The flicker of Computer Science class usually left Chase Wright with a headache and a desire for a stiff drink, but today it ended with a theatrical flourish of malice. Professor Cabar stood at the front of the room, holding a stack of evaluation cards like a winning poker hand.
“Before we wrap up, I’d like to thank you guys for these anonymous evaluation cards,” Cabar said, his voice dripping with a false, oily sweetness. “Mostly constructive. Appreciations.”
“No prob,” someone murmured.
“You don’t have to sign your names anymore,” Cabar continued, his eyes narrowing to slits. “But there was one evaluation so harsh, so hurtful, and so racist that I took the time to analyze the handwriting against past exams.” He paused for effect, picking up a specific card. “This particular coward dots her ‘i’s with tiny, itty-bitty little circles.” He mimicked the motion in the air. “Boop. Boop. Isn’t that precious?”
Chase glanced at Amelia. She was staring straight ahead, her face a mask of calculated indifference.
“Who’s ‘erratic and unstable’ now, Princess Glitch?” Cabar blew a kiss toward her and walked out.
Chase stood up, stretching his arms. He caught Christina’s eye and tilted his head toward the door. “Nice day out, isn’t it?”
“Yeah,” she sighed, grabbing her bag.
They stepped out into the humid Orangeside air. Chase was halfway across the quad when he suddenly stopped, his eyes widening in a moment of tactical realization. “Shoot! I forgot something.”
“What?” Christina asked.
“I forgot to stagger the timing of my exit with Sharon’s,” Chase whispered, looking over his shoulder. “She’s heading across campus, and I can’t go that kind of distance with ‘Ooh, that’s sweet’ as my only conversation partner.”
“That’s mean,” Christina said, though she was fighting a smile.
“No, it’s ‘not so sweet’,” Chase countered. “I’m a sprinter, Christina. I do high-speed bursts of wit. On a Sharon walk, I’d be winded by that stoner tree over there.”
“Hey, Christina! Hi!”
A guy with perpetually damp-looking hair and a shirt that was two sizes too small jogged up to them. He carried a hacky sack and a vibe that suggested he spent his weekends exclusively at drum circles.
“Hey, Drake,” Christina said, her voice softening in a way that made Chase’s stomach do a strange, uncomfortable flip. “How’s it going?”
“No worries,” Drake said, flashing a serene, vacant smile.
“Interesting,” Chase muttered under his breath. “Because I might be worried if I was playing hacky sack twenty years too late.”
Drake didn’t even acknowledge him, giving Christina a nod before drifting away. Christina looked back at Chase, her expression smug.
“I just wanted to point out,” Chase said, “that we easily walked more than a hundred yards with no awkward pauses. That is the sign of a true friend.”
Christina let out relief, “I’m really glad you aren’t hitting on me anymore.”
Chase went silent.
“There’s the awkward pause,” Christina noted.
The Miyamoto Principle
Amelia Winters was on a mission. She had cornered Professor Miyamoto outside his psych lab, her eyes bright with the manic intensity of a student who considered a “B” to be a death sentence.
“Professor Miyamoto! Professor Miyamoto!”
“What?” Miyamoto asked, looking up from his briefcase.
“Amelia Winters. I’m in your 101 lecture. I’ve heard about your special psych lab—The Miyamoto Principle.”
“Ah,” Miyamoto said, his accent sharpening with professional pride. “Yes.”
“I know it’s for second-year students,” Amelia rushed on, “but I had a 4.0 at Orangeside High. I’m only here because of a brief… incident with my mother calling the cops on me for drugs she planted in my room.”
Miyamoto stared at her. “Right. Well, I’m not allowed to date students. Even though you’re an eight, which is a Japanese seven, so I’m mildly disappointed.”
Amelia blinked, momentarily stunned. “Oh!”
“But,” Miyamoto continued, waving a hand, “if you are still interested, you may join the lab. You just need to bring two human subjects. And it wouldn’t hurt if you could lend me a fiver.”
