How To Get a Boyfriend 101

11 : Wednesday

Step Eleven: Take care of your body! If this includes a spot of concealer to hide that one annoying pimple you can't get rid of, then so be it! Do whatever it takes to show your best self, and don't try to make yourself worse to fit a boy's standards. Only improve!

"You hear that, Felix? Only improve!"

"Blake, will you just shut up?" I plead, placing a bowl of soup down on his nightstand. It's four in the morning; I can't deal with him. Apparently, he got extremely sick yesterday. I think just being near him is going to get me ill, and then a tragedy will occur, and I will have to miss school. Oh, no.

Russell is sick, too. He must've caught something while talking to Blake yesterday, after telling him to check his texts. Or maybe the sickness was spread through mouth-to-mouth contact. Ya never know, right? Maybe Blake needed CPR. Maybe he wanted a lollipop and thought Russell was sufficient. Maybe he turned his head at the same time as Russell. Maybe they like each other and kissed, because that's what most people who have mutual attraction do.

I wouldn't know. Blake didn't share any further details since that faithful day in the lounge (which is very unlike him) and it's not like anyone that I've had a crush on has ever liked me back, since I've only seriously liked one person ever.

"This could be your last time seeing me. I might die," Blake informs me. I'm about to take the bowl of soup and dump it on his squishy, pale, unwashed face. He really looks like a zombie squirrel.

Russell should feel lucky that he doesn't have it as bad as Blake. Speaking of Russell, why isn't he here yet?

Oh, yeah. It's four in the morning. Most sick people aren't awake.

Most people, in general, aren't awake.

It's just my rotten luck that Blake vomited on his phone and his phone called me while it was glitching, so I ran over in a panic. Then, Blake decided to take advantage of my being here, so now I'm placing a bowl of my staple "dormmade" soup on his nightstand, pouring all my willpower into the prevention of the soup ending up on his face.

Yay.

He finally "dismisses" me by saying that it's better if I don't get sick. On my way out of his room, I sneeze.

Bless you, I tell myself.

Gee, thanks, I respond.

No problem.

Oh, please. I can't be the only person who's always said Bless you to themself when no one was around to say it. Or, even more depressing, when people noticed that they sneezed but didn't say anything. That's, like, worse than stubbing one's toe.

Nothing is worse than a stubbed toe.

So that's saying something.

As I close the door to my room, I hear a weird noise out in the hallway. I sigh. Outside, Russell is throwing up in a very unladylike fashion into the stairwell. Why is he in the stairwell? I ask myself a moment later. I glance over at the elevator and see a sign informing me of its out-of-service-ness. Lovely. Everyone on my floor and above has to pass through the puddle of Russell-puke, and everyone leaving their room today has to smell it.

Russell looks up guiltily at me upon hearing my gag of dissatisfaction and disgust. "Sor-ry," he croaks. "How is Blake?" he asks, so I shake my head and help him into Blake's apartment, where Patient Zero is currently fast asleep with half a bowl of uneaten broth spilled on his chest.

I resist the urge to laugh and instead lay Russell down on the couch.

I remember what the book said. Take care of yourself. I take that as an omen and stay far away from Russell as I give him some of Blake's still-in-the-bowl broth. He grunts as a thank you and closes his eyes when he's done eating.