Simon Says

No, seriously, he’s so pathetic. Actually, Simon and Riley share a long story. They went to high school together and were in the same class, like, every year. And even after that, Trudeau, though being ass-headed, decided to become an architect, and Simon – an illustrator, so they ended up in the same part of the academic building for four years more. They would have ended up in the same dorm, along with Marlon and his design course, and then certainly with Cyrus, who studied film, but spirits saved Riley from such joy. He wouldn’t survive theneighbouring with his former friend – they had been almostneighbours for too long. Other important fact is that those who refused guaranteed place in the dorm were receiving monthly compensation in cash. Riley, who got used to living with his aunt and sister on an old farm that has suffered natural disasters, preferred money over«an accumulation of morons». Besides, having a car, he could get to the academic building every morning almost before those who sometimes run to it across the entire campus. He used to be a winner. In everything – sports, the reputation among his fellow students, friends… He is always the life and soul, in the center of everyone’s attention. With one exception – the lottery. Simon’s mother won the lottery three years ago, and quite a lot has changed since then for them, but little has changed in the society. It would seem logical that now Simon should be in the center of everyone’s attention. It happens all the time – sudden wealth makes people very popular and changes their entire environment. He could have transferred to a private school like the one that Cyrus once attended himself. Simon, with his temper, should be there like a duck to water. It’s not bad there, they say. But the whole different story was his mother that didn’t want to move, mostly because of their hateful neighbours. She didn’t want them to start speculating upon her life, spreading lies and discussing if the lottery was even real. First of all, she sold their trailer that was Simon’s home for the last fifteen years. Then she bought a historic hotel from a bankrupt owner and rebuilt it, making a huge residential building suitable for dozens of guests at the height of the tourist season. In her forties, Rachel Drivas was known by the older generation of the city as a lost case and a standard of«bad example» for those girls who did not want to study and counted on their appearance. She grew up in Bewrheir and after school graduation mastered the basics of hairdressing, but she never really cut anyone’s hair, except for the bangs of children among the residents of the trailer park. Having been«kind of married» once, she gave birth to her second son from someone unknown, but she never left the city. She was making a career of a shabby pub barmaid until a happy day when she bought a lottery ticket with Simon’s lunch money, asking him for a loan. It’s a controversial issue whose winning it really was – it was her idea, Simon’s money, but given to Simon and earned by her beforehand. Anyway, she suggested that Simon would show off – go to a«cool academy, spit in everyone’s faces». And he understood why, and he would have transferred, only... Marlon would have stayed in Frilphar, and he would have had no one to discuss all assholes around them. Marlon was always there for him, even when his mother had nothing but a dead trailer. So Simon not only«could not» leave him, but did not want to and never regretted that. He’s like his mother, who couldn’t help but understand it. She didn’t leave her ugly useless boyfriend at that time (even he was surprised by this), though he wasn’t the father of any of her sons, though they fought more than once. She didn’t change him for a brand-new and young stud. A friend in need is a friend indeed, and the Drivas know this. Such people will not abandon them in the future, when they push off from this bottom. That was Rachel’s philosophy, that’s how Simon reasoned. Marlon assured him that nothing terrible would happen if he took advantage of the new opportunities and transfer. The education is the same everywhere, but the uniform and dorm are much cooler in Lerard, where his«buddy Cyrus» studied. If they were able to make friends while Marlon went there for extra classes in high school, and began to keep in touch outside of school, then what would prevent Marlon and Simon of staying good friends as well? Simon refused because he preferred to spend his out-of-school time alone. He loved to be alone and has not stopped loving until now, going somewhere and doing something together was a rare thing for them. Their friendship started in high school, they have not parted since then, and he didn’t want to change anything. Then Marlon had a brilliant idea: if Simon doesn’t go to Lerard, then Cyrus could go to them, to Frilphar, because in fact, he never thought about it, and again, the level of education is the same everywhere, only the school uniform is different. Besides, Cyrus complains all the time