I had a natural urge to tell him to butt out. Instead, I lied.
"Laundry," I said, "and then I have to study for the Trigganomics or I'mma fail, if you know what I mean!"
Mike looked confused. The only thing he looked absolutely certain about was the fact that he was angry. "Is Cullen helping you study?"
"Fredward," I emphasized, "is not going to help me study, as a matter of fact. In fact, I'm actually good at Trigganomics, even if you don't want to believe it. I'm probably better than he is, actually." The lies came more naturally than usual, I noted with surprise.
"Oh." He perked up. "You know, you could come to the dance with our group anyway—that would be coooool. We'd all dance with you," he promised, biting his lip and holding his hand tightly around his so-called 'package.'
The mental image of Jessica's crying face, which I swear I saw on his crotch, was even more grotesque than usual, and made my tone sharper than necessary.
"Mike, I'm not going to the dance, Mike, okay?" I blurted.
"Fine." He sulked again. "I was just offering."
"Offering what?" I replied, before I could even think about what I was saying. "Offering me a bite of your tiny gay dick?"
When that conversation finally ended, I walked to the parking lot. I found that I wasn't feeling very enthusiastic about my inevitable walk home. I wasn't really expecting Fredward to find my keys, and I somehow didn't see him carrying it down the highway into the parking lot. Then again, I was starting believe that nothing was impossible for him, so maybe I wouldn't have to walk home after all...
The latter instinct proved correct—my truck sat in the same space he'd parked his Volvo car this morning. I shook my head, incredulous as I opened the unlocked door and saw the key in the ignition.
There was a piece of white paper folded on my seat. What could this be? I got in the truck, shut the truck doors, and got settled in the truck before I unfolded it.269 Two words were written in his elegant script.
269. The note, not the truck.