I'm so glad to be home, I can't even put it in words. Though I'm sure me and Xalale will have to be cautious since my parents will be in the house all day. Still, it's better than being in town. Plus, we can discover more about that stone.

    Xalale is, thankfully, right where I left him- in my room. Though this time he's not laying down. Instead, he's up and pacing, apparently in deep thought.

   "Hey," I interrupt his careful thinking. "What's up?"

   He glances at me for a second with a disapproving look then picks up the stone off the nightstand, inspecting it.

   "This stone reacts when I attempt to use it, but then it fails, as though it's missing something."

   I shrug, actually surprised that he's been trying to use his abilities to work with that unstable stone. Judging from his past actions, I wouldn't think it was in his character to try something like that again.

   "You haven't hurt yourself trying it again, have you?" I ask, concerned.

   "No, but it's still infuriating." He sets the stone back down and looks at me, looking me up and down. "How was your church?"

   "I went to church in town," I roll my eyes, already pulling out more casual clothes to wear. "It was decent except for the stares and Cynthia and Mrs. Emmerich- actually, it was pretty draining."

    I can't find the pair of jeans I'm searching for, so frustratingly, I dig around in my drawers for it, while continuing.

    "I swear, the day I'm old enough to leave this town, I will. You can bet that. I'll visit my parents for holidays and birthdays and whatnot, but other than that, good riddance. I mean, Clifford is just a delirious little kid who believes Cauldron's so great and other places like Texas and Europe are so bad, but in Texas and Europe there are so many people, no one will care to be so nosy about your life. Plus, there's actually something magical about those places, unlike Cauldron."

    Catching myself, I realize how much I'm going on and who I'm ranting it all to. Glancing back at him, I sigh, leaning against my dresser. He wears an expression I've only seen him show one other time that I've known him- and it was only there for the briefest of seconds. I see that same look of sympathy he showed me the night I was drunk. I must've said something that night to invoke it like I did now, but I never knew what exactly (or I can't remember). But studying his expression now, I come to the strange conclusion that the night when we were drinking, the look he gave me wasn't one of sympathy but of empathy because the look I'm presented with now reads of sympathy completely.

    I try to play it off, continuing my mini tirade since I might as well.

    "I like Cauldron well enough, but it's not a town I'm meant to stay in my whole life. I mean, the people here are nothing like me- they don't get me. Like I said, in Europe there are so many people, there's bound to be someone who shares the same interest as me. I know there are people out there like that, but staying in this town won't do me any good."

    "So you want to find people like yourself?" He questions.

    Pulling out a red and white striped tank top, I decide to wear that with a pair of jean capris.

    "Yeah. I mean, isn't it nice to be around people like yourself?"

    He thinks before replying.

    "I believe it would be a change in perspective."

    I frown, turning around. "What do you mean?"

    "If I was around people who were like me, I suppose I would see how others view me. Perhaps then I wouldn't like being around myself as much."

     "Yeah, well, maybe for you." I think to myself though refraining from saying so out loud. Instead, I only nod and gather my clothes to take to the bathroom.

    I leave for the bathroom, still thinking on that actually pretty deep idea. I'm not as bad as Xalale so being around people like me wouldn't be a terrible thing, yet his words stick with me.

     "A change in perspective."

While changing, I manage to fix myself up since I finally have the time now. My hair gets to see a brush for once and I end up putting it in a nice French braid.

    I really don't have too much planned today other than figuring out what that stone can and can't do and do the laundry since it's my week. I explain to Xalale what a washer is since he notices me sorting out the dirty laundry. Even though his face doesn't show it, his eyes reveal how intrigued he is with such a useful machine. I would show him how it works, but my parents are lounging around.

    By the time I finish putting in the first load, the phone is ringing. I'm the one who answers since a game of golf is on for my dad and my mom is taking her usual Sunday nap.

   "Hello?"

   "Hey Mal, I need you and Axel's help."

    Clifford. Why is he calling? I don't have him as my responsibility for another 15 or so hours.

   "How did you get my phone number?"