that he can’t wear everyday clothes there. The three of them were total graths and he found a reason to lure him to a public academy. And now the three of them are here, locked in the same classroom with Riley Trudeau, who, until the age of twelve, was finger and thumb with that same buddy from Lerard. Who would have thought that Cyrus Mordizco many years ago was a flimsy nerd who was ignorant of the fact that most of his friends only liked his parents’ money. But the thing is, Simon and his mother’s wealth never touched their brain, and  Cyrus, on the contrary, has quite a personality, which infuriates Simon so much. They don’t have to share Marlon – both have been friends with him for years, but they have never met at his house, they didn’t even know each other, thanks to sorting ability of a particular social centipede . They even have a«common enemy», although Simon wouldn’t really call Riley an enemy. They just never sat down at the same table, and although they both sometimes had dinner at«best friend’s», because their own fridges were empty, they had never looked at each other with an understanding they could have. For some reason, Riley’s friends always thought Simon was half a meter away from the needle, that he was«poorer» than Riley, although in fact it was quite the opposite. Maybe the trailer park didn’t look like an elite housing, but the trailer was small enough and easy to maintain. A barmaid salary and some income from an«almost stepfather»allowed them to buy something new or at least not very shabby. While the Trudeau farm was destroyed by the winds and snow a long time ago, and there were no men in the family who could fix at least the roof or chase squirrels from the attic and mice from under the porch. Surely these morons didn’t think that Riley was a jack-of-all-trades? Rupert, who from time to time verbally poured slop on Simon, was at least a«real man», and this was one of his few pros. But nothing could help it, literally everyone from Frilphar thought Simon to be as broke as a shrine mouse and Riley just had a«difficult family situation», which is«being pulled by an unhappy, still young and pretty fragile nurse», no doubts,«a bright future awaits him». He is a promising, naturally gifted athlete. Simon can’t help to hate him, but right now he just wants to cover the back of Marlon’s second best friend’s head with his palm and hit his face against the desk. He sits and looks at it as if it were a performance, because the slide show, on which, as usual, the art teacher conducts the lesson, does not attract enough attention, and he will be able to scroll through all this later in his room, without annoying noises. He is more entertained by what is happening in the front of the class. Simon is sitting in the back row, in the center, leaning back in his chair and putting his hands in his pants’ pockets, to prevent himself from throwing anything at anyone. Adam Whaley, the«number one» on everyone’s list of desirable potential friends, looks at Riley waiting for some reaction. Why? Because Riley is also sitting in the center, but in the third row, almost in front of the screen lowered over the board. To his right, Cyrus is sitting by the window, taking a banana out of his bag. Riley doesn’t react in any way, buried in his phone and writing something to someone, and Adam is absolutely shocked by this, because he can’t take his eyes off the«new guy». This can be understood, he doesn’t even really remember him. He probably doesn’t understand or doesn’t believe that it was with this guy that Riley once fought violently because of him, Adam, whose social circle such people like Cyrus couldn’t enter even invited. He wasn’t even supposed to have any invitation, he didn’t fit in that circle much. Cyrus stares at the screen innocently, taking advantage of the darkness, he looks only at the central row and the first two lines of it. Simon shifts his gaze to Marlon, who is sitting to his left, at the back of the class and next to the bulletin boards. Marlon sits, pursing his lips and trying not to smile. Here it is, their plan. Adam throws a crumpled notebook sheet into Riley’s ear, and Riley waves it away, grimacing as if he’s about to give him a punch in the ear in response. Whaley makes scary eyes and jerks his chin forward, trying to make him look back. Cyrus chooses this moment to take a bite of a banana, putting it on his tongue first and then wrapping his lips around it. Who eats like that? No one who doesn’t want to make a scene of it. Riley looks ignorant, Cyrus lets it go, finishing the banana and putting peels in the bag after wrapping them in the sheet of paper. He dusts off his hands, but then uses dark screen of the phone as a mirror to wipe the corners of his mouth with finger. Marlon drops his head on the table, because he can no longer look forward. Simon looks like he is going to be sick any minute. Their eyes meet and Marlon almost hear his typical«ew» before Simon buries himself in the textbook. He can’t get distracted for a long