Flo and I were still in that place between a friendship and a relationship and I intended on finally make a move. She invited all of us over for a backyard screening marathon of Harry Potter, but Tess declined because her roster changed and she was now taking night shifts rather than afternoon ones and Quinton said he had plans with his old man. That left just the two of us.

I crossed to the neighbouring house at eight, holding a jumbo two litre bottle of Coke and a bag of Sour Patch Kids. Flo met me half way in her backyard, classic boxes of popcorn and a bag of Maltesers sitting on the blanket of grass. The portable screen was set up in front of us and Flo used an extender cord to hook up the projector and laptop.

"This is awesome."

She grinned and dropped onto the blanket, grabbing a box of popcorn just as the opening sequence rolled. I sat next to her and opened the bag of lollies sitting between us, getting comfortable and looking up at the screen.

"Harry Potter brings back fond memories," Flo mumbled.

"I agree," I answered.

"The books were basically my guidance in life," she added.

"Yeah."

I had never actually read the books before.

"You've never read the books before, have you?" she asked, practically reading my mind.

I smiled sheepishly as she reached under the blanket and pulled out a tattered old paperback with dog ears and a creased cover. She ran her fingers over the exterior and smiled to herself.

"I'm basically giving you a part of my life," Flo said, handing it over.

"It's an honour."

Her fingers brushed against mine and despite the cheesy romance films I had seen, there wasn't a spark of electricity. It was slightly awkward and shy, lasting less than a second as I took the book and we both looked away nervously. But the discomfort wasn't evident for long. Flo picked up a box of popcorn, took out a pair of chopsticks from next to her and started eating.

"Do you ever do anything normally?" I teased.

"Define normal," she answered, deadpan.

"Oh... W-Well, you know..." I stuttered, my tongue tripping over my words. In that moment, I wanted to shrivel up like a prehistoric sultana.

But her expression softened and she smiled. "I think the question is more along the lines of: why does everyone do everything the same?"

"You got me beat, Flo Jefferson," I muttered.

Flo left me at a loss for words. Literally. But at the same time, I wanted to tell her everything. I wanted to make her laugh and educate her on meaningful things; make her question mainstream life choices like she had done to me. I wanted to challenge her thoughts and display the amount of intellect the way she did so effortlessly. But the only things I could rave on about were food and sleep and how it would be awesome if we could do them simultaneously.

I had a feeling that wouldn't particularly impress the girl I was planning to ask out.

After the second movie had ended and the third one was rolling, I was getting hungry again. I had managed to scoff my half of the food within the first half an hour of the first film so I was starving. 

Flo and I hadn't engaged in much conversation, even during the intermission when she'd get up and switch discs. So I didn't particularly want to spark up a discussion just to ask her if we could pause for a late night snack. It would have been random and weird and I didn't actually know how to phrase it. Hey, dude, I'm starved. Can we go into your house and raid the fridge?

My stomach growled in anguish but I tried not to let the discomfort in my stomach appear on my facial expression. Apparently it did though because Flo flipped onto her stomach and looked at me.

"Are you hungry?" she asked.

"Kind of," I admitted.

"How good are you at making sandwiches?" She grinned.

"I'm a king," I answered.

"Then I challenge you to a sandwich making competition." Flo stood up and held out her hand.

I took it and shook. "You're on."

Once all the ingredients and utensils were laid out on the bench table, the challenge commenced. A tower of cereal boxes stood between us, creating a wall so that we couldn't steal each other's ideas of the perfect sandwich or sabotage in any way. It added to the thrill. F

lo had a broadened understanding of nature, beauty and human behaviour, but I was the champion of food. Just by simple observations like what she puts in her sandwich, if she removes the crusts or not and how she cuts it –personally, I'm a fan of triangles- can determine a lot of characteristics.

But despite the final outcome, my sandwich was completely going to dominate hers.