   "My mom has it."

    I decide to take this into the kitchen. Sitting down at the table, I rub the bridge of my nose, not ready to hear what he's going on about. He's definitely not like Ruthford on the phone and doesn't need to be questioned to get to the point.

   "I need you and Axel to meet me in the center of the town in the park. Ok? Cool."

   "Wait, wait, wait. What? Why?"

   "I'll explain it when you get here, now don't forget to bring Axel along. He's there, right?"

    I sigh.

   "Yes, but why do we need to come to the park?"

   "Just come." He whines.

   I just want to hang up at this point, so finally, I agree.

   "Fine, we'll be down in ten or so minutes. This better be good."

   "Yay! See ya then."

    He abruptly hangs up, leaving me to shake my head and return the phone to its cradle before heading back to my room to tell the message to Xalale.

    I go about it the way one might rip off an old band-aid you know is going to hurt.

   "We have to go into town, unfortunately." I sigh.

    Looking up from the book he was previously reading- The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe- he frowns at me.

   "Why?"

   "Apparently Clifford needs our help with something."

   "With what?"

    I slip on a pair of sandals.

    "You can ask him that when we get there."

    Finally, he must understand I know as little as he does, and so he sets aside the book and follows me out of my room to the front door. I know we don't have to be as cautious with my dad around, especially with a game of golf on, so we make it out the door pretty easily. I call out to him that I'll be in town for a bit which he grunts his approval and continues watching his painfully boring game.

   The walk down to town never makes me any less nervous. Every time, we never experience anything pleasant when we enter town and with us not knowing why Clifford even called us down in the first place, it doesn't ease my troubled mind.

   It's a Sunday afternoon in town and you can tell. Everybody is out enjoying one another's company, no one's at work, and unfortunately for us, everybody seems to hang around the park and the main drag of town. The knots in my stomach are becoming tighter and tighter with each step I take into the park.

   "Do you see him?" I ask, trying to spot a familiar curly head.

   "No. Why are we even here?"

   "Beats me."

    We stay along the perimeter of the park, away from the others, who fortunately haven't taken notice of us yet.

    "I really don't see him," I begin. "Maybe he's not here any-"

    "Axel! Mal! Hey, over here!"

    "And we were so close to giving up and going back to the house."

     We just exchange a glance as Clifford eagerly comes bounding up to us, a stocky girl with two long pigtails in tow.

    "Hey, guys, you made it!" He beams.

    "Yeah," I rub the back of my neck. "Unfortunately. So what do you need Clifford?"

     The well built, young girl, who looks to be a bit older than him, speaks up.

    "We needed more players for our team and Cliff said he knew the perfect people."

     She squints at us, smacking somewhat loudly on her gum then fixes her face again.

    "So you guys wanna play? We're going up against Tucker's team."

    "Of course they're going to play." Clifford pipes up. "Right guys?"

     I'm sure me and Xalale are not amused in the least bit. Why drag us out for this?

    "What are you even playing?" I ask.

    "Baseball," She replies. "Now are ya playin' or not? Everyone's waitin' on us."

    I look at Xalale with a face of hesitation. He seems to share the same reservations as me.

    Then Clifford breaks into the little kid act.

    "Please guys, please. I promise it'll be fun- promise! It won't last long."

    Another shared look between the two of us before I give in with a sigh, which of course means Xalale's along for the ride.

    "Fine."

    "Yay! Come on!"

     The two of them lead us to the baseball diamond in the end of the park area. From there you can see people having picnics and families eating out in the pavilion. The group of players on the field is mostly made up of kids, but I notice Doug and Libby among the group.

    "There you are," A tall kid I know to be Tucker Schemewic says. "You're holding the whole game up."

    Not fazed, the girl stands next to him and rolls her eyes.

    "I got two new players."

    "Yeah yeah, good for you, but we still gotta pick teams. I go first."

    To this, she protests.

    "What? Why? That's not fair!"

    "Is so, we did rock paper scissors for it."

    "And you cheated."

    "Suck it up."

