Chapter Eleven
“Are you doing anything tonight?” asks Zarmenus.
The question rubs me the wrong way, even though I think he’s asking it innocently. He’s where he normally is when he’s in our room, meaning he’s lounging on his bed. He stripped down to just a pair of gym shorts after he got back from the gym, so he’s been shirtless in our room for a few hours now.
Not that I’ve noticed.
What I did notice was a hint of accusation in his voice, probably because I’ve stayed in each night we’ve lived together.
I’m starting to get more and more self-conscious about it, like I should be doing more, like everyone else has a full social life and I’m missing out.
But I like staying in—what I don’t like is having a witness to it.
“Yeah, I’m going to that fall carnival thing,” I say. It’s one of the biggest events of orientation week, and the flyers I’ve seen online make it look fun. Apparently, there are going to be inflatables, free food, giveaways, and free fall carnival shirts, which is something I didn’t know I wanted.
“With who?”
I cross my arms. “No one, just me.”
I’m expecting judgment, but instead he smiles. “Nice, man. Put yourself out there.”
“I will.”
I smile at him, and he smiles back.
I’m putting on a brave face. I know it’s only been a few days since I’ve been here, yet I can’t help worrying that my best shot at making friends might be rapidly expiring.
So many others have already found their groups; it’s common now to see the same groups of people sitting together in the dining hall, or to pass by people in the halls all wearing costumes, like togas or superhero outfits, that show they’re all going to the same event.
Zarmenus has made friends, and is pledging the most exclusive fraternity on campus.
“Are you doing anything tonight?” I ask.
“That guy I met at rush is throwing a party. You could come, if you want? It’s not just for pledges or brothers.”
I could, but Zarmenus runs in a crowd I doubt I’ll ever truly fit in with. A party might be fun later, but with the window closing, I think my best shot at friends is looking elsewhere.
“I’m okay, thanks. I’ve been looking forward to the festival, actually.”
I’m about to leave, but I stop by the door.
“Hey,” I say. “Do you have any advice?”
“About what?”
“Meeting people.”
He ponders that for a moment. “Just be yourself, and the right people will come to you.”
I don’t think that’ll work, but I still say thanks.
Zarmenus nods, then returns his focus to his phone, ending the conversation. It’s time to go, anyway. As he’s distracted with his phone, I find myself absent-mindedly checking him out. I can’t help it, he’s the kind of jacked that means he could model for Calvin Klein.
I grab my keys and shove them in my pocket.
“See ya,” I say.
“Have fun.”
“You too.”
I leave our room. I’m sure I’m overthinking tonight, because I overthink everything. I should be more like Zarmenus. He doesn’t seem to care about things, at least not in the doom spiral-y way that I do. I could learn from him.
As I leave Clark Hall, I take a picture of myself and send it to Ashley.
About to be social, wish me luck!
A few seconds later, my phone buzzes.
You’ve got this! Also: you look CUTE!
She’s right, I do have this. As scary as an event by myself is, I’m not going to make any friends if I stay in my room all the time.
I’ve got to put myself out there, and tonight is the perfect time to do so.
I still remember during high school it always felt like the first week or so was when groups would shift and people would make new friends, but once the year was underway people rarely branched out.
That’s happening here, and if I don’t act, I’ll spend the rest of the semester eating lunch by myself, or maybe with Zarmenus if we manage to work out some roommate equilibrium.
I reach the entrance to the carnival and take it all in.
It’s a lot bigger and more impressive than I was expecting.
There are even a few rides, including a giant Ferris wheel towering over the whole space, the candy-colored lights wrapped around the carriages lighting up the night sky.
It’s crowded, with hundreds of students moving between food trucks and stands with various carnival games.
I wipe my palms on the back of my jeans as I approach the security.
I’ve got this. I should pretend I’m the prince of Hell, with no cares in the world.
It worked for him, why can’t it work for me?
