Super Fake Love Song - David Yoon Page 0,15

truth.

Jamal eyed me. “You don’t look okay.”

“I don’t feel okay, so that makes sense,” I said with a laugh.

“What’s wrong?” said Milo.

This was bad. When Milo asked what’s wrong, he did not let go until the question was fully answered. He was like a bulldog. A big, gentle bulldog that clamped down on unexpressed emotions and shook with rabid fury until they’d been ripped free and were dripping wet in his powerful jaws of compassion.

“It’s nothing,” I said, and winced at my error. It’s nothing was bloodscent for Milo.

Milo’s emotional jaws squeezed harder. “Tell us what it is, Sunny Dae.”

I wrapped my arms around my ears. “Sorry, you guys are breaking up on me.”

“Not if we’re texting,” said Milo.

Checkmate. I felt Milo’s teeth pierce my psychic skin.

I sagged limp like fresh kill. I gave in. I explained the whole situation. Friends of my parents, my role as orientation buddy. Cirrus’s overwhelming coolness. Her confounding beauty. Her trenchant wit.

“She’s very comely,” said Milo.

“Comely?” said Jamal.

I turned to Jamal. “I seem to have misplaced my quizzing glass, Mr. Jamal.”

“I believe you misplaced it in the drawer housing your spats and garters, Mr. Sunny,” said Jamal.

“Something wrong with the word comely?” said Milo.

Jamal triumphantly jabbed at the air. “I knew something big was behind your wardrobe change,” he said.

“I wish I had someone to orient,” said Milo.

“I love her,” said Jamal.

“Shut up,” said Milo. “Sunny has dibs.”

“There’s no dibbing. Cirrus doesn’t belong to me or anyone.”

“Then let me love her,” said Jamal.

“She’s just so ding-dang cool,” I said. “That’s all. We barely even know each other.”

I twisted my mouth into a grimace as I recalled the other night, Gray’s room, the lie. “And anyway, I’m not exactly the guy she thinks she knows.”

Milo looked at me quizzically.

“Oh, I lied to her,” I sighed in mournful song.

Jamal raised his eyebrows. “Already?”

“Shut up, butt face,” I said.

“You shut up, tiny weird-ass face on your mama’s face’s butt,” said Jamal, parrying with confident ease.

“That’s enough,” said Milo, and eyed me to continue.

“I told her I was in a band,” I said. “Because I wanted to seem cool.”

Milo and Jamal looked at each other for a moment to take in this information.

“Hence, the Immortals,” said Jamal to Milo.

“Sunny’s brother’s old band was known as the Mortals,” said Milo, stroking his chin.

“That is remarkably flagrant,” said Jamal.

“And derivative,” said Milo to Jamal.

“Shut up,” I said.

“Why do you think you want to emulate your brother, specifically?” said Milo.

“I’m not trying to be my brother,” I said. “It’s just I thought I could I don’t know rahh.”

Jamal and Milo just looked at me and waited.

I dug my hands into my eyes. “I was there, she was there, she thought my room was Gray’s room, and I just kinda let her! All those guitars! I was nervous, okay?”

“It is perfectly okay to be terrible with girls,” said Milo. “We are all terrible with girls. We know this about ourselves. You were just grasping for the only successful model of male sexuality you have ever known, and that was Gray. You are okay.”

“I’m so stupid,” I said. “I’m so stupid I think umami is something babies say when they’re surprised.”

Jamal loved playing I’m So Stupid, and joined in. “I’m so stupid I thought butt floss meant there’s actual teeth in our butt holes doing the cutting work.”

“Incredible,” I said, and granted Jamal victory.

“It is perfectly okay to feel stupid,” Milo said very, very gently. “Because the fact of the situation is, admitting your lie to her would be almost as creepy as having lied in the first place.”

I nodded: Exactly.

“I really admire watching you work,” said Jamal to Milo.

“Revealing your spur-of-the-moment deception would only serve to masturbate the situation,” said Milo.

“Exacerbate,” said Jamal.

“I’m here to tell you that all you did was make a mistake any one of us could’ve made,” Milo continued. “You’re not stupid. Just desperate. And incoherent.”

“We’re incoherent around girls, too,” said Jamal. “Just like o hai baby ng fnzzt shhphtphbpht.”

“Dur hurr hurr pleez choose mee I’m a virgin hauhauhauhau,” said Milo.

“Are we doing anything to sausage your anxiety?” said Jamal.

“Assuage,” I said, gazing at my two best friends.

I took a long sip, which was impossible given the design of the Japanese Ramune soda bottle, so I just kind of held the bottle to my upturned head and geared up for my pitch.

“So, I thought I would just tell Cirrus the truth,” I said.

Milo took a swig. “That is the hard road, old friend. A difficult trial that only