After changing into a new shirt since the old one has snot all over the front, we head off towards town.

    Clifford is his usual chatty mess- bombarding Xalale with all types of questions, from "What's your favorite season?" to "Do you have any siblings? Do you want any?".

    Xalale answers them all, apparently not minding the endless stream of inquiries. I'm starting to worry about his seemingly decent mood. It's not like him.

   As we near the edge of town, though, the conversation starts to die down. It's always like walking into a forest wondering if the crows are watching you from the trees- eyeing your every step.

   Walking into the heart of the town, down main street, my heart is thudding away in my chest.

   "Just calm down, Mal. If you think negative thoughts then you'll jinx it. Just act natural, like this is normal. We've done this before, this is normal."

    As soon as we're nearing the park, Clifford pulls on Xalale's arm.

    "Come on, I wanna show you something- it's in the park."

    "Just stay together, alright," I instruct them, slightly worried.

    "Yes, mom." Clifford teases, dragging Xalale across the street.

     I'm just praying we'll get out of here without bumping into someone troublesome.

     Making my way to the town's grocery store, I relax a little thinking about the mental shopping list I made in my head.

     The town's grocery store is run by the Shermans, a friendly, older couple who often have their four grandchildren helping out in the store. I like the Shermans well enough. Mr. Sherman is a war veteran with countless stories to tell about his time in the service. Mrs. Sherman is the town's biggest gossip; she won't start it, but she'll spread it. Mrs. Sherman is a devoted member of the Methodist church who will- subtly- snub anyone of the Baptist church that comes into their store. Sure she'll give 'em a big ol' sunny smile when they walk in the door, but she'll shake her head and mutter things about them behind their back while they're shopping. My mom can't stand her for those reasons alone.

    Entering into the dimly light store, I'm greeted by the clinging bell and Mr. Sherman's croaky voice.

    "Morning Mallory."

    I nod at him. He's manning the only cash register in the store.

    "Morning Mr. Sherman."

    "What you in for?"

    "Oh, nothing much, just a short list of things. Shouldn't take me long."

    "Alright," He gives me one of his toothy grins. "Well, when you're done just come up here and I'll check you out."

     Picking up a green hand cart, I look at him sheepishly.

    "Actually, could you just put it on the tab? I didn't bring any money with me. Sorry."

    He waves me off.

    "You're fine. When you're done, just bring your cart up here with your things and I'll tally it up."

    I smile, "Thank you."

    "No problem."

    With that, I begin browsing the short aisles and shelves in the store. The store is more long than wide and the lighting gets poorer the farther back you get due to the lack of windows. The refrigerated items are in the back of the store.

     "Now let me see...we need milk, first and foremost, we could go for some eggs while I'm at it...oh, and I can't forget butter..."

   While I scan the shelves and freezers for what I need, filling up my basket with items, I notice a mop leaning against one of the freezers. That tells me Jamie- one of the Shermans grandchildren- is working today- Jamie always leaves the mop lying around. It frustrates the Shermans to no extent.

   If I know Jamie like I think I do, he's probably lounging in the back storage room, with a baseball cap over his face, ignoring his responsibilities. Typical Jamie.

   I resume my shopping, lingering in the back for the items I need (I probably get things we don't need, but I'm a somewhat compulsive buyer, unfortunately).

   "I think we're running low on yogurt," I open the door letting the cold air roll out of the freezer, hitting me in icy puffs. "Wait, do we even eat yogurt? I could've sworn I saw some expired ones in the back...maybe my mom likes it. I should try some, maybe I might-"

   "Mallory."

    Backing out of the freezer, letting the door slam close, I look over my shoulder to see who called me. I smile and drop the container of yogurt I'd been holding into my cart as Mrs. Sherman approaches me.

