What's-Her-Name

"I don't get it. Why can't you just go talk to her?"

Ginger sat perched on the end of a bed covered in soft, quilted black fabric. As she spoke to the boy in the spinning chair at the desk in front of her, she made wild gestures with her hands, as if trying to prove a point.

(Too bad point-proving hand gestures are often lost on people spinning around too fast to actually see anything.)

"Go talk to her? Are you insane? That would be literal suicide!" As he said this, the boy began turning even more violently, letting the chair continue to rotate until he felt dizzy.

"And why would that be suicide? Oliver, you're thinking too far into this," Ginger said, kicking her foot out to stop Oliver's wild movements. The seat swayed, and he had to grab the table to keep from falling on his face.

"You're right, you don't get it. It's just . . . guys like me don't exactly talk to girls like her. Besides, we spend so much time together that half our grade already thinks we're dating, so that would just make things awkward if she's part of that group." Ginger could see a faint blush appear on his face as he said this, though she tried not to think much of it. This conversation is already weird enough.

She didn't even know where to begin with her response.

"Okay, Oliver, first, I think she's smart enough to know we're not going out. Otherwise, you probably wouldn't have ended up liking her this much. And second, what do you mean by 'guys like you' and 'girls like her?'" She huffed, implying that she somehow wasn't in the same group as "girls like her."

But, as per usual, Oliver didn't pick up on this. "You know, guys like me! The unpopular kind, the ones who aren't cool or good-looking enough to hang out with girls as cute and popular as her . . ."

This absolute idiot.

"But boys like you can be around girls like me?" Oliver looked up upon hearing her tone (which he recognized as her they'll-never-find-the-body voice), and seeming to finally realize his mistake, he frantically started spewing out fragmented excuses.

"Well, um . . . see, I- I didn't really mean . . . I didn't mean it, not like that . . ."

Ginger took a deep breath, trying to steel her nerves and keep up the pretense of anger, but Oliver's oblivious nature and more-frantic-than-her-own gestures soon had her hiding giggles behind her hand, before finally giving in and tilting her head back. She couldn't help it; she just couldn't stay mad at him to save her life.

"What? Are you laughing at me? Quit it! This is serious!" Oliver whined, his cheeks growing even redder, his hand motions more obnoxious.

(Too bad backtracking hand gestures are also wasted on now-sprawled-on-their-back, mid-fit-of-laughter girls.)

But, as always, her laughter was contagious, and he could never not join in.

Needless to say, it was a while before either could speak again.

"Really, really . . . Enough!" he finally managed to gasp in between his remaining snickers. "I need your advice with this, really. Will you help me?" He turned to face her again, giving her the one look he knew she wouldn't be able to refuse.

"No, not the puppy dog eyes!" Ginger giggled, clutching her chest in a dramatic display of defeat. "Fine, fine! I'll help. But there's really not much I can do. Ultimately, you have to be the one to talk to her. I can't do everything for you."

Oliver jumped up from his position and smothered her in a hug, squeezing the air out of her lungs. "Thank you, thank you! You're the bestest friend ever, Ginger!"

"Okay, okay, I get it, I'm awesome!" she wheezed, prying his arms off of her before the pink tinge on her cheeks became noticeable. "Now let go of me!"

He did as she said, settling on the mattress beside Ginger. He wore a hopeful look on his face, eyes sparkling and everything.

"Okay, so first things first. What's her name?"

And from his bashful look and sudden inability to meet her eyes, she really shouldn't have been all that surprised at what he said next. "Oh, um, well- you see, I've only ever seen her from across the courtyard at school, so I don't really know that much about her . . ." He sheepishly ran a hand across the back of his neck as he admitted this.

"Oliver Avery, I cannot believe you! All of this nonsense and you don't even know her name? How we ever became friends is beyond me. . ." Ginger shoved him, and he fell off the bed. She stood up and walked towards the door, making a show of stepping on top of him on her way.

"Well, come on, then. We've got some research to do."

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