IT'S FOR RESEARCH PURPOSES

Affection. It’s undefinable, that’s exactly why I hate it. If I were to get devoured by rancid snakes in a vat of toxic acid or live 'happily ever after' with a prince who can only identify me from my foot size. I'd go with option 1. Realizing you're in love has to be the number 1 most horrible experience anyone has ever lived through. You notice you can't live without the person? What if they call it quits? Where's the happily ever, after that? A blinding light wakes me up. I squint my eyes and hide my face.  “Elaine…”A small voice whispers. Feminine. I gargle my morning breath, creating a pissy growl. “What?” Oh, a flashlight. In my face. I stare it down before blinking profusely. “Get that out of my face please.” I say, releasing it’s the person that is in charge of me while my mom's away. I can't be rude, I wanna get off on the right foot, Although of course, not too too chummy. Wouldn’t want her getting the wrong idea that we were friends. No, I’d rather be in my room the whole time mom´s gone while I can. School work, writing projects, and research. I could get used to that. “Oh, sorry… Do you have socks?” She asks. “What time is it?” “Um… probably not time for you to go to school yet… But dude, I just got here. My feet feel like they’re in the great basin desert.” I can tell she’s trying to flaunt her academic worth. Just a ploy to get chummy and enforce her extroverted needs, such as, “two person family game night” or even worse, a party with her college friends. I’m not falling for it. “Yeah in the dresser.” “Sweet thanks.” She says as I shut my eyes, warming back up in my blanket cocoon. “Wait shot the bottom-!” I shoot up like a bullet. She holds up a ripped notebook presenting a list of guys from my school. Along with some other slightly more embarrassing notebooks. “Dude, It’s totally normal to like s**t like that. You’re like seventeen, yeah? Get a boyf or something, man. Or a lady-Hunny, whatever! Hey, date anyone if you want or multiple people- Like poly. Don't cheat. Cheating's an awful thing to do and if you ever do that I'm no longer claiming you as my cousin. But dating, you could try it for research! For your books, Yano. Elaine, don't really- using people for research isn't cool. Do not do that. I was joking. ”  Her voice ends in a serious tone. My face brims with defeat.  “It’s not like that I just did a random study on male students in my class that would be… p-propper candidates.” I say, improvising every next word. “Yeah whatever, you’re clearly pining over like twelve different guys, aren't you? Ya never know you might actually want to be around people if you-” she asks.  “No, they’re just for examples of attractive men for my writing, novel- thing..” I contrast my uncertain speech with confident finger-guns as my vowels shake relentlessly. My whole upper torso goes into a nervous overdrive. That's illogical. I guess it’s cause I don't talk about this too much, not with anyone, not ever, not even with myself. It’s awkward. “Yeah, sure you can try to get out of it but I seriously doubt you’re Aro. Do you write any romance?” She questions me thinking she’s aware of the answer already before even asking me. “I have no interest in men or romance, any of that.” I say back. “Tell the court, I'll get you a lawyer you will be filed guilty. The jury gets one whiff of that 'effing' collage- if that's what you identify as.. I can't tell you you’re wrong. Mayhaps you’re just one of those people-” she starts. “I’m not into women.” I un-huddle myself and speak confidently. “Then you could be Asexual.” “Yeah I’m that! Intimacy is… n-nasty”, I say, partly untruthful. “But um that still means you can date, hate to break it to you.” “Well, I don't want to date!”  “Aro-ace?” “No.”  I pull the notebook from Julie's hand and flip through the pages. I pass the sectioned notes backward. Emotional intimacy, deep conversations, understanding and tracking behavior for X= Dopamine, OTHER, Until I land on one specific page.  “Falling in love?” she says, reading on the page upside down. “What?” I ask  “You think you can schedule that? How do you even know if the person this is for is the one?” “I don't believe in 'the one' and soul mates. So then… Love? Is that it?” “Yeah, I guess, but not really too much of that either.” “Then what? And if love… How can you define that??” “You can't really.” “Why not?” “There isn’t really an equation for happiness--” “Well, sure there is. Happiness = X multiplied by infinity, Then subtract Y.” “Dude what?” “Well, X would obviously be something that inspires happiness. Not something that makes you happy. Something that can get you to something that can make you happy. Like a treasure map to potentially lead you to shiny diamonds and rusty doubloons, or by using the