    Ever since I was little, Mrs. Sherman reminded me of a gingerbread woman (or at least how one should look). Her thick, salt and pepper hair is always pulled up in a puffy bun with two criss-cross hairsticks stuck up in it. Her plump, squat body reminded me of a snowman's where it was bigger on the bottom and slightly smaller on top. The roundness of her face made her seem friendlier in a way, the wrinkles around her eyes proved a smile was frequently on her face.

   She's definitely fit for a small town since every time she sees you she always seems to greet you with a warm hug. Pulling back from our embrace, she readjusts the straps of her blue apron.

    "How are you? I haven't seen you around much. I hope you've been staying out of trouble."

    I chuckle. "Of course. I've just been busy babysitting all summer."

    "Ah, right. Mrs. Godfrey was telling me about you watching kids all summer. That's real nice of you to be spending your summer watching other people's kids."

   "It's a lot of work though," I sigh. "Actually, right now I'm babysitting Clifford- he's over at the park." Hopefully staying close to Xalale.

    She nods understandingly before giving me another cheery smile and changing the subject.

    "So how's your mother? I see your father come in here all the time- I think he's the only one that does the food shopping in your family. Though leave it to a man to do the food shopping. Lord knows they're the ones that eat most of the food."

    "Mom's good. She's actually been working more at the nursing home. They keep calling her in to work full shifts. She comes home whipped every night."

    Mrs. Sherman puts a hand to her cheek and makes a sympathetic 'oh' face that you would only ever see on a cheesy 50s TV show.

   "Well tell her I said hi. She's such a kind woman."

   "Will do."

    Though I know my mom will just roll her eyes and cluck her teeth. Mrs. Sherman really rubs her the wrong way.

    Assuming we're done with the small talk, I begin to say my goodbyes and head up to the front of the store to checkout, but Mrs. Sherman stops me.

   "Ah Mallory, dear."

    I pause to face her again, wondering what else she has to say.

    She has her hands clasps in front of her like she's posing for a corny 40s poster, though her eyes have a familiar, wicked interest gleaming behind them. Her face is still pleasant, but it looks as though she has a juicy secret she's dying to share.

   This is usually the part where my mom- and others who hate gossip and rumors- would bid her farewell and walk away. But I'm always curious to what she has to say, though this time I have no choice but to stay and listen since she wraps one arm around my shoulder like a comforting grandmother.

   "So just the other day," She begins, taking on a little-birdie-told-me tone. "Mrs. Verma came into the store with this wild story."

    She always waits for your response every so often just to pull your interest in and see how you'll react. I'm not sure if I wanna hear what she has to say, but I'm already here so I play along.

   "A-huh."

   She lets out a lighthearted chuckle.

   "She told me the wildest thing. You know what she told me? She told me she saw you strolling around town with a boy- not just a boy- she said a man."

     "Oh..."

    Sweat pricks the back of my neck and I'm feeling a little uneasy now, though I try to play it off with a nervous laugh like what she's saying was absurd.

    "Really?" Is all I can come up with in response.

    "Yes. I had the same reaction- I laughed." She gives out a soft chuckle. "Do you know what I told her when she told me that?"

    I can't even respond now. Anything I did would show how nervous and on edge I'd become. I'm silently cursing myself for bringing Xalale into town that first time and I'm also cursing myself for shopping in a store where the town's biggest gossip works. Stupid.

   This time she doesn't wait for my response but continues.

   "I asked her if she was off her medication. I really did. I asked her how a good girl like Mallory Ryders- who has one of the best heads on her shoulders in this town- could be spotted with a strange man. And strolling through town with this man!"

    She laughs again like this is the most humorous conversation in the world right now. I just hope she won't detect the sweat breaking out under my armpits.

   "She swore to me with God's name that she saw you with this strange man- and that Clifford Mershire was with you. Well, I told her to stop using God's name in vain, especially with such a bold face lie. You know what she did? She just huffed and puffed right out this store. Didn't even wave goodbye."

   "It gave me a good laugh all night long. Well, I laughed about it all the next day as well until Mrs. Hryniewski marched into the store and told me she saw the same thing that day- and she was in the park so she saw it all."

