I sneak into a tight alleyway between Gigo's Pizzeria and Mr. Barry's Hardware Store, slightly banging my head on the brick wall. Frustrated, I start smacking my forehead several times and muttering, "Stupid Slate!" over and over. My internal thoughts are knocking me down. I can't believe I messed up this special moment between me and Lily. I truly don't fully grasp the depth of why she's so upset about Abigail. It's just a dare, right? And now, seeing the very person Lily might be jealous of is crashing our already messed-up apology date, I'm hoping... I'm praying Lily won't do anything foolish. Though, let's be honest, the biggest fool in this scenario is definitely me. I saw how Otto was about to mess it up with Abigail. If messing up with my date has to prove a point, so be it.

I need something to calm me down; I know someone who can help. I suddenly pull out my phone and text Jake.

Need your advice, bro! Now!

As I wait for his response, I lean my head back, still swallowing the sorrow of my pity. And luckily, I hear that familiar jingle.

Jake: I thought you and Lil were smooching right about now. ;D

Me: No, it's worse...

Jake: Oh no, what happened now?

Me: Remember, I told you back at school about me putting Abigail and Otto together.

Jake: I heard Otto is out and about, you did good.

Me: Yeah, I arranged them to have a date... at Gigo's.

Jake: WAIT! WHAT?! Then he goes on and puts out two double-eye emojis. ...Ain't you and Lil are...

I go on to reply with a thumbs up and a depressing face emoji. Knowing Jake, I can't imagine what is toiling inside his sarcastic mind.

Jake: Dude!!

Me: DUDE!!!!!

Jake: DUDE!!!!!!!!!!!! YOU DID NOT!!!

Me: Stupid Slate did it again.

Jake: Don't you mean, stupid matchmaker.

Me: Whatever, bro, I need help. What is your best advice? How am I going to fix this? His reply is almost immediate.

Jake: This isn't a matchmaking fix. This is a boyfriend fix. That's it. Enjoy... the double date, Romeo ;)

I sigh, knowing he's right. This is a boyfriend fix, not the matchmaking fix. I've got to make my girl happy. Either she goes wild on me...on Abigail...or just leaves regardless. After a minute of recollecting myself, I walk out of the alleyway and back to the pizzeria's entrance. I need to impress Lily, keep her interested in staying without upsetting Otto in the process. Shucks, that's why Abigail isn't here. Hopefully, she does come. At least she knows a meteor crash when she sees one.

When I spot Lily and Otto talking by the maroon-colored lobby seat, Otto, like a well-mannered young man, allows me to sit next to Lily. He goes on to move to a separate chair, wringing his hands nervously.

"Lil, I'm sorry," I try to apologize.

She doesn't seem to take it. "Isn't this whole date supposed to be the apology date?"

"It still is," I understand her frustration. "I never intended to hurt you."

"I'm not hurt, Slate," She says, her voice tinged with exhaustion. "I'm just tired of being pushed out."

I reach for her hands, rubbing them smoothly. "I'm not pushing you out, Lil. I care about you and our relationship. I'm not sacrificing it for anything."

She ponders for a moment. "How about someone?"

"What do you mean?" I ponder confusedly.

Trying to retort something that will convince her there's nothing going on between me and any other girl—the only girl I care about is the one I'm trying to keep from leaving this place—but when I attempt to usher a syllable, Abigail makes a stunning appearance. Unlike her usual mismatched street clothes, she's wearing a nice long-sleeve sweatshirt and a long skirt that actually looks attractive. Lily looks a bit jealous, which I can't understand why she feels this way. Otto notices Abigail and is very surprised, and cautiously excited, smirking.

"You look nice, Abbie."

"Thanks," She tries to smirk back, a hint of uncertainty in her expression.

He then gets up and gives her the small bouquet he has been clinging to for a while now. Abigail doesn't know what to do but takes it with some minor stride. She stares at me, probably wondering what I've put her through. I thought this would help get her out of her comfort zone, but seeing this, I realize this may not be her typical environment.

