Friends With Benefits

There was one main reason I never really liked Fletch’s birthday. That was because Fletch’s birthday meant there were only three weeks left until the day single people all over the world dread: Valentine’s Day Dance. It was also around the same time they always started announcing ticket sales or the theme for that year’s annual Valentine’s Day Dance. When the announcement came the following Monday morning, I sucked in a breath, wondering if this third year would be the charm and Will might ask me to go with him. It was the first time he didn’t have a girlfriend and I kept brainstorming a good way to ask him to go as friends.

I finally decided just to do the direct approach. As soon as homeroom let out, I made a b-line for Will’s locker. I had practiced what I was going to say throughout first period. I would casually mention that I had never been asked to a high school dance before and thought it would be fun to get the experience behind me. I knew Will probably didn’t want to have to make the agonizing choice of narrowing down which female member of the student body he hadn’t already dated to take, so I was offering to go with him as friends. After ten minutes in the unbelievably hot dress I hoped I would find later at the mall, Will would be begging me to go out with him.

“So, I guess you heard about the Valentine’s Day dance,” I said casually as I sidled up to Will. “You know, this’ll be the first year you don’t have a girlfriend dragging you along.”
“Yeah,” Will nodded.

“Are you planning on going anyway?” I asked, trying to sound curious rather than desperate.

“Yeah,” Will nodded. “I already asked Shanna McGillis.”

“You already asked someone? But they only announced it like five minutes ago…” I gaped.

“Come on, Ailee. Everyone knows it’s coming up,” Will rolled his eyes. “I asked her last night at Fletch’s party while we were skating around.”

“Oh,” I frowned.

“Why’d you ask, anyway?” Will asked. “Has someone asked you yet?”

“Will, when I have I ever been asked to a school dance?” I snorted. “I haven’t been to a school dance since they did that Honor Roll Sock Hop in fourth grade.”

“Don’t worry,” Will said with a shrug. “There’s some guy out there who’s probably just itching to ask you out. He just hasn’t gotten his nerve up yet.”

“Will, we have averaged five school dances a year since fifth grade,” I pointed out to him. “Every year I tell you no one is going to ask me and every year you say what you just said. And here I am, three months from being a senior in high school, and no one has ever asked me to a school dance.”

“That’s not true,” Will shook his head. “Remember? Fletch took you to Spring Fling back in eighth grade…”

“Yeah, but it was a pity date,” I frowned.

“Really?” Will said, surprised. “I didn’t think it was a pity date.”

“Yeah…” I said. “He found me crying… because no one had asked me and I felt like the only girl in the whole middle school who wasn’t going. So he sort of asked me so I’d shut up about it. And it was horrible. I twisted my ankle that night and Fletch came down with the stomach flu and ralphed all over the vice principals leather shoes.”

“Isn’t it weird how a lot of our memories of Fletch have to do with him throwing up?” Will mused.

“You were the one who dared him to jug an entire gallon of milk last week, not me,” I snorted.

“Don’t worry, Ailee, okay?” Will said.

“Yeah, you’re sure someone will ask me. They’re just intimidated. Or shy. Or nervous. Or fill in the blank,” I sighed.

“Well, if worst comes to worst…” Will began.

“If you suggest I ask Chuck Fink I will rip off your…” I interjected.

“Relax! I was just going to suggest you got with Fletch,” Will rolled his eyes. “Sure, it didn’t work out last time, but you guys are friends and I think you’ve both considerably matured since eighth grade…” I gave Will a raised eyebrow. “Okay, well, you’ve considerably matured since eighth grade and Fletch hasn’t exactly degenerated since then… You guys could have fun…”

“Isn’t the purpose of a Valentine’s Day dance to be with someone you are romantically interested in?” I asked Will with a grimace.

“I don’t know,” Will shrugged. I sighed and walked to my next class, trying to think about what Will had said without getting to angry or over-analyzing every word, like I’m prone to do.

I went to my next period, which was the math class I shared with Fletch. We were sitting right next to each other taking notes, Fletch bopping his head back and forth as if there were some sort of song stuck in his head while Mrs. Batte went on and on about something we would probably never use past our test at the end of the six weeks. I thought momentarily about what Will had said earlier, about my pity date with Fletch to our Spring Fling Dance in middle school.

The goal then had been to make Will jealous, but it hadn’t worked. Now that we were older, though, I thought perhaps the jealousy tactic might work again this time around. I had more curves than in eighth grade and was certain I could find the perfect dress to show off my assets. I could definitely persuade Fletch into taking me, even though he wasn’t big on school events. Like she always did, Mrs. Batte got a mysterious headache and had to retreat to the faculty lounge for the remainder of our class period, giving us about twenty minutes to “get a jump on our homework.” Usually, everyone just talked. When she made her customary exit from class, I turned to Fletch, hoping to broach the subject of maybe going to the dance as friends without hinting at my ulterior motives. Before I could speak, however, Fletch jumped in.

“Can you believe Will already has a date to the Valentine’s Day Dance?” Fletch grumbled.

“How did you find that out?” I asked, surprised.

“He told me at my birthday party right before he left. The nerve, you know?” Fletch grimaced. “He knows I hate Valentine’s Day. I’ve always hated it. Stupid holiday.”

“This is the first you’ve ever told me,” I mentioned, feeling my hope fading that I could convince Fletch to take me to an event celebrating his least favorite holiday.

“It’s a bunch of crap. Not even a real holiday,” Fletch said. “It’s just so people in relationships can flaunt that they aren’t alone and the rest of us can feel bitter and resentful. And for what? Just because we haven’t aligned ourselves in some preconceived notion of life-long happiness based on romance?”

