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"Average." Joe stares mournfully down at his mid-semester report card. Across the park, someone whoops in excitement, and he glances up in time to see Adam soaring effortlessly past the lip of a half-pipe. He frowns at the paper in his hand. "Yeah, average sounds about right."
Cherry, stretched out on the grass at his feet, blinks open a single golden eye. "What are you whining about?
Joe just sighs forlornly.
"It's one class, moron. And don't you want to be a chef? You don't need to know the history of the Edo period to make spaghetti."
"That's true," Joe considers hopefully for a minute, but his lip turns down again as he sighs, "still, avera—"
Cherry sits up with a frustrated huff, and the quick flick of his lighter's lid is Joe's only warning before the paper in front of him dissolves in a ripple of heat and smoke. He drops the smoldering corner with a yelp. "Cherry, what the fuck!"
"What?" his friend offers an unrepentant shrug. Joe continues to stare at him incredulously until he explains, in the same patient voice Joe uses with his sisters, "it was upsetting you, so I burned it," as though that somehow settled the matter. "Besides, you're not. Average or whatever."
And Joe blinks. Because Cherry doesn't do compliments and he definitely doesn't do flattery. Which means...
"No?" an obnoxious smile spreads across Joe's face. "What am I then—" Cherry groans with regret, "—exceptional maybe?"
"Exceptionally aggravating," Cherry mutters. "Now shut up, I'm trying to sleep." But as he settles back down against the grass, Joe sees his best friend's mouth curve into a fond smile.