time, because his own phone vibrates in the table, and he has to reluctantly look there, lifting the lid. Rarely anyone writes him and only in emergency. Maybe it’s his mother with another luxury vacation offer. It’s not that he doesn’t want to, it’s just that he always refuses. It is Marlon, who could just whisper to him everything he wants to ask, only an aisle between them. “Let’s hang out at my place tonight?” Tonight Leslie Princeton’s parents won’t be at home, so there will be a«small party» of thirty or forty people. Simon has no idea how it turns out that Riley is invited there after everything that had happened just a couple of months ago. After all, Leslie is a girl, there must be some common sense. But probably the justification by the police and the support of his friends somehow affects the reputation. Riley was invited anyway, and it won’t work to mock him, as well as to drag on some kind of gathering like the one at the doll factory. It was a miracle he was there with a bunch of losers. His own gang has been disappointing him lately, and Simon loves to watch such stories. And the losers, whatever they say to him – he won’t care, Trudeau could easily brush them off, forgetting about them the next morning. A perfect company. But people like him are quickly rehabilitated no matter what. If Riley finished someone off, would they ignore him for a couple of weeks, but not too mean, and then take him back? “You and I?” Simon clarifies. “No, of course, the three of us”, Marlon replies and looks up at him reproachfully from under his brows. Simon’s face is buried in the screen. Knew it. Fucking Cyrus. Simon is sick of just the very idea that they have in mind. Yeah, maybe it’s funny at first sight, and all that, because Riley absolutely smell like«that», and for some reason he hides it, although absolutely no one will condemn him. Holy spirits, Adam himself would like to«take a walk» with this scarecrow. Riley loses a lot. Another thing is that after all this miserable history a hundred years ago, it’s just a shame. Is Simon the only one who realizes what a humiliation it is to pay any attention at all to a hypocritical moron who used a friend from a wealthier family purely for convenience, and then abandoned him because being friends with him is not as prestigious as with his other buddies? Simon never wanted to profit at Marlon’s expense, even though the family of his friend has an average income. He wouldn’t have been friends with him if he didn’t like Marlon’s personality. He would never have fallen so low as to pretend to be a friend to someone he didn’t consider a friend. Perhaps, he isn’t honest about all things, but about these — he is a man of transparent honesty. Cyrus, on the other hand, looks like he doesn’t care a groat how he was treated, although he doesn’t glow with enthusiasm to talk to Riley and calmly refuses casual attempts to forget the past and move on. He is dragged by Marlon’s ideas and takes part in completely humiliating jokes. It will never make sense to Simon. Why can’t they spend time together without Cyrus? “I’m thrilled”, he replies in the chat, takes the phone away and meets Marlon’s gaze, grimacing so that his absolute excitement is noticeable as much as possible. Nine hours later he sits and listens the show on Marlon’s porchtête-à-têtewith his nemesis. Simon bites his lower lip and tastes blood. He hesitates and then continues to press on it, squeezing more blood with his teeth. “If you think that you can whip up a story about«adult relationship», and I will believe it, like a moron, that you have no one there, then I don’t give a fuck who do you think I am”, they both hear from a slightly open window under the ceiling, which happened to be right next to the porch. Cyrus’eyebrows rise, his eyes pop out becoming almost the same size as the lenses of his glasses in a thin frame. Two vertical lines form between Simon’s eyebrows and the corners of his mouth go down. His distorted face pass unnoticeable. Their eyes rest on a flat screen and their fingers feverishly and quietly work on the joysticks’ buttons. There is absolutely no indication that anyone has heard anything. “I’m not hysterical, it’s you trying to convince me that swallowing this kind of shit is OK, it’s so convenient for you. Only for you. It’s not convenient for me, and I’m telling you about it now. You would rather gaslight me, but I’m not going to shut up, neither now nor next time. You want me to think I’m delusional to make me stop wearing you out”, Marlon’s voice is heard again, although no one in the basement heard the answer. Either he is shy, or always speaks too quietly discussing such topics. “What does it smell like?” Simon asks, not expecting any particular reaction. Cyrus is silent, but involuntarily sniffs. It doesn’t seem to smell of anything except wood in the stove in the corner of the basement, and maybe sweet and sour liquid in the cans, from which they are sipping their drinks. “Daddy issues”, answers Simon his own question with great