CHAPTER 36: HOMEWORK

"A plan?" I said, trying to sound a thousand times more confident than I felt. "Of course, there’s a plan. But a plan needs data. Reconnaissance. We can’t just charge in blind."

’Data? Reconnaissance?’ My brain was scrambling, grabbing words from video game tutorials and spy movies. ’Just keep talking. Sound like you know things.’

So I’d dragged him to the one place I could think of where two guys could talk without it looking weird: the arcade. It was loud, chaotic, and full of flashing lights. The perfect cover for my complete and utter incompetence. We were standing near a row of racing games, the synthesized screech of tires filling the awkward silence.

"So," I started, leaning against a Daytona USA machine and trying to look casual. It probably just made me look like my ribs hurt. "Operation: Don’t Die Alone is now in effect. Phase One: Information Gathering."

Jake just stared at me, his eyes wide with a mixture of hope and terror. "Operation Don’t Die Alone?" he whispered.

"It’s a working title," I said quickly. "Now, spill. How long have you been into her?"

"Uh," he stammered, his eyes darting around. "Since... since the start of the year, I guess? We had that history project together, the one on ancient Egypt."

"Okay. What do you like about her?" I was asking the most basic, generic romance questions imaginable. This was straight out of a ’How to Write a Love Story’ guide.

"She’s... she’s really smart," he said, his voice getting a little dreamy. "And she laughs at all my stupid jokes. And she’s got this little dimple on her left cheek when she really smiles. And she’s really good at claw machines."

"Claw machines?"

"Yeah!" he said, getting excited now. "One time, during the school festival, she won this huge stuffed alpaca on her first try. It was amazing."

I just nodded, filing that away. ’Likes: Egypt, my jokes, has a dimple, is a claw machine god.’ This was my data. It was pathetic.

"Okay, so what have you tried so far?" I asked. "Have you talked to her? Asked for her number?"

He looked at the floor. "No."

"No?"

"I can’t!" he said, his voice cracking. "Every time I get close to her, my brain just turns off. I start sweating, and I can’t think of anything to say. What if I say something stupid? What if she thinks I’m a creep?"

I sighed. I knew that feeling all too well.

"Look," I said, gesturing to a nearby fighting game. "Let’s play a round. It’ll help you relax."

It wouldn’t, but it would buy me more time to think.

We sat down at the Street Fighter cabinet. I picked my usual character, and Jake picked his. The iconic "Round One, Fight!" announcer voice boomed from the speakers.

I went on the offensive immediately, throwing a few fireballs to test his defense. He blocked them clumsily.

"Look," I said, my fingers flying across the buttons. "Approaching a girl is just like a fighting game. You can’t just run in mashing buttons. You gotta learn her patterns."

He was just blocking, not even trying to attack. "Patterns?"

"Yeah," I said, jumping over his character and landing a combo. "What does she do during breaks? Who does she talk to? Does she have an opening where you can get in and start a conversation?"

"I... I don’t know," he said, finally throwing a punch that I easily blocked.

"That’s your homework for tomorrow," I said, my voice all business. ’Holy shit, I’m giving homework.’ "You’re going to observe. Don’t be a weirdo about it, just pay attention. We need to know when to strike."

My character’s super meter was full. I unleashed my ultimate move. The screen flashed, and Jake’s character went down.

"K.O.!"

He just sat there, staring at the screen. "So... I just watch her?"

"You’re not watching her," I corrected, trying to sound wise. "You’re studying the battlefield. We need a strategy. We can’t just go in there and expect to win. That’s how you get perfected."

He looked at me, a tiny spark of hope in his eyes. He was actually buying this. My stupid, video-game-inspired bullshit was actually working.

"Okay," he said, nodding slowly. "I can do that. I can study the battlefield."

I stood up, feeling like I’d just dodged a massive bullet. "Good. Report back to me tomorrow."

He stood up too, looking a little less like a nervous wreck and a little more like a soldier who had just been given his first mission.

"Thanks, Kofi," he said, and he sounded sincere. "I really appreciate this."

"Yeah, well," I said, shrugging. "Don’t die alone, man."

He gave me a shaky grin. "Yeah. Operation Don’t Die Alone."

As he walked away, I leaned back against the game cabinet, letting out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding.

’Phase One is a go,’ I thought, my mind racing. ’Now what the hell is Phase Two?’

I walked away from the arcade feeling like the world’s biggest fraud. I couldn’t believe Jake had bought any of that crap. ’Study the battlefield? Patterns? Perfected?’ I sounded like a bad anime dub. But it worked. He actually looked hopeful, and that was a scary amount of responsibility.

I had to be careful with this. Super careful. You can’t just force this kind of thing. Shoving two people together or feeding a guy cheesy lines was the fastest way to ruin everything, not just for him, but for her, too.

No, we were just going to approach this normally. Slowly. One small, socially-awkward step at a time. Operation: Don’t Screw This Up For Everyone was in full effect.

I was so lost in thought, planning my next phase of completely made-up wingman strategies, that I almost didn’t see him.

While walking home, I spotted Tyler again.

He was leaning against a wall down the street, and he wasn’t alone. He was with a girl—not Nina, some other girl I didn’t recognize. His arm was draped around her waist, pulling her in close, and he had that same stupid, confident smile plastered on his face. The kind of smile that made my stomach twist.

This motherfucker. This absolute piece of shit had the audacity to talk about Nina the way he did, to say he was going to "wear her down," while he was already hanging out with other girls? The rage, that feeling from before, came flooding back instantly.

My first thought, my rational, stay-out-of-it brain, was screaming at me. ’Don’t do it. Just go home. It’s not your business. You’ll just make things worse.’ It was the safe move. The smart move. The Kofi move.

But then I thought of Nina. I thought of her crying, of her sitting alone at her desk looking miserable. I thought of her promising not to disappear.

I told myself, not to do it, just go home.

But my body just moved.