Definitions of Indefinable Things

“I think anything that promises eternal happiness is utter bullshit,” I answered.

He nodded. “I think so too.”

My phone buzzed on the ground, slicing through our wavelength. I read the screen, a prickle of hope, of relief, sprinkling across my skin. Snake’s name was at the top.

I hadn’t talked to him since our episode at the tux place on Monday. He’d probably been moping around in Stage 2 for days, waiting for me to bend or for his willpower to break completely. He wanted me to turn a blind eye, to be willing to encourage his fantasies. The ones where we were getting by on a rope rather than a fine strand that was sure to snap with time. As if his persistence could outlast my commitment to misery.

I didn’t know what to expect when I read his text. I only knew, in typical Snake fashion, it would make me hate him in all the ways that would draw me closer in the end.



I need help with my film. Thought I’d borrow you for a few shots. You interested? (P.S. I’m sorry for everything.)





I didn’t hesitate to text him back and tell him that he, like Dr. Optimism, was full of shit.





Chapter Fifteen


OF ALL THE GODFORSAKEN PLACES I could experience what was sure to be the most mind-numbing afternoon of my existence, it just had to be in the Hawkesbury High parking lot. It was Thursday afternoon, the sun heavy against my pale skin, my exposed arms turning a reddish pink. The parking lot was vacant, since all the students who had lives to live had gone out to do so. Captain of the Lifeless Squad (see: Snake) was adamant about two things in regard to shooting this particular reel of footage for his indie documentary crap fest (see: movie). And I, like the idiot I was slowly becoming, indulged him to a fault.

One, it had to be captured at the epicenter of our lives, where we spent most of our adolescent time, in spite of how little we cared for it, and how little it cared for us.

Two, it had to encapsulate every single aspect of who Snake was as a person, including each individual facet of his life, like the pipes, knobs, and wires that comprise a well-oiled machine.

Translation: He wanted Carla and his ginger squash to be a part of it.

“Tell me where to stand so I can get this over with,” I grunted, folding my arms over my T-shirt in protest.

“You’re good right there.” He squinted behind the camera, half his face scrunched up to reveal only one side of his teeth. “Babe, can you scoot back a step?”

“You’ve lost the privilege to call me babe,” Carla pouted. She took a dramatic step backward, limply clutching a circular reflector in her hands. “And you said you’d do my shot first so I could go home.”

“I was planning on it, until I considered which one of you would cause me more bodily harm if I kept you here too long. Sorry, but Reggie beat you in a landslide victory.”

The red light clicked on, indicating we were rolling. I glared into the camera with more gusto than a celebrity in a DUI mug shot.

Snake peeked at the camera, drawing away to look at me in real time. “The camera still hates you.”

“And I still hate it. This game of who can say the most obvious thing is really quite tiring, isn’t it?”

He laughed. “Okay, so, tell me your name. Age. And worldview.”

My worldview? There was a certain caliber of stupid I expected this film to be, and he was already exceeding my expectations.

I smiled ruefully into the glass lens, watching my own contempt for Snake and all his ridiculous hobbies reflected back at me. “My name’s Reggie. I’m seventeen. My worldview is that we’re all spiraling toward a vast and gaping obscurity we can’t escape, and if we’re lucky, we’re doing so alone. Also, I despise you. And by you, I mean the general human population.”

Carla’s eyes expanded three sizes, gauging Snake’s reaction. And, naturally, he was smirking. It was exactly the response he expected from me. But Carla, who lived on Rainbow Unicorn Island, had no way of knowing we were on a page she just wasn’t on.

“Ohmigod, for real?” she squealed, dropping the reflector to the asphalt. She stepped beside me and fixed her fiery curls. “Give me a turn. I can do so much better than that. No offense, Reggie.”

“If I were any less offended, I’d be dead.” I moved out of her shot and picked up the reflector, purposely standing too close to blow out the hue. She was already ghastly pale. If I made her any whiter, she’d just be pink lips and a giant belly.

She smiled her best Little Miss Flashburn smile. “I’m Carla. I’m seventeen. My worldview is that—”

“Wait,” Snake interrupted. He readjusted the camera to balance it on his shoulder and leaned his head around the mass of metal to look into Carla’s eyes. “I’m doing something different with you.”

She glanced at me, as if I knew where Snake was going with this. He hadn’t told me anything about the plot of his movie apart from the footage I’d already seen. It was basically all The Onslaught and Carla and a smidge of me, which I guess was a fairly accurate depiction of that uselessness he loved so much. I couldn’t be too hard on him. If I were making my own movie, the cast would include myself, Dr. Rachelle, and a shit ton of disappointment.

“Tell me about the most significant thing that’s ever happened to you,” Snake said, moving one foot length closer.

Carla touched her stomach on instinct. “Snake,” she griped, her voice cracking. She was going to cry again. Her constant sobbing was oh so pleasant (see: infuriating). “That’s not fair.”

His face remained hidden behind the camera. “Why not?”

“Because you know I have to say Little Man, or I look like a bad person.”

“Not necessarily. You could say winning Little Miss Flashburn, or getting that autographed Taylor Swift album when you were in New York, or—”

“I can’t say any of that.”

“Because?”

“Because the most significant thing that’s ever happened to me might not have even happened yet.” She rubbed her palm across the top of her stomach, a black tear escaping her eye. “Little Man and I. We have a whole lifetime of possible great things.”

“Don’t forget me,” Snake said.

She blushed. “We wouldn’t forget you.”

Snake pulled the camera away from his face, watching Carla with his sappy, doting, boyfriend eyes. And he wasn’t even her boyfriend anymore. It shouldn’t have bothered me as much as it did, seeing him feel something genuine and real for a girl that he owed a lot to. They were tied to something too big for both of them, and it was logical and factual and right that they would connect differently to each other than they would to anyone else. But just because it made sense didn’t mean it didn’t completely suck.

Carla pressed down on her stomach, her frown twisting to a smile. She jerked her head up to Snake, giggling. “Come here—?you have to feel his foot.”

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