pleasure. Long ago his questions have turned to rhetorical, and he doesn’t really need an answer. Cyrus rolls his eyes. They still don’t look at each other. They have only known each other for a few weeks, but they have already fully grasped each other’s main features, and each of them is puzzled by the fundamental question: “What the fuck did Marlon find in this moron?” Simon frantically tries to catch up with the game, clenches his teeth, pressing the buttons with all his might, but then suddenly rolls his eyes, lets out a sigh and throws the joystick away. Swinging in the massage chair, his favourite one, he gets up and sneaks to the window to look out, using an old chest of drawers as a footstool. It squeaks. Cyrus still plays alone but gives up then. Did he win the game? He would have if Simon had stayed where he was, but he stopped playing, and this does not count as a clean and honest victory... but he left the game the moment he sensed that he was about to lose, didn’t he? Fucking moron never admits his fails. Cyrus keeps to himself for a while, putting the joystick aside, he reaches for his can and makes a long sip. He looks around and checks the heater, which really scares him with it’s sounds. It seems that they are not in danger now of any explosion, and aside from the heater he doesn’t find anything particularly interesting. He has been in this basement hundreds of times in the last three years and there is a strange thing: he has never noticed the presence of other people while he wasn’t there. Of course, there are enough people in the O’Hare house, but Marlon’s parents kind of allowed him to make basement his personal space. In return he cleared his bedroom upstairs, giving it entirely to one of the brothers, who couldn’t share a room«‘cause they’re grown up already’». Having met Simon forcibly and inevitably after transferring to Frilphar, he suddenly realized that this is a real person. He exists in reality, and not only from the words of Marlon, who studied with him all through his high school. And now Cyrus suddenly began bumping into traces of his presence in O’Hare’s basement, literally at every turn, although Simon had been in this basement as regularly as he had, even longer than he had before. Now a lot of things stick out a mile: the fingerlessglovesthat Marlononce borrowed from him andneverreturned; his art notes in a red folder on one of the shelves of the old wall cabinet next to the TV. His jacket is lying under the coffee table, andone ofhis now crimson hair is clinging to a wicker basket into which Marlon’s mother poured cheese flavoured corn horns, which none of the family likes, and she bought them by mistake. The hair hypnotizes Cyrus for a while, then he takes it with two fingers and pulls it out from under the bottom of the basket to throw it on the floor. It definitely doesn’t make the basement cleaner, but at least it won’t be in the food. Raspberry, by the way, does not suit Simon at all. His greenish face with an earthy-gray pallor makes a sharp contrast with a joyful and rich shade that has not yet washed off from the edges of the ears, temples and forehead. His phiz looks darker than usual with this background. Always pursy indistinct eyes don’t improve the picture, and the greasy eyeliner around them maximizes the grotesque grath image. In moments like this, Cyrus, of course, understands particularly clear what attracts Marlon – Simon is interesting to look at with all this grandeur. But not to socialize closely. He’s like sleeping pills: there will be definitely something about suicidal thoughts in the contraindications, which may accidentally form after regular use. No, he’s not boring. ...but sometimes Cyrus finds himself wanting to take a compass in class and stick it into his carotid artery. “Don’t you have to go anywhere today?” Simon asks suddenly, plopping back into the chair cross wise and raking a handful of horns out of the basket. Cyrus almost chokes on his energy drink. He will remember this taste forever — it is rising from his throat almost into his nose. This guy had never asked him such friendly questions. This is something suspicious and almost like a storm warning. “Are you going to invite me somewhere?” he gives out in response with the same Simon-nasty face. At least he tries to imitate it in the best way. “I wasn’t going to, but you made me think. They’re sucking the last remnants of common sense out of each other there. Were you going to spend the night here today or go back to the dorm?” Simon grumbles, as usual, like a radio, his very own white noise, but every new second Cyrus realizes that he is really trying to keep up a conversation. This comes as a shock. Simon Drivas is trying to make a small talk. The world is about to collapse. Who knows what to do in such situation, play along with him or run to the bunker with an emergency kit. Then it dawns on him. He is not trying to be friendly. This two-facedjerk is too cunning to suddenly see Cyrus as a potential friend after a few weeks of an obvious