"Dude, you're being too subtle," Barn tells me, and the guys all laugh, even Burlap.

What the hell?!

Actually, giving it some thought, I have to laugh too. I'm often told that "subtle", and I am not acquainted at all. I've been called every single possible antonym of subtle that exists in the dictionary, including, but not limited to, crude, vulgar, primitive, basic, obnoxious, offensive, and nasty.

Being told that I'm being too subtle is a whole new experience.

"I'm serious," Barn says, digging into the bag of cheese balls lying on my bed... actually, I think there are more of the flaky balls and other snacks on my duvet than there's left in the bag. "Tell her how you feel, straight up and honestly."

School has been out for hours. We all had detention today; Kira and I served our time in the math class, while Jet and Lurch served theirs in the English class. Burlap and Barn suffered the most as they served their time at rugby practice.

Yes, rugby practice is a form of detention when it's this hot outside.

Afterwards, we all decided to celebrate our freedom in my bedroom, so here we are, messing up the place as usual.

"I have! Many times. You heard me tell her like an hour ago," I grunt, take a swig of my soda and squirt it through my teeth at the waste paper basket balancing precariously on the tower of books we built on my study chair set up against the closet door. It's a perfect hit, not a drop falling on the floor or splattering the walls.

"Wow!" Jet yells when I leap from my desktop, and he slaps me on the back hard enough to cause permanent lung damage. "Good shot!"

"Thanks, I'm so friggin' proud," I mutter without any enthusiasm and fall face down onto my bed, scattering snack packaging in my wake.

"Dude," Lurch says, climbing onto my desk to take the spot I vacated. "Going, 'love you, Kicks, you rock,' is not gonna work," he says, and I think he just tried to imitate me, making hang loose signs and stuff I know I never do... Well, not often... Maybe all the time... Whatever... "You do that with everybody."

"Yeah," Jet agrees. "Why would she take you seriously if she hears you say it all the time to everyone? By that standard, you're probably in love with Burlap; you say it to him at least 20 times a day."

We all stare at Jet. He seldom says wise things, and this was a pretty valid point... I wonder if he's high. He made Lurch miss the basket by miles. My closet door and sections of the wall got whatever soda is not currently dribbling down his chin.

"You should just date Burlap and get on with it," Jet says, yanking Lurch off the table so that he can have his turn. And just like that, the illusion of wisdom is shattered.

"Wanna date me?" I ask Burlap since I'm not one to argue with superior logic, even if it's coming from the guy standing on my desk, squirting orange soda at my waste paper basket.

"Not really," Burlap says in such a way that one might make the mistake of thinking that he gave it some serious consideration. "Your bumps and curves are all in the wrong places. You're not my type. Sorry," he grins.

"I think Ethe will be a pretty girl," Barn says, lying over the breadth of my bed, with his back propped against the wall and his feet dangling off the other side. The guy is way too big for a normal-sized double bed like mine. I give him a look, but he is too busy to notice while hunting for stray snacks in his area since all the bags are empty. "He's got those dimples and long lashes going for him," he clarifies... and that is not weird at all!

"I'm gonna pee in the basket from here," Jet announces, and I'm grateful for the topic change because I don't want to be Burlap's girlfriend, and I don't want Barn admiring my dimples and lashes. Besides, girlfriends are still a touchy subject for Burlap. He dated the same girl from ninth grade to the beginning of year 11 when she moved away, and then he still tried to make it work for a few months. She's the one who decided to move on. Burlap still hasn't.

"Jet," I say calmly, still watching Barn cleaning my bed like a friggin' vacuum cleaner. "Don't make me toss your sorry ass out the window. There's no way you'll make the shot from the table to the basket."

"Sure I will, just watch me!"

I turn my attention to Jet now, giving him a grossed-out look that I hope will scare some sense into him. I don't want pee all over my room. "I really don't want to watch that, thanks," I grunt.

"I've got much nicer lashes than you," he tells me, and now I'm wondering if it was really soda he was drinking. Why are we back on the lashes thing now?! I don't want to be on the lashes thing!

"No, you don't," Lurch says, pulling Jet from the table onto my bed so he can inspect his lashes up close... a little violently. "Hmm," he shrugs after a bit, handing Jet over to Barn for further investigation. "They're long, but..."

"They're too light to tell for sure," is Barn's expert opinion.

"Get some of that black stuff Deli puts on hers; then I'll show you mine is longer and thicker," Jet insists, and it seems to be really important to him that his lashes be longer than mine. Then again, Jet and I have been competing over everything since we were in pre-school. Competing over the length and thickness of lashes is probably not that strange.

"Yeah," Lurch agrees. "I think mine might be too." Oh, great! We have another contender for the title of Mr. Lashes.