   "Oh no." I'm praying to God that something will intervene in this moment.

   But nothing happens and she continues on in now a more serious manner- leaning in close like this is hush-hush information.

   "Now that shut me right up. I mean, Mrs. Verma stretches the truth every now and then, but in all the years I've known Mrs. Liza Hryniewski, I've never heard not one lie from her lips, so I knew she was dead serious. Her eyes even told it all. I must say, I was floored! Floored, I tell you. Mallory Ryders runnin' 'round town with a strange man. Took me a second to recover. In all honesty, I still don't think I believed it. That was until I saw it with my own eyes today."

   I swallow. "I'm screwed."

   Her eyes are wide open looking at me in disbelief as she puts her free hand on her chest, quite dramatically.

   "I looked out my window not too long ago and what did my eyes see? Mallory Ryders strollin' down main street with a man. I thought my eyes were deceivin' me, I did."

    This is another reason my mom doesn't favor Mrs. Sherman. Her over-the-top theatrics in telling a tale.

   "A full grown man, my Lord. You could've blown me down with a feather at that point. So when you walked in here, I just knew I had to get to the bottom of this. I just have to hear this."

   Now her full attention is on me and I'm definitely feeling the pressure.

   She wants the good stuff, the juicy truth to spread around to all the other women in town to the reason why I had a strange man with me.

   Right away, I know I can't fall back on the cousin lie Clifford eats up. Some people in town are too clever to know that's a bullfaced lie; especially those like Mrs. Sherman, who knows every little detail about your family background.

   My mind is scrambling to think of some feasible lie to feed her for the time being. But I'll end up losing either way. Once I tell all to her- or at least the complete lie I tell her- she'll be on the phone with every Methodist mother in town, gabbing what I told to everyone. Then, either she or someone else will spread it even farther till it reaches one of my parents and they'll confront me about the issue. Therefore, I'm damned if I don't damned if I do. Either way, news about me running around town with Xalale will reach my parents before the day's out.

    It's a diversion tactic, but it'll buy me some time. I decide to play dumb.

    "I mean," I begin weakly. "I was just showing a stranger around town. I don't know him like that."

   "Nonsense. You've been with him twice and Clifford seems to have taken a liking to him from my observations."

   Now I'm sure sweat is visible on my brow. I give her a weak, nervous smile.

   "Really."

   She swats her hand playfully at the air.

   "Dear, strangers don't just roll into town- they're invited."

   She leans closer to me now, so close I can smell what tea she drunk this morning- mint from the strong, sweet scent of it.

   "I just know he's not staying in the motel, I just know it. Mr. Recaro informed me of no visitors. I wonder where on Earth this man is stayin' then."

   Her eyes tell me they're suspecting something and I swallow hard again.

   "Did you happen to catch this man's age by any chance?"

   "Uh, yeah, he's twenty-"

   "Twenty!?"

   There she goes again being melodramatic. Both her hands clutching her chest as if she just heard the most shocking news.

   "My. Lord." She breathes.

   I'm half tempted to slink away from her while she's recollecting herself from such a startling revelation, but she reaches out and grabs my arm as if to steady herself instead of keeping me here.

   "Mallory Ryders," She stares wide-eyed at me. "You are runnin' around here with a twenty year old man and letting poor ol' Clifford Mershire hang around him. What's this man's name?"

   It's no use lying about this- my grave is already dug.

   "Xalale."

   "My! Lord! He's foreign!"

   It's actually eye rolling amazing how dramatic this woman could be sometimes. She staggers back as if shot in the chest with a bullet.

   Again, she composes herself and takes me by both shoulders, looking me in the eyes with her wide ones.

   "Now you listen here. You oughta be careful about the boys- the men- you bring around here, you hear? Especially foreign men. They will use you in a heartbeat. Marry ya and get their citizenship then kill ya off."

