange looking one that she would wear at school without caring about the looks people gave her. Shopping was fun. Just going through shops, seeing things, buying things sometimes, talking to people. It was enjoyable.

‘‘Yeah, I understand what you mean.''

The bus came to another stop and more passengers entered the bus. She looked at the people entering and she realized someone might sit beside her so she looked at him while standing up. She pointed the seat beside him and calmly ask.

"No-one is going to sit in that place, right?"

She didn't directly ask him if she could sit there but he didn't look dumb. She hoped he was able to read in-between the lines. This time she smiled softly. Her eyes were, surprisingly, follow her mouth for once.

This was exhausting. Interact with people drained her, she felt tired. She would need some alone time after this, she could feel her head getting woozy. She wanted to head back home already but she knew herself. Well, she knew the peak of the iceberg, so she decided to assume that her energy level would go back up when she would be at the mall, alone, with probably a Starsbucks drink in her hands with a shopping bag attached to her elbow.

Lucas smiled. There was no need to dance around it; Ophelia wanted to be next to him, even if it was only just so they could carry on their conversation without being across the aisle from one another. It reminded him of his less confident moments, in the past. He didn't really feel any more confident about social encounters now, but carrying himself had grown easier with time. A better word to describe how he felt would be 'self-assured' rather than 'self-confident,' in that regard. He was not confident that he understood what was going on, but he was assured that the way things turned out couldn't be all too bad, bar a few circumstances. This allowed him to pass himself off as confident when it counted, but did nothing for his overall mood. He was not comfortable, but merely certain of a lack of danger. Talking felt like swimming.

"Not if you sit there first, they won't."

Lucas didn't know how to swim, but he sure as hell knew how to float on his back.

He smiled back at her, though not with his teeth. Once he smiled too much, he started to look ugly, and the space around his eyes wrinkled a bit like the face of someone several decades his senior. It was easy enough to chalk it up to lack of sleep or screen time, but he felt like something else must have been the cause.

The other day at home, Milo had made a remark about how tense Lucas seemed. Physically, he meant. Whenever Lucas crouched down, he could hear the cracking of the joints in his legs. He wasn't entirely sure why this happened, because squats were the one exercise he could bring himself to do more than anything else at home. It didn't particularly hurt, but it was noisy, and often drew concern, at least from his brother. Lucas turned his head to look at the seat next to him, and heard his neck joints make a similar popping sound. It felt good to relieve some of that tension.

It felt as though it had been building up for a long, long, long time.

Ophelia made a list in her head that went a little like this.

Things they shared:
-They were loners.
-They didn't appear to be social creatures.
-They preferred when things were quiet.

She liked that list because it validated every single of her thoughts. They could, maybe if their relationship continue, realize that they have each other's back and grow closer. Heck, maybe become best friends.

It's been a while that Ophelia had a best friend, or even a friend really. There were probably people here and there who considered her their friends but she didn't considered them her friends. She called them "nice acquaintances". Just enough to be aware of their positive feelings toward the weirdo without hair and just enough for her to feel like there wasn't anything tying her down. A match made in hell really,it made her feel constantly alone but she didn't want to get too attached to people because she was scared they might leave her.

Lucas could be the same so she had to play around it. She sat next to him. She wonder how she could test him to prove he was going to stay with her and not abandon her. She searched her memory, there was probably a TV show somewhere about that specific situation.

Mmmm, there was an episode from Parks and Rec. where a character thought a client was in love with him and he kissed her. Could she do that? Not really, but she got a better idea.

"Do you watch television? Like, do you have a favorite TV show?"