A smooth-walking host approaches the lobby, "Is this the Wilcox party?"

I slowly acknowledge it, putting my hand up, which infuriates Lily. She still can't stand the fact this is a 'group party' and not a true date she has been begging us to have. The host soon signals us to follow him as he escorts us through the front house area, passing several tables and the long station to our left. He eventually brings us to a far window booth right close to the back side where the restrooms lie. Lily barely wants to talk to me and doesn't want to sit anywhere near Abigail. As Abigail takes the side facing the wall while close to the window, Otto sits beside her. On the opposite side facing the front area, I allow Lily to sit towards the window side but she pointedly avoids looking at Abigail—forced to be facing her. I would love to exchange spots, but I worry her jealousy could grow if I keep staring directly at Abbie and not her. So, I take the edge seat, starting at Otto, and I can tell he's not looking good.

"Otto, you okay, man?"

Lily and Abigail both notice. Lily feels more concern than Abigail, who is technically staring at the window.

"Otto?!" Lily worries.

"I... I... I'm good," He replies, trying to show a brave face, wringing his hands beneath the table. Yet he continues to look a bit pale.

Great, I've got a girlfriend who doesn't want to look at me and suspects I'm cheating on her. Then there's the freaked-out geek who is seconds away from having a massive anxiety attack. And of course, the offshoot alien girl so entranced by what's up there in the night sky than what's around here. I'm just so lucky to be around the most interesting group in the pizzeria. The silence at our booth feels thick with unspoken tension.

Before we can really get comfortable, I notice Otto. His face is getting paler, sweat starts to bead on his forehead. It's not that hot in here, but something is definitely not right. Suddenly, he begins to freak out, having what could be a panic attack.

"Sorry," He blurts out, and then without warning, he quickly gets up and rushes to the back, his movements jerky and panicked.

Looking back at the girls, Lily appears to be perturbed, though she's also glancing at her phone. Abigail still doesn't seem very concerned for her "date." She continues to gaze upon the night sky. Unsure what's out there, I'm more worried about Otto.

"Are you going to see what's wrong with Otto?" Lily finally talks to me, her tone laced with a hint of annoyance.

I nod as I get up to head to the back. Not seeing him close by, he must be in the Men's restroom. Heading inside, seeing how clean the area is with its one stall and one urinal, Otto is over by the table, staring at himself in the glass, doing some breathing exercises. I approach him, trying to give him that much-needed solace.

"I know how freaked out you are, man."

"You don't!" He says with his hands trembling as he tries to readjust his eyeglasses, still catching his breath.

"Listen, I know this is new to you."

"You think I can't date?"

I look at him baffled. "Have you ever been on a date before?"

I can tell he wants to say yes, but just looking at him, I can tell he's a rookie. The most awkward rookie I have encountered, but I need him motivated. I need him to keep Abigail happy... albeit distracted.

This has to go right for all of us. I try to convince him this isn't just about him possibly being Prom Prince. "Listen, Otto, I need you to go out there and be that date Abigail never expected."

"I just can't."

"You can. Besides, the more you're with her, the freer time I have to spend with Lily."

Otto looks back at me, his eyebrow raised with some minor concern.

"We both need to make our girls happy, right...right!?"

He slowly leans his head back to me, not getting a clear reaction out of him.

"Just watch me and Lily," I remind him, helping him breathe in and out.

Hoping this trick could work, I lay my hand over Otto's heart. "I need you not just to breathe but clear out the stress." Reminiscing the words Coach Thompson has taught me and my fellow teammates, his famous words of detoxing stress, I mention to Otto those exact same encouraging words.

"What you see is purely the mitt, no batter, no bat, no umpire. Let your catcher grab your stress. Paint the ball as your stress and pitch it away."

Otto slowly nods, calming down, taking the words in.