back of it to write the next page in your manuscript. Then Y would be the foundation of grief or sorrow-” “No… that’s not- 'X' would actually be to have fun. So I would suggest you figure out how to do that before no one wants you.” “Fun? I’m tons of fun. I invented fun!” “Really? How many friends?” “Huh?” “How many friends tell you you’re fun?” “Oh I- I don’t really have any- of those. I don’t know what those are…” “You’re telling me you don't know what friends are? As smart as you are?” She looks at me like the face you make when a sour patch kid candy is surprisingly sourer than expected. She strokes her hair back and inhales deeply. She then sighs and brings her hands down as if she's playing rock paper scissors and playing paper very passionately on both hands.  “You know what, it’s fine.” She continues, obviously frustrated. “People that you like to hang out with? Share your interests?”  “No?” I’m perfectly fine without people like that. I enjoy being alone more than anything. I get along with the people that I talk to, like my family and cool teachers and junk, but that’s pretty much it. There's also, Coop, my dog. He's a small honey-brown terrier. He has big shaggy ears and little dark puppy-brown eyes that can convince you to fight for arson's legal rights. He has a long mussel and the most endearing whiskers in the world. He adores walks and big green tennis balls, he'll maul them open and destroy them faster than it takes to hand them to him. He’s going on four years old. I love him more than life itself and he’s my favorite person. He’s also insanely smart. like some sort of genius creature. He responded to his name after two days when we started training him. He could imitate a moral support dog even without a license. “Hey, hey! Coop's my bestest buddy in the galaxy!” “I love Coop just as much as you, but he doesn’t count.” She says. Impossible. I would learn the art of fencing for that pupper. I would steal for him. “Nonsense. Coop!” I call him and clear off my bed as his little nails click on the tile outside of my room. He comes in panting and leaps onto my bed. His little paws make some divots in the blanket and he walks in a few dozen circles until settling down and dozing back to sleep as he was in the other room. Julie and I pick the ear closest to ourselves and scratch it so he can sleep better.  We leave him alone and continue talking. A little more of a hushed tone this time.  “Here’s an idea… Get a boyfriend,” She starts, making sure I'm paying enough attention.  “Right, right? Stay with me… Then steal his friends.”  I begin talking again, “Yeah I understand, I do. I get it. Although, have you considered… I don’t like people and I don't want either of those things. So why would I do that? Also, I don't know how to get a boyfriend. Step unclear.”  “I can give you a pamphlet or something dude, Or I can just write you a list of ways to get a boyf and how to keep one!” she yells. “I don't know if you’ll know how to help though…” I mutter partially under my breath. “I am studying psychology in human behavior and romantic relation- I am exactly the right person to help!” She angry-smiles and yells more offended than the last time. “But you’re not technically certified…” I say for no reason other than to piss her off. “I am-! I am actually!” She starts bouncing up like a cat poofing out their fur to appear more feral. “I’m in my fourth year, did you forget? I’m going for my DOCTORATE DEGREE, actually!” She continues.  “Yeah but I wanna talk to like a guidance counselor-” I do a brain smirk as her eyes expand. She takes a deep breath before becoming even more bitter. She sits on my floor in a hunched posture. Her hands grabbing her knees, criss-cross on the floor, like a gamer about to yell at her mom for ‘making them lose' after coming in with snacks. When they’re really just not claiming responsibility for losing ten kills previous to her even having the fragment of thought to make the snacks.  “What does a guidance counselor have?!” she starts hilariously outraged. “A guidance counselor has nothing on me! What's a guidance counselor gonna do?! Hmm? Give you a damn ice pack? I specialize specifically in this s**t! A guidance counselor is gonna start the conversation using a test with confusing bubbles marked: never, somewhat, sometimes, and often for questions like 'are you attracted to the same s*x?' and 'Does your parent or guardian neglect you.'”  “Ugh, fine, you can help I guess…” I say with a fake sigh. “Really?! Okay great what can I do?” She says, fixing her mood. “Okay, but you gotta follow my every instruction without question no matter what. Okay?” I say picking up a t-shirt and toss it over my face. She hops up straight like a rabbit.  “Okay!” She chirps way too excited. I lie flat on my bed with one small blanket covering my legs. I inhale and exhale deeply.  “Number one… turn around.” I do a little circle thing with my finger in the air.  “OK..” She responds by turning away from me. A small bruise hits me for less than a second. “This is supposed to get my mind off helping what you look like, yeah? You’re pretty regardless, but usually, when you attract men you go for a little makeup. But you making me turn away is probably because when you find someone you like they should accept you for what you look like, no matter what! You're brilliant!” “Yeah, yeah, next walk out of my room.” I say starting to doze off again. “I understand, you’re forcing me to look at the bigger picture and see that it's not just you and I in the world. I should acknowledge the guy shouldn’t be manipulated and taken advantage of in this plan.” She sounds like she steps in place a couple times, standing in the doorway now. “Alright, grab the key off my dresser.”  “Okay? Wait how does this-” She picks up the key off the dresser next to the door.  “Remember no questions.”  “Right, sorry!” She gasps. “Just don’t, cog the process.” I say, drifting half to sleep, with my body planking corpse-like. I continue my list of instructions. “Close the door.” She once again rises to another conclusion. Behind the door. “Oh I get it. To understand you and hear you, Since sometimes I get distracted, I have to make sure I'm always listening to you even if I can't hear you out.”  “Okay sorry. I feel bad now… This was just a scheme to get you out of my room so I could sleep.” I call out kinda guilty.  “Oh legit dawg, Sorry. I forget you youngins get to school so early.” “Yeah yeah good night.” I respond as a zombie would.  *Next morning* The school bell rings and once again I'm left to run the maze of my mind. Overthinking legit everything I end up in class twenty minutes early being that I don't have friends. The room is cold and silent, The chairs are arranged in an uncomfortably chilling fashion. I speed through probably over sixteen scenarios. While each and every one of them ends the same way, eventfully humiliating me in front of everyone in an X disgusting format. Most presumably caused by anxiety and or unconfident actions. But actions are being made nonetheless. One of them, the most unrealistic, involves public affection from a random male I don't have a face for. An alarming buzz creeps from my pocket, pulling me out of my headspace. I check my phone. I get a text from my mom. ‘Oii you forgot your lunch kiddo’ I start to text her back after a dozen students cave the room.  ‘Yeah sorry, I forgot it. My bad. Do you think you could drop it off? You don’t have to.’ ‘I can’t, I need to be at work. And you know what happens if I'm late again.’ She texts.  ‘Nah, I got you. It’s fine.’ ‘Why don't you find a nice kid and steal their lunch? On top of that, you can use them for your little experiments as well.’ Before I can respond she texts swiftly after. ‘I’m joking. Do not do that.' I shut off my phone, kinda leaving her 'on read'. Another few students shuffle in, crowding the room, and one by one they begin to sit and find their favorite spot. Near the window, With their friends, and wherever. A bunch of ladies giggle and talk of specific upperclassmen. A group of guys laugh and point at me. I hear my name a few times along with “girlfriend.” I stare at the door desperately desiring the teacher to walk in and stop the ruction. My name is mentioned once again followed by “go ask her.” I would describe myself as discomforted if I had a say in the way the boys and women of this school talked about romance. Like it's some unstoppable force that could crush all who oppose it. Or a status requirement that made you popular without really having to accomplish anything. A crutch really. Why? What's the big appeal? The shadows taking over the room seem limitless, shading every corner, and open wall they can find. The teacher will get here soon and that will save me I know it. As for now people are saying my name and adding strange syllables to it. The entire class's eyes are on what I'm wearing the fact I didn't wash my hair this morning and every other insecurity I can't count. The bell rings again. I feel a forest of students swallowing me whole. My body is a bleak crumpled can of diet soda. There is someone beside me. Before I was grouping him in with the rest of the figures but now he approached further than any of them. As I turn, my face is parallel with his torso, and I jump back. He follows in the opposite direction. He puts his arms up in an are-you-okay way. I gulp my excess saliva. I wonder what he wants? Am I in his seat? I didn't know we already had assigned seats. Is it actually the second day of school and nobody told me? Was he one of the people