Ear-Noculars and Secret Lives
Back in the cafeteria, the study group was gathered around their usual table.
“I wonder what this express package could be?” Wilson wondered aloud. “Someone had to get something to me very fast.”
“You brought your mail to campus?” Sharon asked.
“My Ear-Noculars,” Wilson announced, strapping the device to his head. “It’s for spies and whatnot. It gives you sonic hearing.”
“All hearing is sonic, Wilson,” Elvis said, not looking up from his notebook.
Amelia jogged up to the table, breathless. “Guys? Who wants to be in a psych experiment? You get paid!”
“Do they do stuff to your butt?” Tyrone asked immediately.
“No.”
“Do you get paid more if they do stuff to your butt?”
“No.”
“I’ll do it,” Tyrone sighed.
Amelia turned to Elvis. “How about you? It’s tomorrow.”
“They’re showing a marathon of Godzilla movies at the Orangeside Twist,” Elvis said. “I’m really looking forward to the Japanese ones. I bought a suit.”
Amelia leaned in, her voice dropping to a plea. “This is really important to me, Elvis. Could you please go as my friend? My really good friend?”
Elvis thought outloud for a moment, ‘I’m a good friend? I always thought of us like Chandler and Phoebe, they never really went on adventures together’
Amelia preened further, “Please,” giving Elvis an innocent wide eyed look.
Elvis paused. He looked at Amelia, really looked at her, and the titan-enthusiast in him died a quiet death. “Sure. I’ll do it, Chandler.”
“Thank you!” Amelia squealed.
Chase, meanwhile, was staring across the cafeteria toward the coffee shop. Christina was laughing at something Drake was saying. Drake had his hand on her shoulder, and he was leaning in close.
“I’m gonna go save Christina from that dude,” Chase announced, standing up.
“Yeah,” Tyrone called after him. “She looks like she’s in trouble. Hope he doesn’t try to ‘handsome’ her to death.”
Chase slid into the coffee line right behind them. “Hey. Hi. What’s up?”
Drake turned around. “I’m Drake. You in line?”
“Chillin’,” Chase said, trying to match the guy’s infuriatingly relaxed posture. “You’re not ordering coffee?”
“No,” Drake said. “I used to do coffee. Then I made the switch to green tea. It’s filled with antioxidants and stuff. It’s pretty tight.”
“Tight,” Chase repeated, his voice flat. “I’ve heard that about green tea. I should make the Cabare.”
“Up top, Sugar Bear,” Drake said, holding up a hand.
Chase slapped it, feeling a piece of his soul wither away. “There it is.”
“Small coffee, please,” Chase told the barista. “Black.”
The Breaking Point
In the psych lab, Miyamoto was practically vibrating with excitement. He led Amelia and his research assistants to a monitor showing a waiting room. Inside, Tyrone, Elvis, and a few other students, including a very disgruntled Professor Cabar, were sitting in plastic chairs.
“Our subjects think they’re waiting for the experiment to begin,” Miyamoto whispered. “But the waiting is the experiment. The Miyamoto Principle is simple: the more control lost by the ego, the more gained by the id. It results in a predictable emotional eruption. A tantrum.”
“Let’s do this,” Amelia whispered back.
She walked into the waiting room. “Hi, everyone. We’re running a little behind. We’ll probably start in about five minutes.”
“No!” Cabar exploded, jumping to his feet. “No! It’s unacceptable! When you say something starts at nine, you start it at NINE!” He stormed out, slamming the door behind him.
Miyamoto cackled from the observation booth. “Houston, we have an idiot.”
The walk across the quad was, for Chase, a tactical exercise in patience. Beside him, Sharon was moving with the steady, rhythmic pace of a woman who enjoyed the journey as much as the destination.
“Did you know we walk the same way after class?” Sharon asked, her eyes bright with a friendly, terrifying sincerity. “I’m sure you didn’t,” she continued, “or else we would’ve been walking together. Unless you’re a jerk. Just kidding.”
