Super Fake Love Song - David Yoon Page 0,10

took it off, handed it back. I put the ring on with a deftness that implied I’d been wearing the thing for years. My finger absorbed her lingering warmth. For an idiotic moment I felt like we had just somehow kissed.

“So what’s your new band called?” said Cirrus.

She threw me the Look again before turning to gaze at nothing in particular. I realized what she was doing. She was wanting for something from me, while pretending her question was no big deal.

My mind seized up. I fiddled with my fingers at my belly, which had gone a little sour. I shoved my hands into my pockets, only to find it was too hot for pockets. So I took them out again and just kind of rested my fingertips on my ribs. Many people sat like this all the time, except those who didn’t, which was everybody.

“Our working band name,” I said, “is the Immortals.”

Immediately I wished I could take it back.

Cirrus smiled. “So you were the Mortals. And now you are the Immortals.”

“Okay, shut up.”

“And I thought I was lazy,” she said with a chuckle.

“I know, I know,” I said, with a wild marionette’s shrug. “We wanted to maintain brand recognition?”

“No, I like it,” said Cirrus. “Also it’s got this dorky Dungeons & Dragons vibe, like Fools, you cannot defeat the immortals!”

“You’re just being nice,” I said, openly knitting my fingers now. Dorky, she said. Dungeons & Dragons, she said.

“I am,” said Cirrus, then laughed until she had to place a hand on my shoulder for support, at which moment I decided she could laugh however long she wanted. All night would be fine by me.

“Seriously, though,” she said. “I could never put myself out there like that. I’d love to see you guys at your next gig.”

All I could do was shrug and turn the ring around and around. Baphomet. The goat was called Baphomet.

“Ffshhhffshssh,” I said, nodding and nodding.

Cirrus grew quiet. She seemed to be considering something, and gave a wan little chuckle to whatever thought was in her head. She opened her mouth to speak.

My gut quivered. I felt I was about to learn something deep and interesting and extraordinarily personal from this new girl. And only fifteen minutes into our very first conversation! The first conversation of many!

But her lips drew a thin tight line, and nothing came out.

Cirrus’s eyes had reset. It was as if a Topic of Conversation dial selector had just been switched to OFF by an unseen hand. Her phone blooped again—more AlloAllos—but she didn’t seem to hear it at all.

I blanched. Had I just inadvertently disappointed her in some opaque way? It was entirely possible—ask my parents—but at the moment I could not fathom what that way could be.

“I should head back,” she said, and stood.

“Cool,” I said, blinking. But this was not cool. She was here, she was about to speak, and now she was suddenly leaving.

“See you tomorrow at school?” she said.

“Uh, sure,” I said. I wanted to kick myself, but I did not know why, or if I even needed to.

So I just watched as Cirrus Soh floated away down the stairs to let herself out without a sound.

Research

Name: Cirrus Soh

Ethnic background: Korean-American

Language skills: unknown (traces of British accent)

Social media footprint: apparently immense, must delve into AlloAllo

Other details: unknown, so many questions

Mamba

I woke up with a yell:

“Uhh!”

I had had a dream. I sat in a beautiful green field full of five-leafed clovers. Cirrus sat by my side. A curtain of hair blew into her amber eyes, and she drew it back, and a flying football glanced off her temple.

Nurrrrrrrrrddddddz, said a demonic Gunner.

The bedroom door opened, and Dad poked his head in with his eyes closed.

“I’m respecting your privacy and asking if everything’s okay,” said Dad.

I reached over to silence my analog bedside clock (sleeping beside your phone has been proven to give you cancer), which had been buzzing. I removed my sleep cap and clutched it to my chest.

“Just a bad dream,” I said through my night guard. “You can open your eyes.”

Dad opened his eyes but kept them discreetly downcast. “I know how mornings can be for young men, and also how certain dreams can produce certain reactions, which is totally cool and understandable, especially with a new girl in the picture.”

“I need you to not be here,” I said.

“Yap,” said Dad, and vanished with a look of relief.

I peeled my night guard out of my mouth and dropped it into its dedicated bowl of