boycott and show understanding and sympathy for him. He wants to use the fact that Marlon literally hooked his tongue with his boyfriend as an excuse to casually escort Cyrus out of the O’Hare’s house back to the dorm. He is quite capable of even seeing him off by taking a taxi with him to campus, and then secretly go back and lie to Marlon about Cyrus having a sudden meltdown and running«home» to cuddle with hisfavourite plush bunny under the blanket. And they will spend the evening together, like two marginals rejected by the world, nostalgic for the days of pimply youth, from which they have not really grown up yet. Marlon will also think Cyrus is an idiot. “Wait a fucking fuck”, he thinks. “I’m too lazy to go somewhere today, so yes, I was planning to stay. Do you think there won’t be enough space?” “I think, if he drags his dove in here today, it’s not the space in the room that will worry us, you just don’t want to watch their mating rituals so close”, Simon says, pulling such a face that Riley, with all his antipathy to the«painted graths», couldn’t have done better to show disgust. Cyrus has no idea how possible it is to do so, even being one of them. He is also in perplexity how so much endless anger can be contained in one person. After all, everything seems to be settled and decided in his life. Not like before, as far as he has heard and how he could explain Simon’s nature. Maybe carrying around his complexes and constantly showing his mettle is like riding a car on autopilot for him? “Marlon wouldn’t have invited us if he was going to stay here with him”, Cyrus squints and regrets it, because Simon meets his gaze for once and keeps it, not trying to find some excuse to turn away. “Discomfort” is not even the right word. These are just someone else’s eyes, there’s no reason to be so nervous because he stares at him and doesn’t blink. There, he just blinked a couple of times, nothing unusual. He blinked more than once because he tried not to blink and his eyes stung? He tried not to blink, because for him it’s some kind of a staring game? ...kindergarten, indeed. He’s pathetic. Really primitive, worse than Riley, in fact, but he thinks he is much better and, probably... Extravagant. In fact, at least Riley isn’t deceiving himself about being a dumb monkey. Maybe since the last time he tried he is too out of practice. The mood drops from the height of the twenty-fifth floor on the asphalt at the thought of it, it takes a moment for Cyrus to hate himself, his face turns to stone, and his gaze cools down, his eyes lowered to the phone. He stares at his watch, and Simon stares at him, not knowing what it was all about, and how it can be interpreted. He just said that it was unlikely that anyone would be comfortable and interested in watching how two guys mate, even if one of them was their best friend, besides, Cyrus had already said that he did not believe that this was even possible. In an instant it became too cold in the basement. Sometimes he just doesn’t understand people. And he is even more annoyed by people whom he doesn’t understand, but with whom he is forced to be in the same room. Of course, he can leave at any moment. But he won’t. The gap between the physical possibility and the social and ethic one is huge — unfathomable abyss. So it’s not that simple. What did he say wrong again this time? Why the fuck can’t he be himself when this moralist is around? He’s not even a real grath, he’s too glossy, like a picture from a magazine about subcultures, that are promoted to sell brand clothes paid by the clothing companies. Where is the decadence in this image? “I was going to offer to grab some cider, but since you made it clear that you won’t move your ass today, I won’t go myself”, with a sigh, he gets out of the chair again and sits on his knees in front of the wall cabinet to the left of the TV. He doesn’t look back. Cyrus looks up from under his brows, tearing his eyes away from the phone, which in fact still has the number of his former best friend. That is... They never officially stopped being friends. On the other hand, who is breaking off a friendship officially? Who declares it officially in the first place, so that it can be officially broken later? After all, it begins naturally, and then ends in the same natural way. And this is the main shit of friendship that sets it apart from romantic relationships and even marriage. It is impossible to understand who messed up more, who is a bigger asshole, and when the friendship really comes to an end, and when everything can go back to the way things were, and whether it is necessary to return at all, maybe nothing has stopped. Maybe one misunderstood something, made up a story in his head and screwed up everything? And, after believing this story himself, he stopped communicating? “Nothing fucking interesting, really. And half of these things are mine. Which is ironic, because I don’t own much. Minimalism sucks seriously when it comes to rummaging in someone’s closet and finding a piece of