He checked his internal clock. They were only sixty yards in. He was already winded. To distract himself, he pivoted to his favorite pastime: observation. He spotted Wilson Firestone sitting on a nearby bench, the Ear-Noculars strapped to his head like a crown of madness.
“So,” Chase started, leaning in. “Wilson isn’t exactly right in the head, is he? I don’t know a lot of grown men with radar dishes coming out of their ears.”
Sharon let out a genuine laugh. “He’s like Inspector Gadget! Go-go-gadget incontinence.”
Chase felt a spark of genuine connection. “And how about that guy that’s always around, flirting with Christina? Drake?”
“I know!” Sharon’s voice dropped into a delicious, conspiratorial register. “He’s the worst! And what is it with his hair? It’s perpetually moist.”
Chase felt a weight lift. For once, he wasn’t sprinting. He was strolling, and the gossip was keeping him perfectly oxygenated.
The Soul Train and the Shaman
Back in the psych lab, the air was stale. It had been three hours. Tyrone was staring at the wall with a hollow, haunted expression. Beside him, Elvis sat perfectly still, his eyes fixed on a point somewhere in the fourth dimension.
“Break!” Miyamoto barked as Tyrone began to vibrate.
Amelia walked back into the room, her voice a strained chirp. “Hi, everyone. We’re running a little behind. Another five minutes.”
“No!” Tyrone screamed, jumping to his feet. “What is taking so long? I’ve wasted all day here! The Soul Train Awards were tonight! You promised butt stuff!” He burst into tears and ran for the exit.
Miyamoto cackled, slapping the observation glass. “Another one bites the dust! He’s gone!” He turned to his assistants, his eyes gleaming. “One left. The longer they wait, the harder they break. Buckle up, students.”
He looked back at the screen. Elvis hadn’t moved. He was still sitting there, a serene island in a sea of broken egos.
Eight hours later, only Miyamoto and Amelia were left in the observation room. Amelia herself is about to break, and Miyamoto is already showing cracks.
“Why won’t he leave?” Miyamoto whispered, his voice turning from gleeful to paranoid. “He’s ruining my study. He has warped the Miyamoto Principle! Damn you, you outlying piece of datum!”
The Wizard Blue
On the quad, Chase and Sharon’s walk came to a screeching halt. In the shadow of a large oak tree, Drake and Christina were locked in a passionate embrace. Drake was, predictably, shirtless.
Chase froze. The witty remark he had been preparing died in his throat. He felt a sharp, cold jab of jealousy that he immediately tried to bury under a layer of professional detachment. Christina caught his glaze and almost looked shocked and ashamed. Chase simply turned and continued walking.
“Oh, dear,” Sharon whispered. “That is not what anyone wants to see.”
Later, in the student lounge, Christina found Chase staring blankly at a textbook. She looked guilty, which only made him feel worse.
“I wasn’t sure how to bring it up,” she said, leaning against the table. “I figured you’d make fun of him… and me.”
Chase looked up, his face a mask of practiced indifference. “Friends do not make fun of each other, Christina. Drake seems cool. He has… a fresh perspective.”
“Well,” she said, looking relieved. “You guys should hang out sometime.”
Christina left, and Chase went back to staring at his text book, but Sharon immediately took Chase’s attention. “Did you see that hacky sack wears an anklet?”
Chase shook his head, signalling not wanting to speak about this subject.
“Since when won’t you talk about Drake?” Sharon asked in shock.
Chase replied, “ I’m trying to be a good friend, so I’m going to ‘friend’ the hell out of that green-tea-drinking hacky-sack hack.”
“Tell me you’ve noticed how small his nipples are,” Sharon whispered.
“Not engaging,” Chase said, though he was already pulling out his phone.
The Poem
The next day, Chase kept his word. He sat at a table with Drake and Christina, nodding along as Drake explained the “ultimate” nature of frisbee.