"Mascara or no mascara, there's no way your lashes are longer than mine," I hear myself tell them because stupidity is apparently contagious. We are really full-on arguing now about whose lashes are the thickest and the longest, and I think the violent inspections I'm being subjected to have already made me lose a few of those precious lashes. Burlap has removed himself from the contest on my bed to sit in the window, watching us with that long-suffering look he is so good at.

"Fine!" I finally yell, slapping Jet's hand off my face and elbowing Lurch in the stomach to get him off me. "I'll get Deli's friggin' mascara!"

I'm on my feet and yanked open my bedroom door when my brain returns from the detour it's made, boomeranging back into my skull, bringing some common sense home. There's no way I'm going to ask my sister for mascara!

"Who's turn is it to squirt soda into the basket?" I ask instead, slamming my door shut again and diving back onto my bed.

When the guys left, I took a shower to get cheese ball fluff, crumbs and soda out of my hair. My room is a mess. Well, it was worse before I poured the soda from the wastebasket into the toilet and gave it a wash. The bucket is now dry and filled with trash, as it was meant to be. There are still some soda spots in my room, but we've wiped up most of those too.

I grab my duvet and pillows from the floor and dump them back on my bed, and I am about to drop the towel from my waist to get dressed when I notice movement in the window on the other side of our wall. Kira's bedroom window faces mine, and she probably noticed me hanging around in my room wearing only a towel.

For some reason, she doesn't like seeing me half-naked.

It's been really hot today, so she left her window and curtains open, despite the fact that we were being very noisy in my bedroom, and she'd been sitting at her desk doing her homework and then on her bed, reading almost the entire time. Kicks loves to read. Usually, she closes the window and draws the curtains when I'm in my room, and I know she is about to do that now.

I put a hand up to show her to wait, and apparently, the earnest expression on my face is convincing her that I'm not about to give her another strip show (she hates those and lets me know in the cutest ways), but really want to communicate with her, which is accurate. I'm going to take Barn's advice even though he's never had a girlfriend... ever. I am going to tell Kira straight up and honestly how I feel about her, but not in the way that always causes her to scoff at me.

I'm going to tell her that I love her, and I'm going to make it very clear this time. There will be no subtlety!

She's not sliding her window shut or yanking her curtains closed; she is watching me, looking a little annoyed. So far, so good. Now, how do I do this? Right, that's easy enough. I point at my eye to spell 'I'.

Awesome move, Dude!

Now what...? Wait, what if she didn't get 'I' from 'eye'? I point at my heart instead. I think this is where my heart is in my chest, a little to the left... or is it the right? Never mind, she's bright; she'll get it.

Now, how do I do an L?

I stretch my arms, one up and one to the side, but I'm pretty sure this is the opposite of an L. I try again with different angles, but it doesn't feel any better. Just gonna move on to the O because Kicks is grimacing now, and that is not what I'm aiming for.

Fine.

I put my arms in a circle above my head, but this is feeling really dumb, and I'm trying to be romantic here, so... I put the tips of my fingers at the centre of my head. This is a heart now, right? I give a little twirl, but hell knows why! I just vaguely remember the move from our third-grade sunflower dance, and that song was all about love, so...

And now for the Y! That is easy enough; I just spread my arms wide above my head. No... That's not right! There's no Y in love! I forgot the E... Or, no! I didn't... that Y could pass as a V... maybe... How the hell do I do an E? I try a few things, but this is not working.

Stuff it! On to the grand finale!

I'm not gonna try to spell 'you'. I just point at Kira and give her a... well... I like the hang loose sign... and thumbs up... They feel spontaneous and happy, and I kinda do them automatically.

Kira is not looking at me in a happy way, and she is 'spontaneously' picking up her phone. Now, I'm going to get a five-page lecture! Kira doesn't send texts; she sends novels. Well, that's okay; I don't send texts either; I just send memes and emojis. Actually, we hardly ever send each other messages, but we understand each other... right?

Probably not.

I take my phone from my desk when it announces the arrival of her message. That was fast! Maybe she replied with "I love you too," after all!

A guy can dream, and that is all I can do...

"No, I don't want to watch you do ballet! Thanks for the offer!"

I look up from my phone, and she is waving at me, her eyebrows raised in that haughty way she sometimes uses. She is so friggin' cute.

"Hey!" I yell, giving up on charades and texts because our houses are close enough to hear each other pretty well, but she has already slid her window shut and is pulling her curtains closed.

What the hell made her think I was offering her a ballet show? Groaning, I turn away from the window to face-dive onto my bed. I've once again proven what I'm always being told by everybody who knows me. I suck at charades!

So much for being straight up and honest.

♂♀