Chain Reaction 2.15: Cookie cutter

     "What is it?" I ask after he tells me he needs to talk to me about something.
     He looks tense, but it doesn't bother me. I'm so relaxed. I love it here. My house feels so stuffy and Victorian. I much prefer the more modern architecture Uncle Alex chose. It's comfortable.
     Drake sees me smiling. "What is it?" He smiles back reflexively.
     I grin, realizing my thoughts must've shown on my face. I sigh happily. "Nothing, really. I just love coming over here." I decide to be frank, not seeing any reason I should try to hide what I'm thinking.

     He lets out a very slow, "Ohhhhhh." He takes a breath, holds it for a second, and lets it out in a puff. "Huh. ... That's...good. I guess."
     "Spill it, Drake."
     He swallows. "I'm making straight A's, Emily."
     I grin widely. "That's great!" Then, I realize what he's trying to say as he says it.
     "I don't need you to tutor me anymore."
     I want to cry. Why do I want to cry? It's not like Drake and I are best friends or anything. In fact, most of the time, I can't stand him, but that's always been something that's just been there. I hung out with him anyway. I always felt like he was just putting up with me because he needed me to improve his grades. But he doesn't need me anymore.
      I'm not needed anymore.
      My voice oddly chokes in my throat. "Okay."
      He sees the tears swimming in my eyes and reaches up to hold my arms. "Whoa! Hold on a sec. It's not like I'm asking you to get the hell out."
      "Language, Drake," his mother says from where she sits on the couch behind him. I have no idea what she's doing there other than eavesdropping.

     I gently push his hands away. "No. It's f-fine. Congratulations on your grades."
     He actually smirks at my falling apart. "Emily, cut the crap, would you?"
     Aunt Laura snaps. "Drake!" He ignores her.
     "I don't know what you're talking about," I tell him. I can't explain why I'm going to pieces over this. Maybe because I'm losing my only escape.
     Aunt Laura walks over to us. "Why don't you stay for dinner, dear?"
     Drake holds my arm again. "Yeah, it's not like you have to leave. I know I'm your only friend and all, but-"

     I round on him. I hate that he's right. He's such an ass! I'd tell him so, but with the way Aunt Laura is treating every little thing like a serious cuss word, I hold my tongue as far as that goes.
     "Shut up!"
     "Hey!" he cries out like I hurt him, which I didn't. "I'm just stating the truth."
     Aunt Laura says, "Drake, you don't have to be a jerk."
     He turns to her with an indignant expression. "How is telling the truth being a jerk?"
     "Apologize."
     "Why?"
     I turn to Aunt Laura, ignoring the jerk. "He doesn't have to. I'll just go."
     She doesn't get to answer because Drake does. "But I don't want you to go. Look, I'm sorry. I still don't know why, but okay. Sorry."
     Uncle Alex calls down the stairs for his wife.
     "You two sort this out."

     "Emily, you don't get it, and I suck at telling you. I wouldn't have called you over here if it was just to tell you to stop being my tutor. I like being your friend. You're not like anybody else. Everyone else, they're like..." He looks into the kitchen. "They're like cookie cutter people." He takes another breath when he sees I'm no longer about to leave. "You: you're cool."
     I don't know what to do now, so I revert back to being frank. "You are, without a doubt, one of the most irritating sims on the planet. All that teasing when we were kids and you want to be FRIENDS?"
     He grins. "Aren't we already?"
     I move in to start punching his stomach, but he wraps his arms around me instead of fighting back.

     "Hey," he says when I give up and just let him hug me.
     I start crying, and I hate myself for it. He's probably just as confused as I am.
     "I'm s-sorry. I d-don't know wh-what's wrong with me," I tell him, sounding ridiculous.
     "Just a wild guess here, but I'd say you're a teenager." At my pathetic laugh, he continues, "It's okay to act your age every once in a while. ... It's strange that I understand something and you don't." He sighs and keeps holding me. It's weird. It's not like he's trying to be romantic or anything. It's more that I'm still on the verge of really losing it.
     "All right, Sherlock. What do you understand?"
     He laughs quietly at my snappish tone. "Elementary, my dear Emily. It's elementary. ... Well, actually, it's college. I think you're trying to take on too much."
     "But I love it. I love learning."
     "That's fine, but you're letting it suck the life out of you. You need to be a kid."
     I sniff. "I... I don't know how."
     He pulls me back and holds my shoulders before being satisfied that I'm standing steadily.

      "Come hang out with us. We're going clubbing tomorrow."
      "I'm the 'freakazoid,' remember?"
      He shakes his head. "Not anymore. Now, you're a cool college chick."
      I put my hand over my eyes and shake my head. I need to sit down. On my way to the couch, I say, "You are so crass sometimes."
      He laughs. "Well, I've gotta play my strengths."

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