talking bout me? “Elaine. I’ve been wondering for quite some time now actually. Um… well you just seem really intelligent with your glasses and the way you're always in a book. You know... your ass is totally rounder than Saturn, and your eyes are like the feeling I get while jumping tires on my mountain bike right before I vomit.” His hands are two planks connecting each other. In a praying stance near his nose. He continues speaking. “And we're both kinda... hot? so if you wanted to do me the opportunity-” “hm?” I retort quickly back. He gets a bit more nervous, his hands shaking before they reach his pockets. They hardly fill and he leaves his thumbs exposed. Stiffening up, he looks away and squints with squishing facial features over at his friends in likely regret. They look at him with open get-to-the-point faces. “Um ya know, people say we might be good together. Like together. As a s****l- romantic- as a couple?'' He grabs my hand and intertwined it with mine, and pulls it towards his chest. I back out, pull my hand back to myself. I cross my forearms in a blockade. His hands crinkle up into little balls like sweaty paper mache. I hear his friends snicker from the back of the class directly in front of a poster that reads ‘easy as pi’. The noise rattles in my ears. The room suddenly feels colder and darker. He’s one person, but I feel so surrounded. Why is all this attention on me? I didn’t ask for this. He walks closer and pushes me farther off the edge of the chair.  “Let's go on a date. Elaine?” He asks with a garish grin.  “No?” I hesitantly say. His face drops, almost seeming confused as if no one, not ever, has said 'no' to him before. As if he doesn't understand what the word means, he just phases me with his ununderstood squint.  “I mean uh.. I don't even know your name, and you don't know anything about me. None of what you said was a complement.” I continue before he cuts me off. “My name’s Will Goldgluff. It's not hard to get to know someone. For example, I already know you're into space and chaos-” he points at the book sitting independently on my desk. I attempt to mix in my argument after he pauses. “That's my astronomy text book for AP science. I'm using that to study theorems involving black holes, the external factors and alocades- Listen, I don't really think I'm looking to be in a relationship right now. Sorry.” The kid looks back at his friends again with a cringed face. They respond by pointing arrows with their hands. A couple of them wave their hands in an 'X' shape. “That's okay… Um, I understand. No worries.” His voice gets weak as he walks away. Why should I feel bad about something like this? Why do I? There are piles of pebbles and boulders in the pit of my stomach and it's senseless. How would I know how to deal with something like that? Getting straight into a relationship with some random dude? Like a miserable clock that only ticks to dissatisfy me, the teacher rushes in and sits in his chair at the empty desk oh so unprofessionally. Finally, something I can handle. This is always difficult for me, talking to students and overall, people my age. Gauging the teacher on if they’ll give me extensions on missing assignments and most importantly presentations will be a more proper use of my time than worrying if another one of those kids are gonna come up to me, and god forbid ask me more questions. Despite all that oral presentations of any and every kind are the absolute most horrendous key points of school. The stressful thing of the year I think. That’s gonna be the number one task of my situation awareness. All the greater, I can't take anything personality-wise from the room considering it’s spacious and empty. Aside from a leftover couple of posters, of course. Next, fashion choice. Surprisingly an important factor in what kind of person or in this case teacher you are comes out through there. Roughly anyway. For instance, a teacher with a stained shirt and unperplexed sweat pants is probably gonna rant about that one time they went to Walmart, saw their ex, and stole the dog in the nick of time. Whereas a teacher with a hot pink electric shock hairstyle and suit with a bowtie is probably planning to explain the history of the word 'the' to you and make you get into groups and write a three-thousand-word essay on it over a week like any other modern villain. The teacher seems pretty well-kept. Tidy. That's admirable. I overhear a couple of the one guy's friends still talking over the same situation. “A great way to start the year, huh?” One says sarcastically. Obviously bummed about his friend's somewhat sad situation. Why is he bummed? Aren't people usually just fake sad to be polite? But his friend seems to be taking it worse than him. Why is that? I continue observing the