   "Um...I mean, he's not interested in marrying me or anything-"

   "That's what they all want you to think. Then they're stealin' ya heart away, marryin' ya and having kids and whatnot, then boom! They take off, free to marry whoever and ruin this great nation."

   Her hysteric raving is starting to remind me of Jefferson Fry-  a non compos mentis conspiracist.

   "No, really, he isn't looking to marry or date me or anything," For some stupid reason, I blush a little at the tip of my ears. "He's just a stranger I met and invited to show around. Really."

   "Uhm..." She's not convinced. Her eyes narrow at me as if searching for something.

   "Does your mother know about this?"

   "Shit."

   "Yeah." I say trying to seem casual about it.

    At this point, I know I've done screwed up coming in here and sticking around so long. The only shimmer of hope left for me now is if I finally begin to walk away toward the counter. She never gossips in front of Mr. Sherman- he hates it.

   So I wiggle from under her arm, flashing her a bright, encouraging smile to end things off nicely.

   "I don't want to hold you up any longer than I already have," I begin. "Besides, I am on duty so if you'll excuse me I'm going to check out now."

   The demeanor she once had when we were exchanging pleasantries is now returned to her voice and she wipes her hands off on her apron.

   "Of course. I didn't mean to hold you for so long."

   I can tell from the eager gleam in her eyes, it's killing her just standing patiently, waiting for me to leave before she can dart to the back room and ring up the first person in her phone book to relay all she had gotten out of me.

   Turning my back to her, I head up to the counter, holding onto a sigh of relief that I got away.

   Mr. Sherman scans the items and tallies up the total to add on my tab. All the while, I keep glancing back to see Mrs. Sherman arranging already perfect shelves just to kill time. She smiles at me, keeping her gaze on me at all times. When I turn around to accept the slip of paper with my cost on it, I see she's disappeared to the back storage room and now a disgruntled Jamie is resuming mopping the floor.

   Guess she couldn't wait till I was out of the store to start spilling the beans on me.

   I thank Mr. Sherman and exit the store, my stomach in knots. This trip has already gone down the drain in a matter of minutes.

   "Better get Clifford and Xalale and just beat it before anything else happens." But really, what else could happen?

   I seemingly get my answer when preoccupied with my thoughts, I slam right into someone's back, sending the both of us to the ground. Some of the contents in my bag spill out on the sidewalk but thankfully don't receive any apparent damage.

   Dusting myself off, I look at who I knocked down.

   "I'm sorry, I wasn't watching where I was going."

    I offer a hand to the gangly kid I bumped into.

   "Uh, no problem, it happens to the best of us." He says, accepting my hand up.

    Once he's on his feet is when I really notice how awkward and lanky he is. He's like a baby giraffe, looking unsteady in his footing. Even bending down to retrieve his iron frame glasses off the ground, the action seems stiff like a rough sketch of a cartoon.

   Adjusting the glasses on his pale face, he blinks at me then backs up as if surprised.

   "Oh!"

   "What?"

    For some reason, this kid's name eludes me, but I know I've seen him somewhere. It feels weird not automatically knowing someone's name in town.

   Recovering from his sudden shock, he scratches his matted, brown hair, somewhat sheepishly.

   "Sorry, it's nothing."

   There's a brief awkward pause like neither of us can figure out what to say or do next, until he notices some of my fallen groceries, bending down to collect them. I join him, thanking him for the help.

   "No problem. Uh, so you went grocery shopping I see."

   He must realize what a dumb statement that is and his face reddens a bit before he looks away.

   All the while, as we're bagging the groceries again, I'm trying, like crazy, to think of what this kid's name is. He looks around my age which means he should be in my grade which means I really should know his name. Even his last name is a mystery to me. It frustrates me a little, to be honest.

   Finally, we bagged the last fallen item and stand up straight again. He's about a head taller than me.

   Another awkward silence, this time longer, passes between us. I'm preoccupied trying to figure out who he is and I can tell he's not sure how to start up the conversation again, but he attempts.