My ideal sandwich was the Triple Decker Monster. Triple smoked ham –or doubled, because that's all Flo had- tomato, cucumber, lettuce and avocado. There are three reasons to the success of my sandwich. [1] sixty percent meat, forty percent vegetables, one hundred percent mouth-watering, [2] keep the crusts on; my mother used to say that kids who eat the crusts on their bread get curly hair and I have definitely proved her wrong and [3] one green olive pierced to the top with a toothpick, just makes it look more classy. Girls like classy.

As I was assembling my food, I looked up through the cracks in the cereal box wall and saw Flo, dark hair covering her eyes as she concentrated. But before I could see anything more, she shoved a piece of lettuce into the gap between the two cereal boxes. I laughed.

"Are you ready?" I asked.

"Patience, grasshopper," she answered. Then a moment later, "Yeah, okay, I'm done."

As soon as she said the words, I was grabbing boxes of Weet-Bix and Cornflakes, disassembling the tower that stood between us. Once they were all gone, I looked over at Flo's sandwich.

I couldn't help but smile. "Cupcake sandwich."

"I clearly win," she stated confidently, motioning at her sweet creation.

"We probably should have clarified the rules," I answered. "Traditional sandwich; with bread."

"You know I'm not traditional," Flo answered.

"Yeah. I know."

"Besides," she continued, "I have all the basic ingredients. Cupcake slices, cream and jam filling, sprinkles and of course, a glazed cherry. That's the equivalent to your traditional bread sandwich."

"Damn you for creativity," I huffed mockingly, then looked at the whipped cream filling. "You win. As long as I get half of that."

"Only if I get half of yours," Flo answered.

"Definitely."

Now, I'm not really one to share food, especially when it's a sandwich. I mean, come on. It's a sandwich; it's one of the basic food groups known to man. But when I found myself allowing Flo to have half, it was a definite that I was completely and utterly into her.

After I had sliced it in half and exchanged the piece for a segment of Flo's, we headed back outside. We hadn't bothered to pause the fourth movie so it was already thirty minutes in, but we didn't mind. Instead, we just sat down with some good food and quickly caught up to the plot.

"No carrots, right?" she whispered, eyes glued to the screen, but face slightly tilted towards my direction.

"Carrots have feelings," I quoted.

She let her eyes flicker back to me and grinned before digging into her sandwich. The combination of sweet and savoury was indescribably good. By the time my plate was cleaned, my taste buds were satisfied and so was my stomach.

Beside me, Flo sighed wistfully. "I have this habit of obsessing over fictional characters. It's an unhealthy attachment."

"I'm the same."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. But with video games. I'm one of those kids who doesn't skip the dialogue between gaming avatars and actually reads the backstory," I admitted, feeling both proud and incredibly stupid.

Flo found it amusing though, flipping onto her side and letting her laughter drift into the night of the neighbourhood. I liked her laugh; it was genuine and authentic and allowed you to catch a smile as a side effect.

"How are you not my girlfriend?"

Another one of the side effects of listening to Flo's laugh was that it had the power to make you extremely freaking happy, ultimately leading to speaking before thinking. Once the words had slipped from my mouth, I went rigid and sort of just laid there, all stiff and awkward, trying avoid eye contact and thinking of a way to save the conversation. As the long and uncomfortable seconds stretched by, panic consumed me.

"I was just thinking the exact same thing."

At first I wasn't sure if what I heard was real or not. Uncertain about whether my brain had gone into resolve-the-situation-by-providing-a-mentally-appealing-resolution mode, I sat and waited a few more seconds to see if she would say anything else to confirm whether it was imaginative or non-fictional.

"I do think you're trouble sometimes, though," Flo said teasingly.

"I'm don't think I'm trouble," I answered, trying to be smooth and successfully failing. "But I do think I'd be a good boyfriend."

"I like a little trouble."

"Well, then I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."

She smiled and rolled onto her back, her attention back to the screen. I just stayed there, waiting. Surely there was more to the conversation. She couldn't just leave it at that, could she?

"Holden?" she suddenly said.

"Yeah?"

"I think you'd be a good boyfriend too," she whispered, threading her fingers through mine.