your room there.” “Are there rooms in the trailers?” the words just escaped his mouth, Cyrus was trying to follow a dubious conversation line. It’s still rhetorical, as always, but he got used to listening to Simon’s talks because he doesn’t relish the prospect of looking stupid when Simon asks a question and he doesn’t know what to say, missing another rant about the sick sad world. It’s never his fault actually, but, as a result, he always looks like a dumbass, fuck with this douche Simon, but in front of Marlon, too, and quite often. Cyrus just has a phobia of looking dumbhead to the only close friend he has, not mentioning the previous one. His former friendship ended due to the fact that he, Cyrus, is a friend«of little prestige». Now the only thing separating him from a perfect understanding with Marlon is this asshole rummaging through other people’s closets. He doesn’t answer the question, quite possibly he doesn’t even hear it over his own whining. Simon pulls up his pants by the belt loop from behind before moving from his knees to the lotus position in front of Marlon’s laptop, plastered with gods know what. Cyrus was always unconscious of such little things. He always lacked this«decadence», and he notices that Simon dislikes him a lot for this. It’s like he’s an impostor in their small grathic universe. It is so. This image is his optimum alternative so that people wouldn’t bother him with conversations, wouldn’t bully him for being asocial and afraid to mess with someone again, and besides, this image really suits him. What could be better in youth than to change your look beyond recognition by growing and colouring hair, draping yourself in tight black clothes and smearing skin problems on face with makeup, without being passed for a clown? To be precise, they already have a doubtful reputation, but that is different. Of course he couldn’t say: “Yeah, I’m an ordinary guy, I just use a highlighter and change my facial contour”. That would be weird. No, they have completely different concept: “The grathic is not for everyone, you just don’t understand, so piss off.” It’s convenient. What is left is to learn from these two how to make some«extremely thoughtful» hints about their non-standard personality out of scraps and garbage. Then he could pass as one of them, sticking to Marlon and not letting go of him, despite Simon’s efforts to get rid of him. “«Trudeau is a jerk»” squeaks Simon, making a face, typing these words with one finger as a password to Marlon’s account. It doesn’t work. Simon hears a grunt from behind. “«I love penises»” he squeaks, bending his head to the other shoulder this time. It doesn’t work again. “Maybe some particular penis?” he thinks out loud, wondering if it will work, because this is his last attempt. “«Mr. Kessler’s dick is delicious»?” “I doubt it”, Cyrus says. “Do you doubt that it’s delicious or that it’s his password?” Simon looks around, squinting. “Both”, answers Cyrus, without looking at him, after two seconds of thinking – out of decency. He took off his glasses and sees a vague silhouette in his peripheral vision, that would be enough. Simon shrugs, after looking for a while at the too clean and fluffy, slightly wavy gray lock to the right of his face. The rest of the hair is dyed a dull black, like a raven’s wing, without the cheap blue hint the supermarket dye has. That’s the difference between this«almost grath» and the real ones. He’s too glossy. As if one day he really bought one of these stupid magazines featuring fucking teenagers who have the large amount of cash from nowhere in particular, or a platinum credit card to pay for the coolest things of the most fashionable alternative brands, and decided: “Here, this is what I need, I’m going to be the same”. And he became the same. Only this is a bunch of nonsense. Simon didn’t even realize he was a long lost grath, till it was too late to deny, and he was too drowned in it. Just like Marlon drowned in something else relatively recently... “Holy crap, I know it. Well, let’s try…” he moves his crooked fingers of both hands over the keyboard like a sorcerer over a cauldron, and Cyrus involuntarily looks at it again, wondering if it works this time or not. “«R-o-u-g-W-a-k-M-o-u»” Simon recites almost in a whisper. The basement is filled with the sound of the system greeting. Cyrus’ eyes are popping out of his head. “I knew this dick was lost”, Simon clicks his tongue against his teeth and shakes his head with fake compassion, rubbing his palms together before taking the mouse. “What exactly do you want to find?” “What’s it to you?” “It’s just funny that you are going to search for something without him on his computer”. “Are you going to turn me in to the police, or what? Or will ya report on me to him? Go, he’s over there, don’t even bother to leave the house, shout through the window”, Simon turns around again and looks at him, lifting his upper lip in disgust, as if something stinks in the basement. Like a snitch. “Oh, fuck, relax, you aren’t even worth