     She crosses her arms at this but says no more about it, letting him go first. He holds the bat over his shoulder, scanning the group with squinted eyes.

    "I'll go with Otis as my co-captain."

    I guess that explains why Libby is here. Usually her younger siblings are into this kind of stuff and she just goes along with them.

    Otis proudly saunters next to his friend.

    I hate these kinds of teams- picking them by popularity and talent. You can definitely tell which players are the most desirable by what order they get called in. Once talent is depleted then they go for the popularity factor, leaving those who aren't so high up on the pecking order to feel left out. This, of course, leaves yours truly on the sidelines every time.

    Clifford- however annoying he may be- gets picks in the middle to join the girl's, Sydney's, side. He, of course, vouches to her to pick Xalale, but I can tell Sydney never really listens to Clifford's advice (probably a wise girl).

     This leaves me and Xalale, the only two left to be picked, which means we'll be on opposite sides. The only reason they haven't picked Xalale is because he's a stranger and this is Cauldron after all. It's up to Tucker to choose now.

    "A choice between Mallory and the new guy," He chuckles. "No contest- new guy's with me. Sydney can have Mal and we're set."

    First off, I'm offended that a little twelve year old just dissed me. Secondly, I can't believe I'm picked dead last and Xalale isn't even known to these kids.

    Sydney just rolls her eyes and shrugs whatever, taking her team to the outfield. Clifford's clearly disappointed he's on the opposite team from Xalale, but he's eager as a puppy that I'm on his side. Doug's, thankfully, on my team, though Libby is with her brother on Tucker's team.

    We spread out and I'm prepared to be useless this entire time since I can't catch a ball if my life depended on it. I hate wearing a catcher's glove and I never end up using it anyway. I'm simply here for Clifford and that's it.

   I know most of the kids on Tucker's team is made up of really athletic kids, including the two Richards boys which causes me to roll my eyes in disgust. Tucker's up first, with Sydney as the umpire and a willowy girl named Zöe as the pitcher.

   Tucker definitely put together a competitive team and so far they're creaming us. Even though they've struck out twice already, nearly the whole team has gone up to bat and they already had three home runs. Sydney from her umpire position is yelling at us in the outfield to straighten up and catch a ball for once in our lives. Her team has been made up of the populars from the looks of it. This doesn't sit well when you're up against such a hard hitting team such as Tucker's.

    Tucker's team is feeling pretty confident by the time their last player is up to bat, which would be Xalale. Tucker hands him the bat and sneers at Zöe, who is actually a pretty aggressive pitcher.

    I'm actually curious to see how Xalale is with this sport seeing how he's never played baseball before. I've been watching him from the field, and I don't know, but he looks confused as hell about this. And when he's confused, most of the time he becomes frustrated. He clearly is still lost by the time he's up to bat because he doesn't even know how to correctly hold the bat.

    "What are you doing?" Tucker calls out.

    Xalale doesn't seem to know what to correct about how he's holding it. He's not properly gripping it by the base and over his shoulder.

    "Hold it by the bottom." Clifford cries out from the field.

    He's still not getting it. He's not holding it from the bottom and his position is all wrong. They can call out corrections all they want, but he's just not understanding.

    "We haven't got all day." Sydney groans, standing up.

    "Yeah." Zöe cries annoyed.

     Tucker sighs, taking off his baseball cap and going to assist Xalale.

     "Good grief, where'd you say you were from?" He grumbles, taking the bat from him. "Clifford said something about Pennsylvania or Transylvania was it?"

    "Now," He places the head of the bat on the ground and demonstrates with one of his hands how to hold the handle. "Use your non-dominant hand to grip the handle of the bat, ya see." He lifts up the bat. "See how I'm holding it? You wrap one of your fingers- gee I forget what it's ca-"

    "Your index finger, dummy." Sydney snaps.

    Tucker glares at her a second before looking back at Xalale.

    "Yeah yeah, wrap your index finger around the bottom and place your thumb like this. Next, you use your other hand to hold the handle just above your bottom hand. Make sure your knuckles are aligned and don't grip the bat too hard, just tight enough where it feels nice, alright? Now, here, let me see ya try."

