Flippers

• six; and he was wise, brother mine •

 [a few lingo translations in tamilian, one of the official language of sri lanka, apart from sinhala. amma = mother; sambar = lentil based vegetable stew]  

                     S I X : and he was wise, brother mine 

         ON REACHING HOME, I indulged myself in what I usually did best in these kind of stressful situations.

         I ate, and I started overthinking.  

         As I started on the first slice of leftover pizza, I attempted to recall the hazy recollections about what had happened an hour ago, the nauseating gurgle still omnipresent in my stomach. On an unofficial note, we had agreed to the carry out our part of the deal. Alexandra would ask her minions to stop any genre or breed of bullying, until the results of the bet. 

       If I were to win, which was a long shot and nearly next to impossible, her bullying would stop until her graduation. A whole year without any taunts, comments, or physical slip ups. On the other hand, if I were to lose, it would continue. The forfeit was a game changer, my second chance; and perhaps the only thing that could save me, and the mental solace of the whole of Taradale High. I had to walk down the pool deck in a bikini, and carry out whatever dare she threw my way.

      Now that I had mentally noted down the clauses of the bet, my mouth ruminated the second slice of the pizza whereas my brain chewed over the pros and cons. The only pro was that the bullying would stop for six whole months. The cons, however, included my humiliation, quite possibly me being ostracized by my own classmates, and a negative toll on my mental and physical well being. 

        Great. I had just given the devil permission to turn me into a sacrificial goat. 

        When I reached the third slice of pizza, I thought about Anderson and felt the sudden urge to regurgitate the first two slices that I had stuffed in my mouth. Why did he get himself involved with this? Was this another trap, one of his games? Or was this Alexandra's doing, knowing that Poor Parsley would not have a spokesperson to choose for Plus Points? Did she have something against him?  

       Mental Manipulation was more of her game, not his. My mind went into an overdrive, considering all the possibilities that would have caused Anderson to volunteer as my spokesperson. There was one such incident, but Anderson was unconscious during that time, and there was no way he could have known my involvement in it.

       Was it a co-incidence, or could it be that he actually did want to help? The very thought sent a manic laughter up my throat. No bloody way. 

       Unable to find a justification of Anderson's involvement with the bet, I did the next best thing that I possibly could do, given my circumstances. I rang Ajinkya Hayes, my idiot of a brother who I shared a love-hate relationship with. He picked up his phone on the fifth ring.

      "Hi, Piglet. You're calling me for a change. Must be something serious. What's up?" It had been almost a month since I had heard his voice, and a wave of ease ―one that could easily rival the comforts of my blanket― engulfed me, and I tried to not admit that it bothered me as much as it did. It had been almost three years since I had seen his stupid, goofy smile. And I really, really missed it.

      "I got myself into a pickle, brother mine. If Justin Roiland and Dan Harmon need a new face for Pickle Rick, I will be the best candidate for it."

      "I'll spread the word. Plus, my pickle stash just got over. Nothing to eat with rice and sambar. Maybe now you will have an excuse to ship yourself here."