teacher. He’s wearing a suit with shoulder pads, dress-pants. Why the hell are they dressing so well on the first day? Anxiety maybe? Oh, they’re not a real teacher. “Hello, students.” He greets the class nervously. His hands reach into his satchel bag and he pulls out a couple note cards. Oh, noob! He takes a deep deep breath and recites his information, looking at the card, then up at the class unnaturally and disoriented. “I'm sorry I'm late there was a coupon for a really fancy steak restaurant and it kept getting away from me with the wind. Uh- anyway Hello, class. My name is Mr. Millerd. I will be your substitute teacher for today. This is my first subbing, so go easy on me. Haha…” he anxiously clears his throat. And keeps reading. “Your teacher was supposed to be here but her flight was unfortunately delayed at the last minute, so she’s hopefully enjoying her time off. In the meanwhile, you have no homework for the next school week. Instead, you will exercise your brain muscles with these educational crossword puzzles.” He finishes setting down his note cards on the desk behind him. Alas, busy work. Well, at least we don't need to do anything difficult yet. No homework's something to celebrate for now.  I zone back in to find myself in the lunch line. I grab a little paper bowl of meatloaf. And then some bagged apple slices. People shove and poke me to move forward. I walk up to the cashier's station. I hand her 5 bucks after grabbing a little carton of milk. She lets me go.  I guess I zone back out, then back in cause I find myself at home in my room. I close the door, walk over to the bookshelf on the west side of my room from the entrance view. I remove one of the unread books off the shelf and flip through the pages a little as the inciting incident begins to approach. I flip the pages faster, devouring each word on the page like it’s the last morsel of food on the earth. I get the inciting incident. ‘Madeline drops her books but a handsome young stranger bends to the ground for assistance.’ Oh, what’s the genre of this book again? I turn the book over keeping my thumb on the inside of the book. “Romance?” I’m not interested in romance novels… I close the book and put it back on the shelf. That’s dumb. Remind me never to write a dumb book like that. I bet in only a couple chapters they slobber all over each other. I set the book back on the shelf and sit at my desk. I open the rough draft of the book. As I type, the thought of the scene keeps burrowing into my mind like a pest. Every time I change a subject, it persists. I wonder what the handsome stranger looks like. Do they touch hands maybe? What if he already likes her? Could she be in the same class as him? Ugh. I stand up after writing a total of forty-three words. I take the book back off the shelf and skip back to where I left off. ‘He looks into her eyes. As they meet, her breath gets shallow and her hands begin to erupt with warmth.’ Oh wow, that's cringy! And what I guess they kiss after that? ‘He hands her the books and graces at her warm hand on his.’ Oh… aw…  ‘His grin is pure and his eyes are framed stupendously with his dark-ivory lashes.’ I walk towards my desk again, slowly. This time with my nose engulfed in the book. I flip the pages one by one, after every page the story reeks of teenage romance, and s**t of that drama. I set the book face up on the page on my desk. How could that book be a best seller if it’s a romance? I mean, yeah, I was reading it. So I guess that means people who aren’t interested, like me, still like the book. I exit my manuscript and enter the Google search bar. I type in ‘what is the most popular genre for fiction?’ Romance? Are you kidding me? But… I thought it would be something like action or fantasy. That makes sense… guys are more into action and whatnot typically, right? That would make sense but that would make more sense that action would be most popular. Because, well, women like action too. But on the other hand, there are so many different types of romance genres… such as romantic comedy, romantic drama, romantic tragedy… So with that knowledge technically I’d have a much higher chance of getting my book out there if it was a romance, or at least had a romantic subplot. But with that knowledge, I might as well just quit that big break dream. I have no information on romance. I don't know what starts it.. Or honestly, anything that has to do with it. I hate seeing it in person it’s pretty gross and everyone around me is always telling me to get a boyfriend. I could look some of it up. Although in this situation it would be on my search history. I could clear that, but only for the price of it providing evidence to me watching something else. Probably a more excruciating juxtaposition of sentences than the truth.