"Anyway," Stevie slid into the booth bench across from me, "Ms. Gabel is making me visit her for a half an hour every Monday to talk about my 'feelings.' All on account of your fibromyalgia. I still can't believe you pulled this off."

I popped open the lid of my milkshake and licked off the whipped cream. I glanced up Stevie. Her left eye squinted and one corner of her mouth curled up disgusted.

"What?" I asked.

"Gas station food," she handed me a napkin and pointed to her right cheek.

"It's perfectly fiiiine," I wiped some whipped cream off of my left cheek. "Speaking of which, I have a feat of courage for you."

"I'm not eating gas station food!" Stevie's hazel eyes bugged.

"Quit wigging out," I said. "You don't have to eat anything."

Stevie looked at me like I stole her playdough.

"Well, what do you want me to do?" she finally asked.

"See when I was mixing up my milkshake at the machine over there, I noticed that they happen to sell sushi at this establishment," I began, "shrimp sushi rolls."

"Gas station shrimp sushi," Stevie winced. "I won't even eat at the Sushi Buffet-"

"I said you didn't have to eat any," I climbed out of the booth, pressed my wrists against the edge of the table and leaned over my milkshake so I could look deep into her terrified eyes. "All you gotta do is ask the guy behind the counter if it's kosher."

"What?" Stevie scrunched up her face. "Obviously it's not kosher, it's shellfish."

"I know that," I said, "and you know that, but does he?" I pointed my head in the direction of the redheaded teenager behind Sheetz's café counter. "Does he know that?"

"I'm not going to do that." Stevie stood up. "I'm clearly not Jewish!" She gestured at the crucifix she always wears around her neck.

"So you got a cross on," I grabbed my milkshake. "It's just a question. There's no such thing as a stupid question."

I walked out of the dining area and toward Stevie's first great feat of courage.

***

We stood in line for about three minutes. The couple in front of us were ordering double bacon cheeseburgers. They slipped their free hands in each other's jeans back pockets. I didn't think people did that outside of 80s films. You learn something new every day.

Meanwhile, Stevie was quivering in her pink Converse. I could see the shrimp sushi package tremble in her little hands. I felt a taaaad guilty when I noticed how nervous she was, but then I thought, nobody should be nervous to ask a question to a salesclerk. If Stevie was nervous to talk to a salesclerk, how would she ever talk to Jesse, boy of her dreams? No, no, this had to be done. Stevie needed to cultivate some damn confidence. For encouragement, I whispered into her ear: "Remember, things are only awkward if you think they are awkward."

"Faulty logic," Stevie rolled her eyes at me. "I have no control over the other person's perception of the situation."

"Just don't make it awkward," I whispered again. "If you have to, keep talking."

"How am I supposed-" Stevie said through clenched teeth. But before she could finish her sentence, the couple in front of us left with their burgers and change, and we fell into clear view of the redheaded kid behind the counter.

"I can help who's next?" he creaked. I slipped my milkshake straw into my mouth and stepped out of line, in case he might not remember I had already bought it from him a few minutes earlier.

"Hi," Stevie walked to the counter.

"You're getting the sushi?" The redheaded kid lifted an eyebrow.

"No, uh, maybe," Stevie peeked over at me like she wanted reassurance. I pretended to be too engrossed in the nearby magazine rack to see her.

"So..." the redheaded kid said, in a voice that was equal parts bored and confused.

"I was, uh, wondering, is this," Stevie handed him the sushi, "is this kosher?"

The redheaded kid looked from Stevie to the package of sushi, back to Stevie.

"Kosher?" he dumbly repeated.

"Yes," Stevie said with a sudden, unexplainable confidence, "I can't eat it if it's not kosher."

Good job, Stevie!

"Uh," The redheaded kid turned the package over in his hand, "let me get my manager."

***

The manager was a dark haired guy in his early twenties, with a snake tattoo winding up his right bicep. He examined the sushi packaging for a good half minute.

"See if it was kosher," the manager ran his tanned finger along the back label, "it would say so here."

"Are you sure?" Stevie asked. I have to admit, I was impressed. She didn't have to continue the conversation. She could have just as easily said "thanks" and returned the sushi to the freezer. It was like some forgotten switch inside her spontaneously flipped on.

"I mean," the manager said, "I'm not a hundred percent sure, but I can call our distributer and find out for you."

"You'd do that?" Stevie couldn't hide the surprise in her voice. We all could hear it. I think the manager thought she was cute, because he grinned a sneaky little grin. You know the one guys sometimes do. Stevie, though, I guarantee you, had no idea.

"Sure," he shrugged, "if it would help you out." He pulled out his phone from his back pocket and proceeded to dial in the distributer's number. Stevie glanced down the counter to where I was by the magazine rack. The look on her face! Baffled isn't even a good enough word to describe it. I sent her a thumb's up over the Muscle Car Review I was holding. Stevie shook her head no. God knows why. She was doing sooooo good.

"Uh, Miss," the manager said, while he balanced his phone between his ear and broad shoulder, "I got put on hold, this might take a while."

***

https://youtu.be/XOVScSPH0cA

At fifteen minutes later, Stevie and I were back in our booth. I chewed on the straw of my empty milkshake cup, and watched basically everyone-I-know's Snapchat stories. Stevie was staring at her phone too, but she didn't have anything open. She kept turning on and off her lock screen. Who knows why she was nervous now. After that spectacular display of courage. Like I always say, the kid is a medical mystery.

At sixteen minutes later, Mr. Manager Snake Tattoo appeared by our table.

"Hi there girls," he tapped the package of sushi against his thigh. "Sorry for the wait. I had to give them the product code," he grimaced, "it's twenty-seven characters long."

Oh God, I thought, we are such assholes.