I show security my student ID and they let me pass. There’s another small line just inside, where a guy is standing by a table filled with T-shirts.
“What size?” he asks.
“Medium, please.”
He finds one, fishing it out from under the pile. “We’re nearly out of mediums,” he says as he passes it to me. “It’s your lucky day.”
Fingers crossed.
I take the shirt and inspect it. It reads 46TH ANNUAL FALL CARNIVAL, and has cartoon sparkles and fall leaves around the words.
I slip it on over my shirt but under my jacket, something a lot of other attendees have done.
Looking out at the sea of people, I see about a quarter of them are wearing the T-shirts.
Okay, friends. Let’s do this.
I go up to one of the stands, a ring toss game.
A tall guy is playing and seems to be on his own.
He looks nice enough, so I approach the game.
It, like all games tonight, is free. The worker hands me three plastic rings.
As I take them, I notice the guy looking at me.
I try to say hi, but it’s like my throat has sealed shut and I can’t get the words to come out.
The end result is me staring at him, and my face is starting to feel hot, so I’m sure I’m blushing.
I turn away and toss one of the rings, missing completely.
The guy tosses his last ring and it’s a perfect throw, winning him a small green teddy bear.
“Nice,” I say.
He bobs his head at me, acknowledging I spoke but not sparking up a conversation, then turns and walks away. Okay, that was rough, but I tried. I give myself some points for effort. I toss the last two rings, and miss both times. I decide the game is rigged and my hand-eye coordination is fine.
“Want to try again?” asks the worker.
“I’m good, thanks,” I say, walking away. I take my phone out again and message Ashley.
This is haaaaaaaaard
I never imagined I’d think this, but I wish Zarmenus were here.
He is undeniably a great icebreaker. I’m sure people would’ve approached him if he were here.
I scan around, looking for another activity to do, maybe a chance to meet new people.
Could I try the Ferris wheel and hope that I get seated next to someone?
That would be a pretty cool friendship origin story.
I have one of those with Ashley: we first bonded when I played Mr. Bumble and she played Widow Corney in our school’s musical production of Oliver!
It was my first and last foray into musical theater, and also an experiment run by a new music teacher to run a musical cast with only freshmen.
The experiment was not repeated the following year.
As I approach the Ferris wheel, my phone buzzes again.
Remember, you’re Owen freaking Greene. Anyone would be lucky to be friends with you.
I’m not sure that’s true, but it’s nice she said it.
As I’m approaching the line for the Ferris wheel, I notice a cotton candy stand.
I haven’t had cotton candy in years, but I like it, except for when the sugar hardens and gets stuck to your teeth.
Still, the flavor is worth it. In the line, the girl in front of me is wearing a hot pink leather jacket that’s studded with silver studs.
It’s amazing, and I want to compliment it, but she’s facing forward and I’m not exactly going to tap her on the shoulder.
She gets handed her free cotton candy, and as she turns back, she smiles at me.
“I love your jacket!” I blurt.
“Oh!” she says, stopping, surprised but obviously happy at the compliment. “Thank you!”
“You’re welcome.”
She walks past me, and goes over to join her friends.
Ugh, why is this so difficult? Isn’t everyone kind of in the same boat I am?
Maybe it would be easier if I stuck a sign on my chest that told everyone I want to make friends.
There are surely some people here looking like I am, but it’s impossible to know who those people are.
I take my cotton candy, which is a shade of blue so bright I doubt it existed on Earth until it was cooked up in some lab somewhere, and walk farther into the carnival.
The cotton candy is exactly as I remember it, only I don’t really mind it getting stuck to my teeth.
At the end of the carnival is a bouncy castle, and a big inflatable boxing arena where people stand on podiums and try to knock each other over.
This seems like the sort of thing Zarmenus would love.
I watch one of the battles between two girls. It’s vicious. I take a bite of cotton candy, and it glues like cement to my teeth. As subtly as I can I try to pry it off with my tongue.
