m-s-knarp

[m-s-knarp]

I'm the coolest motherfucker on the team.

Okay, sure, it's not too high of a bar to cross when by "team" you mean "group of six 6th graders huddled on one side of the chess club room to finish their assigned task of designing a chess set". Still. Objectively, anyone who knows me would say the same.

I've got it all: ✓ I swear (see: first line). ✓ I raise my middle finger at my parents when they piss me off. (They're usually already walking away, so they never get to see it in time.) ✓ I wear dark clothes. (Yeah, I'm a girl, and I HATE pink!) ✓ I have friends on the internet. (Most people I know don't even have computers.) ✓ I have the brawns. (I'm really good at table tennis. I just don't like playing other sports, but I'd probably be really good too.) ✓ I have the brains. (As you've astutely observed, I'm in the chess club. AND I used an 8th grade word.) ✓ And most importantly, I don't care what anyone thinks.

I mean, I'm basically perfect.

So when Polly -- the only other girl in the circle we've formed around our pile of construction paper, glue, and glitter -- is this slow, ignorant, childish, and, well, honestly average-looking at best girly girl, but still having everyone fawn over her…

Lame. I subconsciously make a face at her as she carefully slides the glue stick over a purple square one of the boys cut from our pack of multicolored paper. She glances up at me for a moment, looks down, and back at me again. I can't blame her, I mean I'm--

"Hehe," Polly puts a fist over her lips and giggles.

As the other members in our group turn their heads toward me, I realize my face is contorted in a way that's simply uncool.

10 milliseconds in, I think: "Shit."

Another 30 milliseconds after: my face goes back to resting position.

The remaining 20 milliseconds before a second has passed: "Alright. I'm fast. I'm safe."

I was not fast. I was not safe.

One of the boys snorted when he saw my expression.

"Hey, it's one of them tengu masks we saw in class the other day!" He so very kindly commented.

Great. This bitch. But I can't let them see I'm fazed. I'm not. I'm cool, after all.

"Shut up!" I snapped at the boy. There was a slight crack, both in my voice and in between my lips, as a little bit of dribble escaped my mouth and landed on my knee. It's over.

I quickly wiped it away with my black hoodie sleeve, but once again I was too slow, evidently, as another boy started wheezing. Maybe today's just not my day, but even if I conclude the situation like a mature adult in my head, my heart just continued pumping blood into my face faster. Fuck tengus, and fuck the teacher who decided eastern culture was something we needed to learn about. (I don't actually mean it. Anime is SO awesome. Too bad it's too cool for anyone in this city.)

I stood up and walked away, but not without saying my signature phrase.

"Wh-- Whatever."

Nailed it. Barely.

I sat in the bathroom stall, waiting for time to pass by. I'm not returning to that ugly nerd den. My mom didn't let me get a touchscreen phone yet, so I took my blue pen out of my pocket and started scribbling on my arm.

I forgot to mention that I'm artistic too. You can tell because I can draw eyes that look pretty much realistic. Like I said, total package.

I was halfway into drawing 4 stickmen about to have an epic spear battle when I heard the main bathroom door open and creak shut.

"Lizzy?" A dumb sweet voice called out. Idiot. Stupid. God, I hate her.

I stay quiet for a second, but I realize how embarrassed I might look if she found out I was here and just didn't respond. Fine. You want to play this game. I assure you, you can't make me look more moronic than you. My heart beats a little quicker as I reach for the lock to slide it open.

"It's Eli, dumbass," I said, opening the stall door and reemerging from the shadows cast by the walls. "No one calls me that."

If anyone else saw me just then, they'd forget all about the dumpster fire mess from earlier and start wondering again what color the motorcycle I most likely have is. (It would be black with red flames, of course.)

When I looked down at this short, meek, and rabbit-resembling girl, she shook. Tears had obviously already began to form in her eyes at just the thought of being in my presence. Yeah, that's right, I'm a terrifying force. Don't fuck with me.

Yet the tengu comparisons would die out by now, very quickly, as my face turned from dark red to pale peach. Why is she crying? I don't wanna get in trouble with the teachers.

"Sorry," she started, and then looked down. She was clearly choosing her next words very carefully. "I also want to apologize for earlier. I thought you were trying to make me laugh to trip me up."

She started picking at one of her perfectly manicured nails. "It worked."

Yeah, right. She's always been graceful, talented, and neat. Even if it was my intention, which unfortunately it wasn't, it wouldn't have done jack shit. Or would have done? I've gotta Google how to use that phrase later.

I snap out of it and look at her again. "Whatever."

Polly quickly jolts her head up again and locks her widened eyes with me.

"Wait, did you draw that?" She points at one of the scribbles on my arm. It's a simple drawing of Reborn from hit anime series, "Katekyou Hitman Reborn!" which means "Hitman Tutor Reborn". I think. That's what the comment on Part 3 of Episode 2 on Youtube said. And then he said something in Spanish.

"Yeah, it's from this anime," I smirked. "You've probably never heard of anime before." Honestly, for a moment, I felt excited, it sounded like she recognized it, but…what are the odds. Ah, there's the familiar pang. Even if I show her even just a screenshot of the anime, she's gonna call it a cartoon and go back to her perfect little bubble. The disrespect.

"Are you talking about Reborn?"

…

I searched her face for any indication of a prank. Or a single lie. Her? Is this really possible?

Yes. She's for real.

For nearly 2 years, I could talk to only my online BFFs on Facebook and Skype about my favorite anime. I had no one to talk about the newest seasonal series or use -chan with. Not even someone to eat cup noodles and pretend to be Naruto with. All of a sudden, here's someone I can talk to about senpais, cherry blossoms, and beautiful moons.

Alright.

Fine.

I give in.

Whatever.

Maybe she's a little cool after all.

[m-s-knarp]

Mission Specialist Knarp - PROFILE [CLASSIFIED]

Name: ███ Knarp Age: ██ Place of birth: ██████ Date of launch: 200█

Additional notes: As of 202█, inconsistently filling the shuttle walls with writing -- remarks, stories, poetry. Occasionally sends Mission Control images and emails of said writing and asking our correspondents, top engineers, and administrative staff what they think. Heat signature seems to disappear from detection often. Sharpie supply unknown.

DO NOT ██████.