he didn’t care much for parties.
not like jake did, at least.
carl just… followed. it made things easier. being jake’s best friend meant being dragged around the halls like decoration while jake talked to whatever girl wore lip gloss that week. it meant leaning against lockers at house parties, sipping flat soda, waiting to go home.
but then she showed up.
not with glitter eyeshadow or sparkly cheer uniforms—none of that. she was just… herself. quiet. different. bracelets clinking when she reached for your books, rings sliding down her fingers as she twisted them absently. carl noticed that.
he noticed everything.
jake didn’t.
“you’ve been starin’ at her for like, five minutes, man,” he said one day, smacking carl’s arm. “just go say hi or whatever.”
carl blinked, startled, turning back to his notebook. “no.”
“why not?”
“because i don’t want to be weird.”
“bro, you’re already weird.”
and yeah, maybe that was true. he’d walk the long way to class just to see her in the hall. he left a tiny keychain in her locker once—a soft green frog she ended up tying to her bag. he didn’t think she'd notice that it was from him.
but she did.
she turned around one day when he passed her desk and whispered, “it was cute.”
he almost tripped over his own feet.
jake didn’t understand.
he liked loud girls. ones who kissed him between classes. carl liked the way her voice softened when she read. the way she talked to teachers like they were human. the way her hair always seemed so soft.
so when jake leaned over one day and muttered, “i still don’t get it. like… she’s not even that pretty,”
something inside carl snapped.
he didn’t raise his voice. he just stood up and walked away.
they didn’t talk for three days. carl spent lunch under the bleachers with a notebook he didn’t write in. jake tried calling once. carl ignored it.
he only texted back the fourth night. she’s pretty to me.
on friday, carl left a note on her desk. not a love letter. just a paper star he folded from an old math worksheet, with a doodle of your bracelet stack on the back.
she saw it. smiled. tucked it into her pencil case like it meant something.
it did to him.
jake apologized eventually. “i was bein’ a dick,” he said. “you like her. i get it.” carl didn’t say anything. but he sat next to jake at lunch the next day. and when she walked by, carl looked up.
and smiled at her like he meant it.
because he did.