Free Shuffle, Repeat by Jen Klein

“There’s an Oliver Flagg
thing
?”
    “Hush. I’m on a roll here. So you’re attractive and we can both admit that, but since I am not personally attracted to you, it makes this friendship thing between us something that is manageable. More than manageable. It’s
desirable,
because you can fulfill a role that no one else in my life does. You can give me the straight male honest take on things.” Oliver waits until I flutter my fingers at him. “Okay, now it’s your turn.”
    He makes a very solemn face. “You should know that there is one thing I will not do and one place I cannot go.”
    “What?” I’m a little worried about what he might say.
    “If you ever—and I mean
ever
—ask me if you look fat in a particular article of clothing, it’s a deal breaker.”
    I laugh and he smiles along with me. “Agreed. I promise to never ask you that. We need to draw the line somewhere.”
    “How about this,” says Oliver. “How about we draw the boundary at truth in general. If you have a stupid fight with Itch or if you spill pizza on your shirt or get spinach stuck in your teeth or have toilet paper stuck to your shoe, I will absolutely tell you.”
    “How come I’m such a hot mess in this scenario?”
    He holds up a finger. “Still my turn.”
    “Sorry.”
    “If I ever edge too far into douchey locker room territory, you will tell me.”
    “You mean if you act like Theo?”
    Oliver smiles. “Yeah. If I act like Theo.”
    “All honesty, all the time. I like it.” I thrust a hand toward him. “Let’s shake on it. I mean, when we come to a safe stop at an intersection, of course.”
    Oliver shakes his head. “Too corporate. Let’s fist-bump.”
    “Hitting awfully close to locker room territory already,” I tell him, but I hold out a fist and he gives it a gentle tap with his own.
    “Friends with honesty,” he says.
    “Friends with honesty,” I answer, wondering how our social circles are going to react to this strange new arrangement.
    He slides me a sideways glance. “Tell me more about this Oliver Flagg
thing.
”
    “Shut up.”
    But as we head into the parking lot, I realize there’s a thought jostling to move to the top of my brain—a thought that I keep trying to flick back into the subconscious shadows. When I pull my jacket tighter and exit the car, I have to acknowledge it, because it’s right
there,
trying to escape to the surface.
    It’s a piece of the conversation we just had. A piece that keeps repeating over and over in the playlist of my mind.
    It’s the part when Oliver told me in no uncertain terms that he does not, in fact, find me shockingly unattractive.
    I know, I know.
    High praise, indeed.
    • • •
    “Frankly, I’m shocked,” Shaun tells me as we push our way through the main lobby.
    “Stop it. It’s not
that
shocking.”
    “ ‘Inane,’ you’ve called them.” He holds open one of the doors for me to walk through. “ ‘Ludicrous.’ ‘Gratuitous.’ ”
    “All right, all right. So I haven’t always been awash in compliments. Cut me some slack.”
    “ ‘A parade of hormonal insecurity swathed in violence and unnecessary ceremony.’ ” Shaun says it with air quotes and all.
    “A girl’s allowed to change her mind,” I tell him. “Especially about something as insubstantial as football. Will you be my date on Friday?”
    Shaun makes a big show of considering it, but of course he says yes. “Only because Kirk’s not around.”
    “How’s that going, anyway?” We round the corner of the school and head toward the parking lot. “Have you talked to him?”
    “Only every day,” Shaun says. “I don’t screw around when I’m in love.”
    After that, I go quiet.

I have a new tactic to allay the agony of Oliver’s horrendous music: conversation. I’ve discovered that if we talk on the way to school, he turns the music down low, so I can barely hear the atrocity (two songs to my one that is currently on the playlist).
    “You’re