     Handing over the bat, Tucker watches as Xalale mimics the steps shown before. Either Tucker is an awful teacher or Xalale is a very poor visual learner because he still isn't holding the damn thing correct (even I know how to correctly hold a baseball bat for crying out loud). This results in a mixture of frustrated sighs and laughter from both sides.

    Doug leans over next to me and lowers his voice.

   "He's foreign, right?"

   "In ways you couldn't believe." I breathe tiresome.

    We all watch as Tucker takes his cap off again and scratches his hair like a peeved sports coach.

    "Yeah, no," He takes the bat again. "Your form's all off. Now when you got the right handle on the bat, you need to get in this swinging motion like you're about to hit the ball. Make sure your shoulder muscles are all relaxed and your shoulders tilted, like this. Look at my feet, keep 'em looking like this, got it?"

    He hands Xalale the bat again and helps him get into the proper stance.

    "There, just like that."

     Tucker turns and goes back to the sidelines where he rubs his face and mutters something I can't decipher from this distance.

    "Ready?" Zöe calls out getting prepared.

    "Ready," Sydney answers on both her and Xalale's behalf- though, judging from the uneasy look in his eyes, he's not fully there yet.

    Zöe makes the first throw his way, a simple, classic curveball that's somewhat messy on her part, but an open hit for him. Or at least, it should've been.

    Xalale goes for it too early and manages to miss a very clear, easy pitch. Sydney's quick to pick it up and toss it back.

   "Strike one!"

   Tucker merely shakes his head, really looking like a junior version of a professional coach. His right-hand man, Otis, pats him reassuringly on the back.

    Clifford, of course, must add his unnecessary encouragement in- like it's needed.

    "It's okay, she just threw it bad. Focus on the ball." He beams.

    "Fix that stance." Tucker cries from the sidelines.

    Xalale cannot hold a bat if his life depended on it. I'm no expert, but I can definitely tell he's not gripping it right and his footing is off, and if I can notice it, everyone can.

    Zöe goes for a safe fastball as her next pitch, straight and swift. The delay in Xalale's batting is painful to watch. Secondhand embarrassment is setting in real fast for me.

   Tucker clings to the chain link fence, looking vexed, with Otis once again, patting him on the back reassuringly.

    "Strike two!"

    Judging from Libby's nervous lip biting, Doug's low whistle, and Clifford's shaky excuse for encouragement, I can tell I'm not the only one experiencing secondhand embarrassment while watching this. Everyone else seems to find this an amusing spectacle that someone like Xalale can't hit or even tap a baseball.

    "Just focus on the ball," Clifford repeats, weaker now.

    "The goal is to hit the ball," Tucker calls. "Hit, as in make contact with the moving object!"

    I could tell Tucker was desperate for Xalale to hit the ball; the bases are loaded. I can tell Xalale's is getting a little testy due to all this, but he tries to readjust his grip and stance, waiting for Zöe to throw another pitch.

    The last pitch, Zöe gets a wicked gleam in her eye that tells me all I need to know- she's up to no good. I don't know what until the ball's already left her hand and landed in Sydney's glove.

   "Strike three, you're out!"

   Xalale, again, misses miserably, swinging too late to hit anything but startle up the dust at his feet. No one can really blame him for missing that pitch, though- Zöe pitched a wicked forkball.

   "Whoa, whoa, whoa!" Tucker comes from the sidelines with his hands up. "You can't throw a forkball."

    "Who says so?" Sydney declares, squaring up to him.

    "Everyone. You barely caught that yourself. Plus, we agreed to no sneaky pitches and that was number one on the list. A redo is in order."

    I never get why people get so worked up over something as pointless as sports, but this is something that causes the both of them to get red in the face. Sydney eventually sways, though, giving him a smug smirk as she squats down in position again.

   "Fine, I don't care," She shrugs, "Your batter couldn't hit a cannonball so it doesn't matter."