"Imagine this is a game, and you—not me—are the starting pitcher."

"Okay?!"

"You go out there and land that no-hitter."

"Not fully understanding the reference, I think I got it," Otto nods again, not fully comprehending the sport references. Nonetheless, he begins to feel a bit more composed—a lot more than a few minutes ago. "Thank you."

"Good," I say, "I trust you, Otto. You got this." I wink, patting his back once again.

As we exit the men's restroom, we walk back to the table. Lily has been perched up, so buried in her phone, most likely texting Megan, her thumbs flying across the screen. Abigail is still leaning her head on the window, her endless gazing like she's communing with distant galaxies. There's something about her that's really odd yet intriguing. Maybe in some interesting way, I want to know more about her world. But I snap out of it and rely on Otto to sweep her off her feet. Suddenly, for about ten minutes, there's been nothing but silence between all of us. The silence may very well be the most memorable thing about this evening.

Seeing something has to give, I make the move and hit Otto's leg below the table. He reacts to the slight pain and glances at me. Nodding my head slightly towards Abigail's direction, I whisper to him.

"Talk to her."

He nods back gingerly. As he summons whatever strength he has and lets out a giant exhale, I'm trying not to cringe. Desperate to see what Lily is doing, needing to get her back on my side. Yet I first need to see how Otto can make this date between him and Abigail work.

"So, Abigail..." Otto mutters.

"Yeah," She drags out the word, still transfixed on those stars.

"I see you like the stars... so... so..." He starts to stutter a bit. "Do you like Star Wars?"

Leaning back, my hand shoots up to my forehead fast. It's not a gentle press either. It's a full-on, palm-slap-forehead maneuver, the kind that's usually reserved for particularly idiotic moments in bad sitcoms. My fingers splay across my hairline, my thumb digging into the bridge of my nose as I squeeze my eyes shut for a brief, painful second. It's the physical manifestation of my internal groan, a silent scream of social agony.

Star Wars? Seriously, Otto? With a girl who talks about constellations and gravitational forces? It's like asking a marine biologist if they enjoy Finding Nemo.

"I guess so, not really my thing," Abigail responds, her gaze barely flickering from the window.

I can hear a cackle from Lily, though her eyes remain glued to her phone, no doubt sharing this social trainwreck with Megan. Looking back at the most awkward start of a romantic conversation, bless his heart, I appreciate Otto trying. Except that's a massive understatement.

"Maybe I can show you A New Hope, Empire Strikes Back, Revenge of the Sith, Return of the Jedi..."

I bet he's hitting all the wrong notes if he's discussing Star Wars 101 to a girl who is pretty much in a different galaxy far, far away. Abigail is not responding, and Otto is starting to lose that confidence he gained back in the restroom.

"Lil..." I turn to her, begging she talks to me and not her friend. "Lil, please, we need to talk."

Lily doesn't respond quickly, though she does acknowledge me with a brief eye roll before returning to her phone. It's at least something hopeful. This is my last-minute attempt to salvage what remains of a massacre of a night—mostly my fault. Though there is salvation. At last! I can spot a waitress finally approaching our table, ready to take our order.

Taking a massive silent sigh of relief, if silence is what needs to happen, so be it. But I can't sit around in silence and not eat.

"So, are we ready to order? I recommend our special, the Mean Wildstyle."

I turn to the others, to no surprise, they barely are paying attention, lost in each of their personal worlds. I'm the only one who is surveying the long one-page menu, and seeing I need to shake things up, I decide to order for everyone.

"Give us the Big Gi Classic."

"Okay," The waitress scribbles what she needs on her little waiter pad.

The Big Gi Classic should do the trick. It's a large 14" pizza topped with sausages, pepperoni, bell peppers, guacamole, sun-dried tomatoes, and a zesty lime garlic glaze.

"Anything else?" She asks.

Before the order is confirmed, Otto signals the waitress.

