“My pasta,” he says sadly.
I glance at the pan filled with burnt noodles. “I think you’re missing water. And a pot.”
“What’s this?” Todd asks, nudging the metal handle of the sauce pan.
“A…pan?”
He squints. “There’s a difference?”
Honestly, I’m not sure. “Want me to call for food?”
“You’re the best,” Todd says, petting my head like I’m a cat. “Thanks, bae.”
I sigh heavily. “You’re extremely lucky I don’t have claws.”
His nose crinkles, and I have to resist the impulse to boop.
As Todd scrapes his failed pasta into the trash, I call for culinary reinforcements. The pizza arrives after a horrendously long wait, and Todd and I retreat to his room so none of our housemates try to mooch any of our slices.
“So what’s up with Library Guy?” Todd asks, his mouth full.
I watch in horror as Todd proceeds to eat the crust of his pizza first, leaving him without a proper handhold. No matter how many times I’ve witnessed the spectacle, it never computes. “Uh…what do you mean?”
He shrugs. “Do you like him or hate him? Because I’m kinda getting mixed signals.”
“Can’t it be both?”
“Can it?” Todd asks, a genuine question.
I huff. “I don’t know, Todd. He’s hot, okay? And for some reason, he can quote 19th-century poets. Do you know how ridiculously attractive that is?”
Todd blinks in response, which I take to meanno.
“And I think he might be bi. Or gay. Because he’s being far too nice to me for it not to mean anything.”
Todd slows his chewing. “He can’t be nice without there being an ulterior motive?”
I wince as I realize how that came off. “That’s not what I mean. He’s…flirting, I think. There’s a difference. He said he wouldn’t mount me on his wall, but that’snotwhat it sounded like.”
“I…don’t understand flirting.”
“I know,” I tell my friend, grimacing as a pepperoni falls off his pizza. Todd peels it off his flat stomach and pops it into his mouth. “I just…don’t want to likeanyoneright now.”
“I might not know a lot about this stuff, but I don’t think you get to pick who you fall in love with.”
I nearly choke on my food. “Who said anything aboutlove?”
“Me,” he answers. “Just now.”
I groan, desperately needing a topic change. “How’s your research coming along for, uh… What is it again?”
Todd hums. “Using adenoviral vector-mediated Flt3 ligand gene therapy for the treatment of glioblastoma multiforme.”
I stare at my best friend for a good long minute. “How are you real?”
“I dunno, man. Existentialism is your forte, not mine.”
“Oh myGod,” I moan, wondering how in the world my friend, the same one who can’t even boil water, is currently attempting to cure cancer while my biggest battle is fighting a maybe-crush on a guy who doesn’t even know my name.