  "So, you good?" It's so stiff like his posture. I feel sort of sorry for him.

  "Yeah, how about you? I didn't bump into you too hard, did I?"

  "No, of course not. I'm used to falling."

   He blushes again, looking down at the ground. He has the slight stubble of a goatee, but not fully. His face is also littered with pimples and white heads that look ready to pop.

   I don't want to flat out ask him what his name is, but I do want to get his age just so I know if he's in or near my grade level.

   "How old are you?" I ask casually.

   "Oh, uh, seventeen...yeah."

   Seventeen. He could be in my grade, or maybe just above it. Nevertheless, it still is driving me crazy that I can't think of a name.

   "You attend the high school, right?"

   "Yeah, yes."

    Really? Now I'm completely baffled to how I don't know this kid. Haven't we ever shared any classes?

   After another awkward silence, he timidly speaks up, interrupting my concentration.

   "I'm Ruthford, by the way. Just in case you didn't know."

   I feel like an idiot. Was it that apparent that I didn't know his name? Now it's my turn to blush and give an embarrassed chuckle.

   "Cool. Ruthford, that's an interesting name."

   "Thank you."

    I feel like it would be too embarrassing if I ask for his last name now that he had to tell me his first name.

   "So," He shoves his hands in his pockets then begins rocking back and forth on his heels. A move that looks rather forceful. "Whatcha up to?"

   "Uh, grocery shopping, I guess."

     "God, between the heated, tense conversations with me and Xalale, and the stiff, embarrassing dialogue between me and Ruthford, I don't know who I'd pick if I was stranded on a deserted island and my only option was either of them."

    "Right. Awesome...whatcha get?"

    I think the reason behind why our conversation is so stiff is mainly because we're not used to each other. This is probably the first time ever that I'm talking to this guy- somehow.

    I peer down into my bag.

    "Uh, milk, eggs, some yogurt-"

    "You like yogurt?" He asks suddenly.

     His peaked interest in the possibility that I like yogurt, surprises me. His grey eyes get all bright and wide like I said I like watching some old, vintage TV show nobody's ever heard of.

    "Actually, not really. I only got it for my mom- she likes it."

    "Oh. Well, that's nice of you, to buy her something I suppose."

     I guess when he's feeling sheepish, he scratches his hair.

    "I mean, I haven't had it in a while, so I might give it a shot again."

    "Huh?"

     I blink. "The yogurt. I might try the yogurt again."

    He's scratching his knotty scalp like a madman with lice- his face flushed bright red.

    "Right."

    Brief, awkward silence.

    "So do you like yogurt?" I ask.

    Man, if I thought I'd be talking to practically a stranger mainly about yogurt, I would've questioned my life choices up until now.

   "Yeah, yeah. It's...really good and creamy, especially when cold. I hate warm yogurt with a passion."

    "Yeah," I scrunch my nose. "That doesn't sound too good."

    He chuckles, "You got that right. Anytime I receive warm yogurt, I just turn it down. That's not the way it was intended. I guess that's why I have such a love-hate relationship with soft served ice cream. I mean, it has the creamy texture of yogurt, somewhat, but it's not too cold like hand-dipped ice cream, you know. Same with frozen yogurt."

   I just nod along.

   "I tried, one time to make my own homemade yogurt. It's a lot messier than it seems. I made a nice batch by myself, but to me it lacked the texture- that's what I like most about yogurt. Anywho, I had my dad sample some and give me some honest feedback. I don't know why, he doesn't understand the science behind yogurt like I would like him to. He told me it was fine, but I wasn't sure I could fully rely on his feedback so I gave a sample to my uncle, who's a bit more in touch with the science behind yogurt. He told me it was a bit too runny to be considered yogurt and after analyzing my treat again, I realized he was right- a bit too runny. So back to the lab- or kitchen- I went. I can't begin to tell you how many batches of yogurt I've made after that. It annoys my dad because I fill up the freezer and outside fridge with my yogurt. It can be quite messy you know."