“It’s amazing,” Chase said, his voice flat.
Drake stood up to get more carrots, and Christina turned to Chase, her expression shifting to one of genuine panic. “I’m worried he’s thinking more intensely about this than I am. He’s calling me ‘babe.’ He’s trying to hold my hand.”
“Relationship-y,” Chase noted.
“And he gave me this.” She slid a piece of paper across the table.
Chase picked it up. It was a poem. He felt a surge of professional joy as he read the first line.
“Did you ever notice where the ocean meets the sky, did ya? It’s the same wizard blue that I see in your eye, Chris-ti-na.”
“Wizard blue?” Chase choked out a laugh. When Christina wasn’t paying attention he quickly pulled out his phone and snapped a photo of the poem. “Thank you so much. You just brightened my day.”
The Ear-Nocular Betrayal
In the study room, the group was gathered, but the atmosphere was toxic. Wilson was wearing his Ear-Noculars, looking like a man possessed.
“That’s right! Laugh it up!” Wilson shouted, pointing a finger at Chase and Sharon. “I heard you with my own Ear-Noculars! Making fun of us! Calling me ‘Hacky Sack Hack’ and ripping on my six-pack abs!”
“Wilson, we weren’t making fun of you,” Chase said, rolling his eyes. “We were making fun of Christina’s boyfriend.”
“Oh,” Wilson said, his anger vanishing instantly. “Well, in that case… let’s do it as a team. I’ll get the ball rolling. Maybe he has a tiny penis?”
The room erupted. Sharon pulled out the photo of the poem. “You all have to see this! Everything is ‘no worries,’ and then he writes this! ‘Wizard blue!’”
They were all leaning over the phone, laughing, when the door swung open. Christina walked in with Drake.
Drake stopped. He looked at the group, then at the phone, then at the poem Sharon was currently reciting in a mocking voice. He looked like he’d been punched in the gut.
“Is that…?” Drake’s voice cracked. “You guys are laughing at me, aren’t you?”
“No,” Christina stammered.
“Yeah,” Wilson said, unable to help himself.
Drake’s eyes filled with tears. “This is the least tight thing that’s ever happened to me.” He turned and ran out of the room, crying.
The Fallout
The next Amelia walked back into the study room, looking exhausted. “The experiment is over. Elvis sat in that room for twenty-six hours.”
“Twenty-six hours?” Tyrone gasped. “Didn’t that bother you?”
“I was livid,” Elvis said, his voice as calm as ever.
“Then why didn’t you leave?” Amelia asked in disgusted shock.
“Because you asked me to stay,” Elvis said, looking at her. “And you said we were friends.”
Amelia’s face fell. The weight of her own manipulation hit her all at once. “Elvis… I’m so sorry.”
Outside, Chase found Christina sitting on a stone bench.
“Drake dumped me,” she said, staring at her feet. “You broke my trust. You suck, Chase.”
“I know,” Chase said, sitting down beside her. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t handle just being one of the girls. I wanted to be… something else.”
“What?” she asked.
“Is there a spot on the friendship spectrum,” Chase asked, “between total stranger and having to hear about the guys you date? Ideally just a notch underneath driving you to the airport?”
Christina looked at him, a small, tired smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “How about the friend level where you sometimes have to cat-sit?”
“Make it a dog and you’ve got a deal,” Chase said.
After class on his walk to his car, Chase saw Sharon and Christina already huddled together, whispering and laughing.
“She’s a pot stirrer,” Chase muttered to himself, watching Sharon.
He looked at Wilson, who was putting his Ear-Noculars into a trash can.
“Getting rid of them,” Wilson said, his voice uncharacteristically solemn. “There are certain things man was not meant to hear. We were designed to hear the people we love, the people we can touch and hug.”
Chase nodded, though he suspected Wilson had actually just overheard them calling him “Inspector Gadget.”