Jim’s a freshmen in high school. His favourite class is his biology class with his friend Gene, and his favourite snack is apples with peanut butter. These are fact, these are the things Jim knows are true. They don’t question his ability to think, move; they don’t make him wonder, they are solid, indisputably true.
Plank is not.
He is a curiosity with grunted words, quiet glances and eyebrow raises. These uncertainties, the questionable hypothesis of what is, what will be, are all thrown into negative space to float around until Jim gets a solid answer. If he gets the nerve to ask for a solid answer, to a question Jim’s not sure of either. And as his teacher pipes up about their next biology test, Jim wonders, does he like Plank?
“So how’d your date go with Peter?” Gene hushed as the class opened up their textbooks. Jim looked around, delayed and distracted, opening his book to the page Gene was looking at.
“Peter?” Jim grimaced. Who was- “You mean Plank?”
“Yeah Plank,” Gene shrugged. Not looking at Jim as she spoke, “Did you kiss him?”