He’s such a goddamn dork.
You don’t know why you like him.
Terminally fucking uncool. The kind of uncool that would get your scrawny outskirts-of-Houston ass kicked.
“Go find a piece of ass with some dental”, he’d tell you.
But no, of all the babes and the bad bitches, you had to fall for the one you shouldn’t have. And hey. Maybe that’s why you did.
Even now, as you stare vacantly at the narrow line of his shoulders and half-hear the chattering cadence of his speech, you don’t know.
Of everybody, of anybody, it had to fucking John.
And you were powerless to stop it.
You cottoned on to it, one day, during a Skype call, when you kept leaning in to the microphone. Like you were going to kiss the goddamn thing or somethin’.
And then you meet the dork in person, and naw, of course the urge doesn’t get any better. Of course those weird teeth and thick glasses don’t cool down them Strider hormones, that’d just be too damn convenient.
You’re pretty pissed at yourself, to be honest.
John “No Homo” Egbert, love of your teenaged life.
What the fuck did you get yourself into.
SCREECHES WITH JOY KALE OH MY GOD