For Every Missing Shade

Entry 4

Today started when I was at lunch. I sat with the group I always do. Our time together normally begins like this:

*Israel sits down*

*A Dozen boys make sex and/or fart noises*

Israel: "Hey guys what's up?"

Someone: "Your mom."

*Every single person at the table actually pisses themselves from laughter.*

And then it's like we satisfied an unwritten prerequisite and we can talk about other things. Today, the topic of conversation was that Tommy, another guy at the table, got Sydney Gandt to go on a date with him. It was a pretty big deal. Why was it a big deal, you ask? Because this guy couldn't freaking shut up about her. He's a lot like me, except he feels the need to share his obsessions with everyone around him. It would be annoying if he didn't have an amazing habit of fucking everything up in every situation he's in, so the constant embarrassment provides great fuel for conversation.

But, shockingly, his date with Sydney ended up going kind of well, according to him. He ended up making out with her for (he apparently timed it) over three full minutes. With tongue. I gotta hand it to him, I'm not going to lie. Because somehow that occurred after he took her on a tour of a synogogue even though they are both Christian (which, I mean, why..? and also how?) and played the playlist he made for the date which included Beethoven's fifth and, not far after, an entire British trap album.

But hey, I guess that should speak to how much game he has. Not even he can get in his own way.

I couldn't keep listening to him brag about the date, though, because something took full control of my attention: a burst of red flashing past the corner of my eye. It was her. I told my friends I'd see them later, and rushed myself through the lunch tray line.

Tragically, the bell rang right as I was headed her way and a torrent of bodies closed in on me. Getting to her was like some twisted episode of Ninja Warrior. After my countless failed spin moves, roughly 300 I'm sorry's, and numerous people that I clumsily ran into, I found her.

"Oh, hey" I tried to start the conversation sounding like I was in for a cordial surprise. As if I just survived a freak tornado and was itching for some small talk.

"Hey, Israel!" she said.

"Hey... uh..." trying to make up a name for her on the spot.

"Emma," she responded with a smile.

"Oh, that's a cool name," I said as I reached my hand forward for her to shake it.

Okay, let me repeat this again with a little more detail: I, Israel Taylor, reached my hand towards the beautiful girl I have been obsessing over so that she would shake my hand. A handshake. Like I was greeting a parent or important businessman. Because it's super sexy when that happens.

She looked at me for a bit, and then laughed as she went for it. That girl shook my hand like she was a senator. "Israel, it is a pleasure to meet you. How's the wife?"

And there it was. I couldn't believe it. This breathtaking woman in front of me can not only handle my awkwardness, but she turned it into a joke.

"Ok, ok, I'm sorry." My face doubled in heat before I could let out my whimper of a laugh. "So, I'm assuming I should probably never do that again?"

"You know, as much as I loved using my dad voice, let's save the handshakes for professional meetings"

She laughed. I wanted to die.

"Note taken. Where are you off to?" I asked, trying to recover.

"Well actually, I'm going home. My mom, aka myself, just called into the school saying that I have a doctor's appointment that she forgot to mention."