"Sorry, but does the Big Gi have any nuts? I have a peanut allergy."

"It doesn't, I promise," The waitress reassures him, smiling. After a few seconds, she goes on to ask about drinks. If any of us have a particular flavor. In which, I just suggest a pitcher of Coke. The waitress takes notice and jots it down, making sure she will be back in a minute with the drink.

As she heads out, I notice Otto doing his best to talk to Abigail. However, she's hesitant, her gaze drifting back to the window. Lily is still focused on her phone, sharing a few more chuckles with Megan. Megan isn't even here, and I can't fathom why she feels like a fifth wheel. Getting really tired of the silence, there must be some sort of normal communication. I need to give a little push and assist Otto.

"Hey, Otto," I continue. "So, Io."

I can see Abigail's gaze veering slowly toward me.

"Io?!" Otto looks befuddled.

"Yeah, Io..." I wink at him.

"Yeah..." He stretches it out. "...Io."

Lily takes a few seconds away from her phone. "What's this about Io? What is Io?"

"Io is Jupiter's innermost big moon! Think of it as the solar system's fiery pizza, constantly erupting with volcanoes," Abigail finally speaks, a flicker of her usual enthusiasm returning.

The image of Io, Abigail's fiery pizza moon, pops into my head.

"Yeah, Io..." I say, trying to lighten the mood, "honestly looks like my Aunt Suzie's Persian cat, Mr. Nibbs's, throw-up balls. All yellow and...chunky."

I can't help but laugh, launching into a slightly exaggerated story about Mr. Nibbs's unfortunate habit of overindulging in hairballs and the surprisingly vibrant colors they sometimes achieved. Lily chuckles, shaking her head at the mental image. Otto, surprisingly, smirks.

"Interesting analogy," He says, adjusting his glasses. "Personally, I've always been more fascinated by Titan. The methane lakes, the dense atmosphere..."

I glance at Lily. She's looking a little overwhelmed by the sudden shift from projectile cat fur to hydrocarbon seas, but she's gamely listening, a polite smile on her face. Abigail, though, is still mostly lost in her window-gazing, a soft smile playing on her lips, her head resting against the cool glass. The dim light from the pizzeria catches the strands of her hair, making them look like a halo around her face.

Then, finally, her attention seems to drift back to our table just as the waitress appears to deliver our pitcher of Coke and four empty glass cups.

"Jupiter is just...immense," She says softly, her voice almost a whisper. "The sheer scale of it, the swirling storms that could swallow planets."

Otto's face lights up. "That's fascinating, Abbie. My brother, Mark, he actually did a painting of the solar system once. His Jupiter was particularly striking, all those turbulent bands of color."

Abigail's eyes widen, a genuine spark of interest igniting in them. She turns her head fully towards Otto, a complete shift in her focus. "Oh really? A painting? What kind was it?"

Otto beams, finally having found a common ground that truly resonates with Abigail. "Well, he's kind of a surrealist. So, the planets had these almost dreamlike qualities, you know? Jupiter's Great Red Spot looked like a giant, swirling eye staring out into space. He even gave the Galilean moons little personalities in the painting."

Abigail leans forward, her earlier stargazing completely forgotten. "Personalities? That's such an interesting interpretation! What kind of personalities did he give them?"

Otto launches into a detailed description of his brother's artistic choices, explaining how he envisioned tempestuous Io, icy and enigmatic Europa, the wise and ancient Ganymede, and the solitary wanderer Callisto. Abigail listens intently, her initial dreamy detachment replaced by an engaged curiosity. She asks insightful questions about the color palettes Mark used and the symbolism behind the moons' "personalities."

Lily and I exchange a subtle glance. It seems Otto has finally found his footing, his nerdy enthusiasm suddenly... charming, in a way. The conversation flows between Abigail and him, a rapid-fire exchange of artistic interpretations and astronomical facts. I lean back in my seat, a small, unexpected sense of relief washing over me. Maybe this disastrous double date hasn't been a complete loss after all. At least someone's having a good time talking about something other than my embarrassing childhood stories or sci-fi nostalgia.