   This ruffles Tucker's feathers and Xalale seems to understand the jab she gave him with that comment. Tucker, in dire want to get a hit, stays to give a little pep talk, I suppose.

    "Our bases are loaded so we kinda need to get a hit, okay. Just watch the ball. Don't swing too early, don't swing too late. Keep your eyes glued to the ball. Get it, got it, good."

    Tucker shakes his head as he walks back to the sidelines, where even Otis is looking a little worried.

    It's his last chance to redeem himself and I can tell he's really trying to stay focus. It happens so fast, I can barely keep up.

    Zöe pitches a regular fastball, Xalale is delayed in swinging, and the defeating sound of the ball hitting impact with Sydney's catcher mitt is almost as defeating as the call out.

   "Strike three, you're out! Change sides!"

   It's pretty bad when you get up to bat and strike out, it's even worse when you get four chances to hit and never even come close to getting in contact with the ball. I can really feel for Xalale- it must be a complete slap in the face.

    Tucker's groans of frustration are matched by his entire team's, who spread out in the outfield, dragging their feet and tossing glares at Xalale the entire time. Sydney's side only adds insult to injury by their jeers and laughs. On the sidelines, the team is giving Clifford a hard time.

   "I thought you said he was good at things," Annabelle mocks. "He can't even hit a fastball."

    Clifford has his hands shoved in his pockets with a slightly embarrassed expression on his face.

    "He is, I swear he is. He was just new to it and all."

    "Yeah, right." She flips her hair dismissing him.

    I can tell Clifford's embarrassed by this because he must've spoken highly of Xalale and when Xalale can't even hit a baseball or even hold a bat correctly, it makes Clifford look like a fool.

    Waiting my turn to bat, I watch from the sidelines Xalale standing as far back in the outfield as possible, not even paying attention to the game at hand.

    I'm crossing my fingers that I don't have to bat, and fortunately I don't (I'm wearing sandals for Christ's sake). Like I mentioned, Sydney's team is made up mostly of the popular kids, not the athletically gifted ones, so we get three outs pretty quickly before the bat can come to me. We're back out in the outfield trailing behind on the scoreboard.

    While we're switching sides, I meet Xalale halfway, stopping him to put some wind back in his sails after that disaster.

    "Hey, don't stress about this, alright. It's just a game of baseball, nothing major."

    "I am aware of that, but are they." He growls, talking about his team.

     I roll my eyes.

    "Don't let those elementary school kids wear you down, they barely know how to spell their own name. If you have to bat again, and I think you might have to, just try to hit it at me. Time yourself and don't grip the bat too hard."

    He still seems irritated, but more prepared, so we split and I head to the outfield, lingering near first base, while he gets in the back of the line on the sideline.

    Tucker's team, again, is kicking our butts. They load and empty the bases like it's nobody's business. Sydney screams, till her face is red, for us to get our heads in the game and we try, but it does no good. Popularity is no match for athleticism.

    My main attention is focused on Xalale, though, and I wait anxiously for his turn around. It does come like I predicted and the moment he steps up to bat, there are groans and giggles alike coming from both teams.

    Tucker's already taking off his cap, rubbing his face in discouragement.

    "We might as well switch sides already!" Someone shouts from the sidelines.

    He, of course, holds the bat the wrong way again, Sydney, this time, correcting him, seeing how Tucker already has his back to the game, moaning.

   "The bases are full, why do they have to be full?"

    Glancing over at Clifford, I can tell even he's clammed up, just trying not to be the odd one out cheering for the apparent underdog. Doug's watching, shielding his face from the sun, Libby is staring, absentmindedly fiddling with her curly strands of hair.

   We're all collectively holding our breath as Zöe winds up for the first pitch. It's a fastball that whizzes straight into Sydney's mitt, missing Xalale's early swing.

   "Strike one!"

   After that, everyone releases their anticipating breath and chuckles. Immediately, the players in the outfield throw in the towel and instead begin to quietly chat amongst each other, ignoring the game. The players on the sidelines slump against the fence in defeat, waiting to switch sides already. It seems only me and half-hearted Clifford seem to pay any mind to the play going on.