“Yeah…” I began.

“And how come the guy has to do everything, huh?” Fletch fumed. “He has to go out of his way to plan for flowers and jewelry and candy and some sort of memorable day just because the calendar tells him too. I mean, you can do all that fancy stuff the rest of the year, but if you forget to do it on some arbitrary day in February, you’re the worst person ever. Just makes me sick. All the stupid holiday does is raise expectations beyond the believable and lower self-esteem.”

“Girls don’t have it any easier,” I shrugged.

“Yeah,” Fletch admitted. “The whole holiday is just stupid. I wish we could wipe it off the face of the map.”

“So, has this been a long standing hatred or does it have something to do with the fact that Will asked your former lab partner or what…” I began worriedly.

“It’s the whole principle of the thing! Like stupid Molly Ringwald choosing Blaine over Duckie,” Fletch said. “All Valentine’s Day encourages is for people to be shallow. It shouldn’t be about gifts or one day set aside for something special. Obviously, whoever started this Valentine’s Day thing was never in love. Or if they were, the thing they loved was money. I mean, the dumb dance isn’t for three weeks and people are already acting crazy over it. You know that high-pitching, shrill-voiced freshman with the locker next to mine? She broke out into sobs and nearly slammed my foot in her locker because her best friend announced she’d been asked out by some guy the first girl liked. It’s stupid.”

“Would it make you feel better to tell some little kids the truth about Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny?” I asked Fletch.

“No,” he pouted like a petulant child.

“Well, if it makes you feel any better, I have no hopes of having a romantic Valentine’s Day either,” I shrugged. “You and me can wallow with Chuck Fink while everyone else we know has a good time.”

“Great,” Fletch muttered. “Just what I need. You moaning over Will and Chuck’s general suckatude.”

“Fine then,” I snorted. “Spend Valentine’s curled in your bed, eating chocolate, and signing sad adult contemporary lite rock songs about heartbreak at the top of your lungs. I thought maybe we could do something fun, but you can be miserable on your own.”

“What did you have in mind?” Fletch asked curiously, though he was doing his best not to seem terribly interested or desperate.

“Dunno. Just hanging out or something,” I shrugged.

“That might be good,” Fletch admitted. “As long as you don’t invite Chuck.”

“I won’t if you won’t,” I shrugged.

“Well then, if someone asks, I guess we both have something to do on Valentine’s Day,” Fletch said, sounding immensely satisfied.

I felt a small sense of pride that Fletch was in such good spirits due to something I had said. At first, he continued grumbling and randomly ranting about “the romance driven slave economy.” I was actually intrigued when he started in about how many starving Indonesian children had to die to make the giant stuffed magnetic kissing bears Fletch was certain were created through some process involving radioactive waste. By the end of math, though, Fletch had settled down and was now in a considerably better mood. I couldn’t believe I had never noticed before how Valentine’s Day bugged the crap out of Fletch, especially since he always seemed particularly melancholy around that time of the year. I had previously thought it had something to do with his birthday since my mom always got moody at the prospect of being older too.

During our next period chemistry class, Will seemed to notice that Fletch was in a much better mood, actually joking with Eric. Will sent me a questioning look at the beginning of class and chatted briefly with Will before the teacher arrived and began handing out lab worksheets. After doing our experiment in rapid time, Will and I sat back at our lab table and just chatted. The topic of conversation easily turned to Fletch’s newfound good mood.

“Fletch seems oddly ecstatic,” Will commented to me.

“Yeah, well I suggested he and I get together for a sort of anti-Valentine’s Day celebration while you and everyone else at this school is canoodling at the dance,” I shrugged.

“You did that for him?” Will said, amazed.

“Come on, Will,” I sighed. “Fletch hates Valentine’s Day too much to buy into asking someone out and it’s hopeless that I’d ever land a date. At least we won’t be moping around by our lonesomes.”

“That’s really great of you,” Will smiled at me.

“Yeah, well, Fletch blew a gasket in math about the whole holiday. Gave me this whole spiel about how it’s a holiday created by greeting card companies to make him personally feel inferior.” I admitted. “I never realized he hated it so much.”

“I guess he never told you why his parents moved,” Will admitted.

“Because his dad got a new job?” I said.

“That and Fletch hated his old school. He got bullied and beat up all the time,” Will said. “In the fourth grade, apparently, they did the annual Valentine’s Day card exchange. You know, decorating up he shoe box and writing Valentine’s for all your classmates? Kid stuff. Anyway, that year, all of the other kids in his class got together and decided not to send Fletch anything. He didn’t get anything that year. His parents started looking to move and when the job came up, they moved here in October.”

“He never said anything about that,” I frowned. “I can understand why he hates it so much. I mean, I could always count on getting a lollipop or something from you…”

“Yeah,” Will said before leaning in to whisper to me. “Look, I know you were hoping to get asked to the dance, but can you pretty please do this for Fletch? I hate seeing him all morose and alone around this time of year.”

“I get it,” I shrugged. “Believe me, if anyone gets it, it would be lonely Aileen who spends every Saturday and Friday night at home alone.”

“Not you too,” Will moaned.

“Relax Will,” I smirked. “I’m sure Fletch and I will have plenty of fun at our little pity party. You shouldn’t feel bad about abandoning us to get down with a hot chick at all. I mean, it’s not like your two best friends are complete lonely hearts who will be spending the evening wallowing in puddles of low self-esteem. Have fun.”

“You’re dreadfully cruel, Aileen,” Will muttered as the bell rang.

“She learned it from me,” Fletch shouted from across the room before darting into the hallway. Will and I looked at each other for a moment and then broke out into hysterical laughter as we grabbed our bags.