it”, Cyrus slides down, leaning on the seat with his hands and sliding his ass down until he lands next to him at the laptop, “I just can’t believe there is something that you couldn’t ask him directly, and he wouldn’t tell you. You’re disgustingly close friends.” Simon even seems to understand this language much better, so he freezes, processing, judging by his relaxed, not twisted as always face, then shrugs. “Asking and listening isn’treliable,he can lie. Butseeing it with my own eyes isother thing.” “Seeing what?” “The gay porn he likes?” Cyrus stares at him in silence for a while, without rolling his eyes, without bothering to try not to blink. “What?” he asks again, finally. “Aren’t you curious? He’s the only one of us who understands the joke. He couldn’t explain it to me. How about you? Is that why you were annoying your sweet ex? Did you two decide that it’s better to start dating than to pretend you hate each other?” Now Cyrus’ eyes are really popping out of their sockets, and his jaw is hanging open. “Gods, did I guess right?” Simon laughs, in a sheer delight of himself, “And he said that you’re just mocking this moron. And you, it turns out…” “You’re sick, for you to know. You’re so doomed yourself, it’s unclear why you deny it, maybe you had some issues with this, what’s his name...” “One little sound and you’ll have issues with this”, Simon brings his clenched fist closer to his face. Cyrus has a sharp desire to spit the thought, why to lose a chance when the issue turned out to be so sensitive, but something tells him that he really won’t like the taste of his own teeth mixed with blood. Therefore, he is silent. “I don’t mind being gay, if I understand what the fundamental joke and benefit of all this is. But Marlon can’t explain it in any way.” “What’s wrong with the girls?” “There are plenty of them around you, all you got to do is to pick one”, Simon snaps without looking at him. The facts of life: there is an incredible number of them around the novice, like a small tornado, and this is understandable – he looks exotic, he is attractive, he is well-mannered and doesn’t look like someone who has bad habits like alcohol or taking drugs. In addition, there is a feature of novelty. Some new weirdo always has more attraction than Simon, whose life cycle stages from the pupa to the butterfly are well known to all of them for years, like the palm lines of their hands. Well, if the result can be considered anything comparable with a butterfly. “I’m bored with them”, Cyrus shrugs, as if nothing has happened. He had thought about it more than once. It would be nice to date someone from those who stuck to him at the academy. “They’re not really as much fun as Marlon”. “...and what’s so fun with our social centipede, then?” Simon suddenly shows some suspicious interest. “At least we have something to talk about. It’s beyond my reach what I should discuss with the girls. Makeup? They will find me a dumbass and rather a friend than a guy. Music? They don’t like what I like. Books? If the half of them read, those of them don’t read the same as me”. “A blunt question, and I’ll see if you’re lying. Would you date Marlon?” “No”, Cyrus winces so quickly and shakes his head that Simon, even if he squints for five seconds, still believes it. “Why so?” “...I can’t even imagine it. He needs someone tougher.” “Like Mr. Kessler…” Simon whispers, flashing his eyes and letting out such a deep chuckle that it scares. “You evaded the question.” “Bullshit and provocation.” “What’s wrong with you and girls?” “Don’t you take the hints?” “...if you don’t want to elaborate this so much, why do you say you’re not gay at all? If you’re not into girls, then you’re into guys? So? Logically.” Simon silently rummages through the folders, opening and closing them one by one in a fruitless search. “...wait. Are you not into anyone at all?” Cyrus suddenly has an idea, “It also happens. Eh. If so, then it’s also fine.” “Mercy me. Did ya watch Rhonda’s show on TV too much? And now you’re playing a psychologist? I like both, if it’s so important to you, I can jerk off to any porn with girls, I tried to watch with guys, and somehow it wasn’t clear to me.” “But you fapped anyway.” “Well, damn, it was difficult, but I managed.” They laugh, both looking at the screen, as if feeling self-confidence and other things, but really not knowing how to end this awkward talk, reminiscent of ancient torture, where people were literally crushed limb by limb slowly and bycentimetre in an hour. “And you want to see what porn Marlon uses, to catch the concept?” “What if I finally get it?” “If it works out with girl porn, why aren’t you dating anyone?” “I dunno how you pushed your way through a huge queue that gathered in front of the house and ends at crossroad today.” Cyrus is silent, having no clue what this shit means. “A queue of my sexually obsessed female fans”, Simon adds. It’s getting clearer. He plays a video from a folder with literally nothing but punctuation marks in its title. You don’t need to