“Er, hey, can I ask you something random?”
I turn, and find I’d been so distracted by the match and the sugar stuck to my molars that I totally missed someone approaching me.
He looks about my age, and is exceptionally well put-together.
His check-patterned dress shirt fits perfectly, tucked into slim fit jeans, and his skin is so free of blemishes he looks like he’s been filtered.
His hair is just as neat, with a skin fade leading up to tight curls.
“Er, yeah!” I blurt. Did he notice me picking at my teeth with my tongue? Did that look weird?
“My friends and I want to do the fighting thing,” he says. “But our numbers are uneven and I don’t have anyone to go against.”
“Oh.”
“Any chance you want to fight me?”
He laughs a little at the end of that question, as if he realized what a ridiculous ask that is.
“Um, yeah, okay!” I say. I look up at the arena where one girl absolutely pummels her opponent with the inflatable baton, knocking her clean off the platform.
I swallow hard, already bracing myself. I’m not a violent person, and I know I’m not going to be good at this.
It means I’m probably in for a thrashing.
“Amazing,” he says, offering me his hand. “I’m Tyrell, by the way. Tyrell Finch.”
“Owen Greene.”
We shake hands. It might be a little formal, but I’m guessing from the way he’s dressed and his general demeanor that Tyrell is the kind of person who appreciates formality.
There’s no line and the previous match has just wrapped up, so before I can really piece together what is happening I’m kicking off my shoes, putting on a used and still slightly sweaty helmet, and holding an inflatable weapon.
I climb up onto my platform while Tyrell does the same on his.
Down below, a group of about five—Tyrell’s friends, I’m assuming—are watching.
“Get him, Tyrell!” calls a guy with dark brown hair.
I grip my weapon tight as a whistle is blown. This is harder than it looks. The platform I’m on is narrow and rotates, so even balancing requires concentration. Tyrell seems to be having the same problem, and wobbles so much that I think I might win the match with him falling off on his own.
“This is hard!” he calls.
“Yeah!”
He manages to stop rotating and tries to attack me. I block it, then push back at him.
And it’s game on.
His next swing is harder, but I stop that one as well.
I mean, if he’s going to try to beat me, I’m not going to lose on purpose.
I take a few swings at him until I start to get out of breath.
I really should exercise more. He hits me in the side, not hard enough to make me fall, but it throws me off balance.
I try to regain my balance, but end up falling.
I quickly climb back on. I know from the match I saw before that the matches are best out of three.
“You okay?” he asks.
“Yeah, you?”
The whistle blows, and I decide to go on the attack right away. I catch Tyrell off guard and manage to knock him off within three strikes. I won’t lie, it’s pretty satisfying.
This is it, the last match. He attacks me first this time, and I try to focus on blocking.
When I get the chance, I strike his left side, which nearly wins me the match, but he recovers and lashes out.
The strike sends me flying off the platform.
I land on my back and look up at the night sky.
Losing is less satisfying, but this was fun.
“Owen?”
Tyrell jumped off his platform and has now come into my field of vision. He offers me his hand and pulls me to my feet.
“That was a close one,” he says.
“Yeah.”
We leave the inflatable arena, and hand back our helmets and weapons.
As I’m putting my shoes back on, Tyrell walks away to approach his friends, and for a second I feel an intense and crushing sense of missed opportunity.
That whole match I was thinking that maybe, just maybe, this could be the start of something amazing.
But it seems I was wrong. I’m right back where I started.
Which is fine, truly. I’ll just have to keep trying.
Tyrell leaves his friends and jogs back up to me.
“Hey, no pressure or anything, but my friends and I are about to get some tacos.” He clicks his fingers, looking just as awkward as I felt when I was talking to strangers earlier tonight. “Any chance you’d like to join?”
A warm, fuzzy glow spreads out across my body.
As friendship origin stories go, this one isn’t bad.
It’s actually pretty great.