    I can sense that bit of confidence he had has flown out the window. I know what it feels like to be the underdog when no one has any faith in your ability to do it, when no one's paying any attention because they expect nothing of you. But I also know the feeling of being encouraged by one person's cheer, even if it was only one person cheering me on. The least I can do is step outside my comfort zone and share that feeling.

   So before Zöe pitches the next ball, I cup my hands over my mouth and call out,

   "Readjust the bat and loosen your grip. Relax, you got this."

    He glances my way for a moment then focuses on the pitcher again, taking my corrections and relaxing his grip on the bat.

   Tucker now seems to be somewhat invested again, though nervously. His face is wracked with worry and frustration as does his tense body language.

   Zöe goes with another fastball, straight towards him, but he's late- not extremely so, but delayed nonetheless.

   I suck in a sharp breath but continue to cross my fingers in hope.

   "You're killin' me, Smalls!"

    Tucker looks fit to be tied, the desperation on his face is so real; it's sad to think that a baseball game means this much to him.

    Xalale, of course, doesn't get the reference- though many of the others do- and instead glances at me again.

   "Time yourself. Go for it when it feels right." I call.

   Looking back to hit, he relaxes his grip and muscles once again, ready to hit the ball- hopefully.

   I'm practically praying to God. I'm praying to God about baseball, of all things (and it's not even my turn to bat)!

   The next pitch, a nasty curveball. Swift and uniformed- a textbook example of the perfect curveball.

    The breath is stuck in my lungs, my eyes glued to the action. The sound that knocks the breath out of my lungs is the echoing ring of an object hitting wood.

    The players in the outfield don't know what hit them- they don't even know what happened until Tucker begins screaming like a madman.

   "You better run before I run for you!"

   The players on the base are even a bit thrown off and delayed in hurrying to make it to home base where Xalale, apparently, is still confused about what to do after he's hit the ball.

    "Xalale, run to the bases!" I holler from my spot.

    My team is scrambling to jump into action now. Their butterfingers can't even pick up the ball without running into each other- they're like chickens with their heads chopped off.

    Xalale is still not running, confused, though his whole team is yelling for him to round the bases (he probably doesn't know what that means).

   "Run around the bases!" Clifford cries out.

    From the umpire spot, Sydney is screaming like a lunatic till her face is dark crimson. I'm half afraid she'll pass out.

   "Get the ball you morons! He hasn't even left starting base! You idiots!"

    She also lets a few curse words fly. She's definitely serious about her sports, that's for sure.

    As if just realizing what we're talking about, he takes off for first base. He hesitates for a moment at first, but I point urgently to second base.

   "Keep going, keep going until you make to where you started."

   He continues onto to second, uninterrupted due to my frazzled team trying to pass the ball to one another, but failing. Doug trips, letting the ball rolling away from second base, which Xalale passes with ease.

    Sydney is about done with us, wild-eyed and furious, she storms out into the field to get the ball herself.

   "Move out the way! Let me do it you ding dongs!"

   From the screaming, raving kids on the sideline to the cursing umpire our small game has drawn more than a few eyes. People are watching, intently seeing how this edge-of-your-seat game is going to end.

    Xalale has just reached third base- Tucker now raving like a madman from the sidelines- but I spot Sydney with a hellbent gleam in her eye and ball in her hand determined to get him out. She's a quick, stealthy thing herself and her aim is exceptional, which worries me as she's nearing second base, her arm raised, ready to throw.

   "Keep going!" I cry.

   He's so close to home base, it's almost in the bag, but then I see the familiar dusty sphere shaped object whirling through the air, fast and far, towards him.

    "Skid into home!" Tucker shouts, jumping up and down.

    I've probably never- or with ever be- this hooked into a game. This is a bite-your-nails-till-they-bleed type of game. The last few moments are the most anxiety filled.

    The ball is cutting through the air, high and fast, it's so close to hitting him- it nearly taps the nape of his neck. Through the dust clouds, I can tell his foot is on home base. The ball crashes into the chainlink fence, bouncing off and rolling into the nearby grass.

