The Thing About Flip Flops

Chapter Eight: Shakespeare Fans Should Skip This Chapter

Chris is waiting for me outside on my porch.

His brown hair is gelled back into a clean look, and his blue button down shirt brings out his ocean coloured eyes. He's also wearing black slacks, which he regularly doesn't wear because Chris is usually a basketball shorts slash jeans type of guy. But even though he looks different and formal, he still looks like Chris. He even seems slightly nervous to see me, which is cute, when I step outside.

I feel somewhat self-conscious in what I'm wearing. Are we doing something fancy? God, I hope we aren't. I should've asked which restaurant we were going to first... I think I'm underdressed.

Outside is cold, but inside the car is no better. It's freezing in here as well. I shiver and reach to the dial for the heat, turning it to full blast.

The Beatles are on the radio, Rubber Soul playing at a low volume.

My mouth falls open. "You don't know who The Beatles are? Chris, come on! What is this, that movie with the guy who wakes up in a world without The Beatles?"

This time it's Chris' turn to roll his eyes. "Of course I know who The Beatles are. I'm not that stupid."

I grin and reach over to push his shoulder playfully, "So you admit you're kind of stupid."

He scoffs, "Well, I mean the situation a week ago only happened because I was stupid so...yeah I am."

I knit my brows in confusion. What's he talking about?

Oh. Right.

"That wasn't your fault, Chris," I console him. "You were drunk too. And you got me home safely, so nothing too bad happened. Let's just move past it, okay?"

He sighs, not taking his eyes off the road. "I know... I'm still sorry though. It's one thing if you forgive me, it's another thing for me to try to forgive myself."

"Well, try to forgive yourself, okay? For me?"

He smiles faintly, looking over at me in the passenger seat with his bright blue eyes. "Alright. I'll try."

We end up having a nice dinner at an Italian place. He talks, I laugh, just like how it should be. But I can't help wishing for... I don't even know. Something more.

***

Poetry class. The next day.

I'm sitting next to Jack, who's got earphones in and is ignoring me. I'm not sure what I should do, since the teacher gave us specific instructions. We're thirty minutes into class, and he didn't even say hello.

I tap him on the shoulder, and he jerks away, glaring at me.

"Don't touch me," he snaps.

I shift my chair away from his, raising my hands. "Sorry, sorry. I was just wondering if we should start?"

"I..." He looks up at the board. "I thought we were going to start in February."

"Nope. I guess not. The teacher said we have to start now."

Jack frowns and crosses his arms. "I don't want to start now."

I fiddle with a hair tie that's wrapped around my wrist to avoid snapping at him.

Jack surprises me by saying, "Fine. Let's start."

I look over at him, trying to see if he's joking.

I nod. "Okay then."

We start researching the way we're supposed to be writing this poem, and I'm very surprised to find that Jack is actually decent at this stuff. We spend most of the time on Wikipedia, despite the teacher's specific instructions not to use it. She's not going to notice. I hope.