   I'm sure I've heard enough on the topic of yogurt to last sixteen more years. Still, just to be nice, I ask, "What's your favorite flavor?"

   This tunes him right on up.

   "Well, store bought, I'd have to say banana split, but homemade- and I don't want to sound cocky, but- I have to say, I make one wicked pistachio flavored yogurt. You should come over and try some sometime."

    I can tell it's a genuine invitation, but the sound of pistachio flavored yogurt curls my stomach.

   "That'd be nice. I've never met anyone who makes their own homemade yogurt."

   His eyes light up even more and he nods enthusiastically.

   "Alright, cool. Um, I'll call you sometime to come over. You know, summer is the second best time to enjoy yogurt. Spring, of course, being the-"

   "Mallory!"

    I don't care who it is that called out to me, all I can do is mentally thank God for the interruption in this boring conversation.

   Turns out the person calling me is Clifford, who bounds up to me like an energetic puppy- his eyes glimmering with playfulness. Xalale isn't too far behind.

   Clifford stops and stares at Ruthford with awe in his eyes.

   "Who's this?" He has no shame in asking these kinds of questions.

   "This is Ruthford," I say, introducing him.

   "I'm Clifford. Boy, are you tall."

   Ruthford goes back to being stiff and awkward.

   "Clifford." I scold.

   "What? I only wanna know how tall he is."

   Before I can flash him another disapproving look, Ruthford speaks up.

   "Uh, it's been some time since I've last checked, but 6 foot 2."

   "Wow! That's really tall!"

    This kid can be embarrassing sometimes.

    Xalale finally joins us and Clifford doesn't seem to be done pointing out Ruthford's height.

   "Hey Axel, this is Ruthford, he's 6 foot 2," He pauses, looking back at Ruthford. "Wait, what does the 2 stand for?"

   "Inches." Me and Ruthford both explain in sync. Though I'm a bit more impatient and annoyed in my response than Ruthford.

   "Isn't Ruthford kinda a strange name? Don't ya think, Axel."

    This kid amazes me still. I kind of wish he was still feeling in the gutters- just a little.

    I can read a bit of annoyance on Xalale's face as well.

   "Stop being a nuisance."

    Clifford's bubbly, energetic demeanor dies down a little as he looks back at Xalale.

   "Wha? No I'm not. I was just pointing out-"

   "Nobody needs you to point it out." He shoots back.

   This finally shuts Clifford up, causing me to mentally breathe a sigh of gratitude to Xalale.

   Ruthford seems to loosen up slightly as well, sticking his hands back in his pockets, rocking back and forth again on his heels.

   "So," I begin. "It was nice meeting you, Ruthford. Call me up whenever you want me to come over and sample your yogurt- I'd be glad to."

   This brightens him up again. He gives me a slanted smile.

   "Really? Alright, I'll do that. It was nice talking to you."

    With that, he lingers for an awkward moment with his, painfully slanted smile before finally walking past us- giving an acknowledging nod to Xalale- and going on his way.

    Sighing, I feel like rubbing my temples, but instead grip the grocery bag tighter and begin walking.

   "Come on. We should probably get back." I say, somewhat tired.

   Xalale keeps up with my pace, but I notice Clifford's lagging behind us, moping over being chided. Little kids, they make me wonder about them sometimes.

    I roll my eyes and focus on getting out of town without further incident. In the back of my mind, I can't help but wonder who Mrs. Sherman might be on the phone with now. I'm sure she's already finished blabbing her mouth to the first person she rung up- maybe even the second. This is going to be like a wildfire. The worst part is that I'll be the only person trying to put it out- with a small bucket of lies, of course.

   I'm too busy grimacing about the shit storm sure to hit me that I miss what Xalale said to me.

  "What?" I ask.

   He lets out a slight sigh before repeating himself.

   "I said, do you want me to carry that?"

