Johnny’s house is basically my second home. Has been for years.

His parents are brilliant—good people, proper hardworking types—but they’re never around much. Always off running the business or whatever it is grown-ups do when they’re not feeding their children. Which means, for most of the week, it’s just Johnny and his little cousin-sister hybrid rattling around the place. And, of course, me.

Not that she wants me here.

No, Johnny’s little cousin-sister hybrid—who, for the record, has a real name, but I won’t use it because she hates when I do—doesn’t want anything to do with me. At all. Not in a I’m too cool for you way, not even in a God, you’re annoying way—because that I could work with. No, she just… doesn’t engage.

Like, fully ignores my existence. Like I’m air.

And I can’t lie, it hurts.

I mean, I’m a delight, aren’t I? Objectively speaking? I’m funny, I’m charming, I’m incredibly good-looking—I bring life into this house. But her? Nah. She just sits there, all quiet and stoic.

I’m not.

But I could be something, if she gave me a chance.

Like, take right now, for example.

Johnny’s in the kitchen, making us tea, and I’m here in the living room, slouched into the corner of the couch, watching her read in silence.

This has been going on for twenty minutes.

Twenty minutes of absolute nothingness.

I’ve tried everything. I slurped my tea obnoxiously loud—nothing. I stretched my legs out dramatically, almost kicked her—still nothing. I sighed, long and suffering, just to see if she’d react—absolutely nothing.

I even said something! Which, in hindsight, was probably a mistake because it was:

“You know, you’d make an excellent monk.”

Nothing. Not even a twitch.

I’m at my wits’ end, lads.

So I do the only thing left: I poke her foot with my big toe.

And I—listen. I could let it go. I should let it go.

But I won’t.

Because I like her, alright? I really like her.