"Anyway, the shrimp sushi isn't kosher. To make up for the wait, though, I've got a gift card here for a free food item from the café." He presented the snazzy, black gift card he had been holding behind his back.

WHAT A GEM OF A MAN, I thought. MY DAUGTHER HERE IS SINGLE, I thought.

"I don't know if you want to use this tonight or," the manager handed the card to Stevie, who looked to me for direction. SO EASY. Obviously, I nodded with a great amount of vigor.

"Okay," Stevie squeaked.

"Thank you sir," I stood up and reached out to the manager for a handshake.

"Yeah, thanks," Stevie also stood up, but kept her gaze on the floor.

"My pleasure," the manager shook my hand.

"My daughter here is single," I said. Oh God, I'm the worst kind of asshole.

With the scowl Stevie got on then, I thought she might have punched me, but all she did was mutter: "Give up the ghost, yenta."

The manager looked both amused and extremely uncomfortable. Okay, so maybe it was obvious we were in high school. Whatever. He skedaddled it to the back room whence he came.

"Do you want me to get you something with this?" Stevie asked as we walked out of the dining area. "I'm still not going to eat gas station food."

"Sure," I said, as a real funny idea popped into my head. "Order the double bacon cheeseburger."

She did.

You should have seen the look on the redheaded kid's face.

"You want bacon now?"

***

"YOU DID SO GOOD, I'M SO PROUD OF YOU."

I had just parked Gus in my driveway, and reached across the center console in an attempt to pinch Stevie's little cheeks.

"Touch me and I'll knife you," she threw up her hands around her.

"MAMA'S SO PROUD OF YOU!" I grabbed Stevie's arms and tried to pry her hands away from her face. "MAMA'S SO PROUD!"

"Val!" Stevie pushed me away.

I fell back into my seat laughing, and she opened her door and jumped out onto my lawn. I climbed out of Gus and followed after her.

"See, that wasn't so bad, was it?"

Stevie glared at me.

"We are bad people, Valerie," she said. "We made that poor man recite a twenty-seven character long product code."

"What else was he gonna do all night?"

Even in the midnight moonlight, I could see a small smile form at the corners of Stevie's slender, heart-shaped lips.

"Well, so," Stevie passed a pebble between her shoes, "it was easier than I thought it would be."

"SEE!" I did a fist pump.

"But that's because the whole thing was so bizarre," Stevie walked backwards across the street toward her house. "Gas station sushi at ten a clock on a Saturday night- how could I take it seriously?"

"Exactly," I ran after her. I had never felt so proud of Stevie as I did right then, "that's the attitude to take! You got to live your whole life like that!"

"Nope," Stevie dashed up her driveway and through her lawn. "GIVE UP THE GHOST YENTA!"

I wasn't about to let her end the conversation on that note. Before she could get to her front step, I tackled her. She fell over onto the grass. I plopped down on the ground next to her.

"Val," Stevie groaned. "My shorts are going to get all grass stained."

"You see, my child," I stared at the stars and waved my hand in the air like a wise old philosopher, "all of us are as bizarre as gas station sushi."

"Inaccurate." Stevie stood up and brushed the wet grass off of her butt. She looked at me. "Do you want to come inside and try out the nail polish or what?"

How on earth was I gonna break past that impenetrable normie shell?

***

"I voted for you," Jesse Niemczyk confessed at the end of anatomy class the following Tuesday.

"I'm sorry to have let you and my other constituents down," I was tasked with putting away our lab table's crayons (we had to color code the different tendons in a human leg), and Jesse was tasked with putting away his. We were at the same drawer when he sprung the confession on me.

"Your speech was awesome," he set his table's crayon box beside mine. "You almost made student council seem like a legitimate thing."

"Almost?" I pretended to be insulted as I started walking back to my table.

"No one can move mountains," Jesse followed me. "Not even Valerie DiPaolo."

"Obviously," I chuckled, "I'm suffering from debilitating fibromyalgia." I forgot momentarily that people at school didn't know my condition was a truly excellent practical joke. The sympathy in Jesse's eyes reminded me.

"It's not a big deal," I tried to explain, "it's not even a real disease."

I didn't want people to feel actually sorry for me. People have done that before, and it sucked. I guess I should have anticipated this would happen when I told Mrs. More she could publically explain why I "had to resign from office." But I mean, it's just fibromyalgia. I wasn't expecting anyone to take it seriously. Most doctors don't even believe it's anything more than psychosomatics, though, being the dickheads they are, they won't admit it (gotta put ya on Lyrica and get those sweet, sweet pharmaceutical kickbacks).

Stevie's right about me. I should think things through more than I ever do.

"Mrs. More said you're very brave," Jesse tilted his head to the side and looked up at me through his rectangle-framed glasses.

"Mrs. More doesn't know anything about medicine," by now we had gotten back to my lab table. Stevie was attempting to fit her anatomy binder into her overstuffed book bag, which gave me a good idea. "Isn't that right, Stevie?"

"Isn't what right?" Stevie didn't look up until she heard Jesse say:

"That Mrs. More doesn't know anything about medicine."

There was literal fear on the girl's face. And as soon as Jesse smiled at her, she had picked up her phone and was scrolling through Instagram. As if pictures of hipster burritos and Carla's new eyebrow makeup were more important than her beloved, standing in the flesh before her. She couldn't even answer my question.

"Well anyway," Jesse rubbed his shoulder. "I guess I'll see you guys tomorrow." He paused, looked to me and added: "Hope your fibromyalgia goes away soon."

"It's already hardly there," I said, "basically gone."

"You're so brave!" he walked backwards toward his lab table. "You're braver than Anne Frank and Helen Keller!"

"Tell me he's being ironic," Stevie whispered, "right?"

***

A/N: Thanks for reading, commenting, voting! Next update, Friday!