   I'm somewhat slow today, so I'm puzzled by what he's talking about until I remember the bag of groceries I'm carrying. I actually find it kind of nice that he offered, but truth be told the bag isn't too heavy. Maybe if I brought a ton of canned food items I would gladly accept his offer, but it's nothing too strenuous.

   "No thanks, I'm good."

    For some reason he gives me this subtle glare- most people wouldn't catch it, but I always sense when he gets a little icy around me.

   The glare doesn't last long since he looks away from me, but I can tell that maybe I've discouraged or offended him somehow- I don't know.

   Whatever the reason, I'm not letting this slide- it was too petty.

   "What? Why you upset?"

   "I'm not upset."

    His tone tells otherwise.

    I scoff, somewhat baffled by his attitude.

   "Did I offend you? I'm sorry I declined your offer to prove your masculinity, but really, it's not that much for me."

    Another subtle glare my way that I ignore.

   "Forgive me for being nice and offering to help." He replies.

   "Well you don't have to get snarky about it."

   "I don't know what that means." He says, sounding genuinely confused.

   I don't know why, but I'm a mischievous mood right now, so I answer back with a casual, informative voice, "It means butthurt."

   "Your language is inferior."

   "There you go sounding snarky again."

   "What does that even mean?" He's starting to become irritated.

   I have to look away, nonchalantly, behind me to avoid giving myself away by smiling. Looking behind me and seeing the sly smile creeping across Clifford's face, I can tell he's been honing in on this conversation. I face forward again, putting back on a casual demeanor.

   "Use it in a sentence." He says.

   "Alright. Right now, you are being very snarky for no reason."

   "That wasn't a good example."

    He's clearly not as amused as the two of us are.

   "What does that other word mean? The one you said afterward."

   I have to cover my mouth from revealing my smile.

   "What? Butthurt?"

   "Don't laugh, don't laugh, don't laugh."

    "Yes, that one." He sighs, frustrated.

    Behind me, I can hear Clifford struggling to hold it in. I cross my fingers he doesn't give me away before I want him to.

    Swallowing the laugh about to leave my lips, I take a short breath and glance up at the sky.

   "Mallory," He says. "What does that mean?"

     "Oh God, why am I in such a playful mood?"

    I really question not saying what I want to say, but then I look back and realize all those times I did have self-control and how much of a killjoy that was for me. Maybe it's because deep down I already know I'm way over my head and this is my way of releasing that nervousness. Albeit, not the best way.

   I get all serious, looking at him with an informative expression.

   "Well, when you're butthurt, that just means you have a stick so far up your ass that it makes you all snarky and whatnot."

    Clifford's no good after that and neither am I. We're laughing like two morons in a bar when they're way past drunk and having a good time.

    By this point, it registers in Xalale's mind that he's the brunt of this joke and he's clearly not amused giving how he storms ahead of us.

   "Xalale, it was a joke." I try calling out apologetically, but it's a little hard to be taken seriously when you're wiping tears of laughter from your eyes.

   He ignores me of course, continuing to storm off leaving me and Clifford to try, in vain, to collect ourselves.

   "That was hilarious." Clifford chokes out between laughs.

    I finish wiping the tears from my eyes.

   "Okay, Clifford, we shouldn't laugh- that was wrong of me, that was mean." I still have a stupid smile on my face, though.

   Catching his breath, he stands up straighter, a few giggles escaping from him.

   "Yeah, but it was funny."

   I put on a stern face and voice, trying to do right now.

   "No, it wasn't. That wasn't nice of me. I should apologize and so should you. It's not nice to make fun of others even if they do have sticks shoved too far up their-"

    We were no good again. It's made worst that we both have obnoxiously loud laughs that echo.

   "God, I'm a terrible role model."

   "Okay, okay," I cough from laughing too much. "We should start going back. Collect yourself before we reach the house."

   He nods, snickering like a fool.

   We're a complete mess walking back. Every time we think we've overcome our giggles, we glance at each other and burst into a chorus of laughter again.