For the first time tonight, Abigail looks genuinely happy, her face animated as she discusses swirling eyes and icy wanderers with the surprisingly articulate Otto. The stars outside the window seem to fade into the background, replaced by the unexpected connection forming across our unrefined little table.

The aroma soon hits us the second the waitress sets the steaming pizza down. Fresh dough, melting cheese, the hot fresh sausages and pepperoni, the melted green strips of red and yellow bell peppers, the succulent guacamole, fresh-baked sun-dried tomatoes, and that unmistakable lime garlic glaze tang. It's pure olfactory bliss. Lily smirks, a knowing look in her eyes that tells me she recognizes my usual order.

"Wait a minute, didn't you..." She looks at me.

"Remember a few months ago? It was Leo's birthday," I smile as I lean over to give her a peck. Hopefully, this pizza keeps things alive as I grab a piece. Without hesitation, I slide the first, perfectly triangular slice onto her plate. "Here you go," I murmur with a smirk.

"Thanks," She smiles softly.

Otto, emboldened by his earlier conversation with Abigail, carefully takes a slice and offers it to her before taking one for himself. Abigail, however, remains still, her gaze fixed on the pizza as if it were some newly discovered astronomical phenomenon. Lily, ever the easygoing one, finally breaks the silence towards her.

"Come on, Abigail," She says gently, a playful lilt in her voice. "It won't bite." The first respectable words she has directed to Abigail.

Otto nods eagerly.

Abigail finally turns to me, a hesitant question in her eyes. It's like she's waiting for my official seal of approval. "Yes, you really should try it. It's good," I assure her with a small smile. "Trust me." Slowly, cautiously, she reaches out and takes a bite. Her eyes widen slightly as she chews, a subtle shift in her expression as she seems to register the new flavors. It's almost endearing, watching her experience something so ordinary with such focused attention.

Just as I begin to eat my slice, Lily leans her head comfortably on my left shoulder, her warmth a familiar—much missed—comfort. I press a bigger kiss to the top of her hair. "This may not be a true date, but let's cherish this," I whisper, my gaze softening as I look at her. She smirks, a hint of amusement in her eyes, and nods her agreement.

Across the table, I see Abigail starting to open up more to Otto. He's still a little awkward, but he's pushing himself to maintain eye contact and speak with a newfound confidence. I can only hope this unexpected detour is the start of something good for them.

Just as a comfortable rhythm settles over our little group, punctuated by the happy sounds of eating, a sudden... CRASH... echoes through the pizzeria.

We all jump, turning towards the commotion. Standing amidst a pile of shattered plates and a spilled pitcher of what looks like red wine is our beloved history teacher and P.E. coach.

"Mr. Charles?!" I ponder flummoxed, a smile slowly forming

His face is a mask of pure mortification as he stands next to a middle-aged woman who must be Mrs. Charles, her hand clapped over her mouth, trying not to laugh or feel ashamed.

"Sorry! Sorry! Sorry!" He mumbles a series of flustered apologies to the nearby customers and to the waiter he clumsily banged into, his ears bright red. Then, his eyes land on our booth, and his expression shifts to something akin to a freaked-out fan spotting a celebrity. He gives us this frantic, wide-eyed wave.

"Students!" He slowly speaks to us, but tries to ease his wife, not wanting to further mortify her.

We all instinctively wave back, a mix of surprise and amusement on our faces. And then, as the absurdity of our stoic, slightly bumbling history teacher causing such a scene sinks in, we all burst into laughter. For some reason, in the midst of our own uncomfortable and unexpected evening, that blundering crash and Mr. Charles's flustered wave are exactly what we all needed.

The tension in the air dissipates, replaced by a shared, genuine moment of levity.