comment out loud to understand: they found what they were looking for. Judging by the preview, they found even more than what they expected. “By the way... The truth for the truth. And I’ll realize if you lie. You may think you’re so impenetrable, but I’ve studied you a little, and besides, it’s much easier to see a person objectively when you don’t know them too deep  so that they can’t confuse you by playing on doubts.” “Gods, you’re definitely watching Rhonda’s show.” “Don’t try to confuse me. Would you date Marlon?” “No.” “Because he wouldn’t want to, or you?” Simon is silent. “C’mon.” “More likely because he wouldn’t want to, but even if he did, and it would have occurred to me to try... We wouldn’t even be friends right now.” “Do you think you would have fought?” “Do you think you would have been friends with your Trudeau if then, a long time ago, your sweet-sticky friendship was built not only on hobbies and jokes in a tree house?” “We were twelve, you psycho.” “I didn’t know that you didn’t have it at twelve yet, I’m sorry.” “Holy crap! Ew!” Cyrus jumps up to his feet, but they are numb, and he falls back crookedly and obliquely, swears obscenities, but remains reclining. Simon has turned the volume down, but something is still audible, and they both stare at the screen. Simon suddenly understands everything in this life. In his stomach, at the very bottom of it, at the most unholy bottom, forgotten by the gods, a piece of coal from the heater in the corner of O’Hare’ basement is smoldering. The door to the basement opens as suddenly as the realization of something not particularly important, but still fundamental finds a place in his head. This time, he and Cyrus both jump up at the same time, not paying attention to the«needles» in their limbs, although clutching each other to prevent falling down. Simon tries to turn the video off, but the mouse falls behind the coffee table. He tries then another option, bending over and hitting the space key with his fingers, but the laptop decides to ignore him right now, because it is old and has seen too much. Marlon’s face changes it’s color from embarrassingly red and guilty in front of abandoned guests to the same red, but now from rage. Simon is silent, but suddenly the task is too difficult, because hysterical laughter escapes him, he tries to press it behind his lips. Cyrus is behind him, holding on to his shoulder with one hand, does not give up trying to turn off the cursed video. The main character of it, which lies on the dining table in the living room of the typical fraternity dorm, has fun just to the point of stupefaction, and all his«brothers», apparently, too. “What the fuck with this noisy bitch…” Cyrus whispers, and Simon smashes his own face with a hand, trying to hold the tearing pig squeal in his mouth. Tears begin to flow from his eyes, and he can no longer look at his best friend. He grabs his jacket from under the table with a basket of corn horns just at the moment when Marlon says in a completely different tone: “Get. The fuck. Out. Of here. I don’t want to see you for I don’t know how long.” “Is it until tomorrow? Or until next week? Or until when, approximately?” Simon asks, turning back with a more composed face. At least without the mascara running from tears in the corners of his eyes. He pours a handful of horns into his pocket, pushing his phone there next. He knew that he wouldn’t stay in this basement overnight, as it was before, he had a feeling that it wouldn’t be possible for all three of them. “You know we didn’t mean to…” Cyrus begins, looking back, already on the threshold of the basement, and Marlon goggles his eyes, a tick is noticeable under one of them. “Don’t piss me off, you knew what he was involving you in!!!” he breaks out, although even he is ashamed to shout at Cyrus. Simon doesn’t have this privilege. Scolding Cyrus is like kicking a dog, he seems to be more aware of the situation – he always look more guilty, more sorry, and it’s wrong to insult him in such a situation. “Excuse me?!” Simon’s voice comes from the stairs to the first floor. Marlon slams the door behind Cyrus, finally noticing that he is not so ashamed, judging by the smile that can’t be hidden. His eyes may have been lowered, but the jerk is having fun, almost as that half-witted usually does. He just can’t be left alone for a minute. And Cyrus is such a spineless jackass, it’s as bad as if Simon was alone in the basement, there’s no moral voice from this rag. Let them both go and die in pain. And both of them are going to do accordingly so, saying goodbye in a hurry to Mrs. O’Hare and falling out into the street helter-skelter. Cyrus pulls the elastic band from his hair, and his ears are suddenly not so cold, although he can see his own breath. “Well, at least now we won’t both be staying there overnight”, Simon says, not without satisfaction. “You wanted to go get some cider?” Cyrus reminds him, and he looks at the dark sky for a moment, as if thinking about it. Quite unnaturally. “Absolutely”.