Loveseat Nights

12

friday, feb 12

Paul approaches me in-between classes. “Think you could introduce me to Mona?”

His request makes me squirmy. “What makes you think I know her?”

“I don’t know, you were carrying her books yesterday,” he says, shrugging. “You must know her pretty well to do that.”

“That wasn’t anything, I was—”

“Doesn’t matter. Can you?”

I bite my lip. “I mean, I don’t think she likes you. After that stunt you pulled with Colton, you know.”

“Eh, all girls like me. Don’t worry about it.”

I laugh at his blatant cockiness, even if it is starting to get on my nerves. “Alright, fine. I’ll talk to her about it.”

Come off-block, I head towards the humongous northern public library instead of taking my usual route to Sonic. A little bird once told me that Mona helps shelve books in the library during her off-block, and I’ve got a friend to help out…even if I’m less than enthusiastic about it.

I catch her standing in the G’s section of Youth Fiction.

“Hey, Mona,” I whisper, walking up to her slowly with my hands in my pockets.

“Adrien?” She turns to face me and nearly loses a grip on the stack of books she’s handling. “What are you doing here?”

“Know any jokes about sodium?”

“What—I asked you a question. And what does that mean, ‘Know any jokes about--?’”

“Na.”

Her eyebrows scrunch for half a second before she lets out a long sigh of an “Ohhhhhh” and shakes her head, smiling.

“Wanna hear a joke about potassium?”

“Uh…”

“K.” I rack my brain for another. “Do you like helium jokes? He he he.”

“Okay, well, you’re not exactly ready for Comedy Central just yet.”

“Yeah, but I’m funny. Right?”

Mona laughs loudly; a couple deep-in-thought studiers look up and give us the standard evil eye. While I shoot them a nasty look back, Mona covers her mouth and whispers an apology.

“What are you laughing about?” I ask, leaning in so she can hear my hiss.

“You? Funny? This is coming from the guy who made a joke about ‘Casabaloney’ and ‘Papa Booger.’” She walks down the aisle of books and disappears around the corner.

“Wait—Mona!”

I speed-walk and catch her turning into the A through B’s aisle. Her short, dark hair is pinned up in a high ponytail, a difficult feat considering the length she has to work with. The little tuft of ponytail sticking out looks like a pom-pom on the arch of her head.

“I am definitely a funny guy,” I protest. “Seriously, I won the Class Clown superlative in the yearbook last year. Remember?”

“Yes, I was on the yearbook staff last year. And the only reason we put you as Clown was because you didn’t fit any of the other superlatives at all and Dana Pomwell simply had to have you somewhere. I think she had a crush on you.” Mona smirks, shelves Dare Me by Megan Abbott, and adds, “Plus, we thought it’d be ironic to put you there.”

“Ironic? Ironic how?”

“Well, considering you can’t tell jokes at all…”

“Oh come on. You’re just jealous that I was actually featured in the yearbook.”