Introducing Leslie and Richard

                There was Leslie, and there was Richard: two friends who had grown up together, two good friends who shared memories, two best friends who didn’t really know each other.

                “Hey Dick, can I charge my iPod in your car for a minute?”

                “You really should get an adapter for USBs.”

                “But why should I buy one when I can just use yours for free?”

                “So you don’t come off as a bum? And school starts soon; you won’t be able to use it anyway.”

                “…So can I charge it through the day?”

                “Do you know what that could do to my car battery?”

                “You were the one that told me about leaving your iPod charging in your car for a week while you were on vacation and nothing happened. So what is seven hours going to do to it?”

                Dick sighs irritated, “Fine Les, go ahead.”

                Les shouts a quick, “Thanks babe! I love you!” as she slips into his Mazda. Dick has heard this from her before, and he is getting tired of it not having any meaning.

                “You know, maybe the whole ‘I love you’ thing is what makes you come off as a slut.” Dick and Les walk at their usual pace out of the parking lot, him trying to take his enormous strides slowly, and her practically jogging to keep up.

                She kicks him in the calf at this remark. “I’m not a slut. I’m just affectionate! I don’t believe in hiding my emotions behind subtleties and innuendos.”

                “You know, maybe the old fashioned way of going about things works because it’s safer. You know, people don’t reject you so easily if you don’t let them.”

                “You sound like a whiny little bitch. Just grow a pair and talk to this imaginary chick you have been obsessing about for years.”

                “Will you please stop saying she’s fake?”

                “Oh come on, no girl is smart, pretty, and fun to be with. The closest thing I can come up with is a prostitute working her way through law school.”

                “Well you’re pretty.”

                “Oh really? Which is my better quality: my scars or my long nose?”

                “You’re smart.”

                “As every one of these pretentious bastards will agree with you as they call me ‘Nerd Girl.’ Can’t they at least come up with a more suitable or original insult?”

                “I like being with you.”

                “And that’s why we’re best friends, baby.”

                Dick and Les are entirely different. While Dick is introverted, Les is rather extroverted and tends to express her opinions more than she should. Dick quite the athlete: tennis, golf, and most importantly for a guy of his height basketball. Les is more content to stay home with her books. He’s a rich bastard, according to her. He can barely see her without tilting his head downward. His shiny silver 2011 Mazda 6 is always ironically parked next to her faded blue 1981 Ford Fairmont. She works on a farm; he’s only ever worked out. It’s weird how they’re best friends through all of this. They do share some qualities. They’re both seventeen. They share a short haircut for their curly hair, though hers is a soft brown while his is white-blonde. And they have something else in common Dick can’t quite see.

                They get through the front doors, and she’s still teasing him about his “imaginary” girlfriend. “Well I can’t tell if you really exist. I can’t see you half the time.” His usual comebacks to her insults involve her height.

                “Ooh! That hurts!” she exclaims, dramatically holding her abdomen over a invisible stab-wound. She sees a smiling face across the hall. “There’s Jim! Gotta go! Love ya!” She gives him one last punch in the arm before running off to grab the arm of a different guy.

                “Welcome to the friend-zone, my good man,” a sleazy David says as he appears next to a dumbfounded Dick. “Get over the bitch, Richard. She obviously prefers the emo freaks. And I mean ALL of the emo freaks.”

                “Shut up man. She’s not really a slut.”

                “Look all I’m saying is that you’re probably not going to tap that anytime soon.”

                “Oh yeah? I’ll ask her out if you don’t think I can.”

                “Go ahead. What’s stopping you?”

                “Well, I can’t now. She’s with her boyfriend.”

                “Give it a few days. She’ll dump him soon. Then he’ll have more things to be emo about. Is that why she picks them? Do they compare scars? Is that what emos do? Or does she just like to fuck with their heads like she does with yours?”

                “Look, she and I are friends—“

                “Hence, the ‘Friend-Zone.’”

                “I don’t want to hurt her. I just keep thinking that maybe I can help her with the whole-you know-thing.”

                “You can’t help her. She is the worst type to help. She has no reason to cut, so there is no reason for her to stop. It’s probably just for attention.”