    He's safe.

    Sydney's curses and lamination are overshadowed by Tucker's cries of joy. I've never seen a kid so lit up with joy when it's not Christmas time. He's ecstatic as is his team.

   "Thank you God!"

    He races over to Xalale, who's seeming more concerned and annoyed about the dust stains on his jeans. Otis bounds after him.

   "That was great! They didn't even know what hit 'em. What's your name, by the way? Clifford said something like it being Ax or-"

   "It's Axel," Clifford beams proudly, joining them. "And see, I told you he could do just about anything."

   "I woulda believed you earlier, but he wasn't acting like he could do everything," Otis claims.

   "He was just pretending," Clifford shrugs off. "Right Axel? You were just acting like you were bad at baseball."

   Xalale is barely paying attention to the three of them, too busy brushing the dust off himself.

   "Hm."

    "See," Clifford says.

    I roll my eyes. He knows just as well as I do that Xalale truly didn't know how to play baseball properly. I smile and brush it off, wandering towards the edge of the field since Sydney seems to have thrown in the towel and played the sore loser.

    The onlookers disperse back to their family picnics and gatherings, while some of the kids race to the playground or hang out in the field. Clifford, Otis, and Tucker hang around Xalale, apparently having nothing better to do.

    I find it ironic out he seems to attract children's attention even though he's never looking for it. Children must be attracted to mysterious people. The more mystery you seem to possess, the more they want to hang around you.

   As I wander to the edge of the park about to sit down on a bench, someone behind me calls my name.

   "Mallory! Hey."

   Twisting around, the startle expression fades from my face the moment I realize who it is that's calling me.

   "Hey, Ruthford." I scoot over, inviting him to join me.

    He does so in his usual awkward manner, accidentally sitting on my lap before jumping up like he burned himself, his face flushing.

   "Sorry," He mumbles, taking a seat.

   "It's cool."

    We stare out at the lively park with its families and children scattering about. This is a common theme between the two of us- awkwardness- but it's beginning to feel normal like all conversations start like this.

    Suddenly, I remember how rocky our last goodbye was and the weird drift that came as a result. I turn to look at him fully, not knowing how exactly to begin, but once he notices and gives me a curious big eyed, questioning look, I know I have to say something.

   "So we're fine, right?"

   "Huh?"

    "Probably not the best way to start, Mal." Trying again.

   "I mean, we're cool, the two of us, right?" I give a small, somewhat insecure smile.

    The baffled look on his face tells it all.

    Finally, I sigh a bit and jump to the point.

    "About last time, when we were hanging out. I'm sorry if I said something that might have offended you- like bringing up your mother. I really didn't know and I felt stupid after bringing it up-"

   He cuts me off with a wave of his hand and a mousy smile that read no sign of taking offense to anything I've said or done.

   "You don't need to apologize, nothing you did was wrong," His smile falters a little and doesn't fully recover. His voice also drops in confidence and volume. "Did something I do make you think we weren't, um, cool?"

   "I mean," I pause, taking a moment of consideration. "No, it might have just been me. Yeah, no, it was just me. I overthink and over-analyze a lot."

   I chuckle just to brush it off and relieve some of the uncertainties. He follows with a crackled chuckle of his own, but the awkwardness increases, so we simply sit there like idiots smiling- unconvincing, reassuring smiles- at each other.

    "Well one of us has to end this."

   Knowing Ruthford, it's probably best if I take the initiative, so I do, getting up from the bench, glancing towards the playground area then back at him.

   "So, I gotta go, but it was nice seeing you," Ugh, that sounded so clichéd. "I'll be seeing you."

   "Oh, yeah, okay. I mean- yeah, bye."

    Giving a small wave and smile over my shoulder, I head towards the playground.

    It's the weirdest thing between the two of us. Every time I think everything's going fine, the meeting always ends on uncertain terms. Almost like the relation between me and Xalale, yet different, but not really.

   "Go figure."