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Elliott scrolled up and down, up and down, back and forth on the holographic tab in front of him. Normally he wasn’t so stumped by classwork—if he really didn’t have much effort to give, he’d at least write something passable and call it a day. But this time, it was giving him pause.
Lately, Mr K.’s curriculum had been dabbling in some simple literature studies. Elliott had wondered how exactly a class on the Centrium decided which planets’ books to study in the first place. There was no shortage of options out there, after all. But apparently, there were a few particularly esteemed writers in this corner of the universe, and that was how Elliott ended up having to “write a brief personal response to this passage by Zeqorian romance author Drexar Zababia”—whoever that was—“about your own memory of falling in love.”
It was that last part that seemed to be blocking his way.
Did everyone else have something to write for this? Elliott held his head in one hand, wringing his brain through a past of hopping from town to town, though he had already figured out what it’d yield. Actually, it was almost funny now, in a strained sort of way. Like noticing a big tomato-sauce stain on his shirt all of a sudden. Just looking down, and seeing it way too late, and then never getting to be unaware of it again.
Elliott hadn’t ever stopped to think much about it before. Maybe just a few times that he usually brushed off. But it was pretty blatant now: he’d never actually had a crush.
It kind of made sense. Not weird at all. He’d spent so much time moving around on Earth, hardly knowing anyone. He’d just never had the chance. Why else would he not have thought of it before?
(Elliott tried to ignore that he’d met plenty of classmates in all those schools; or that crushes probably would have happened there anyway, if they were going to; or that he couldn’t even imagine what sort of person he’d have a crush on. His mind filled with a stagnant, awkward blank.)
Okay, whatever, he pushed himself. Just make something up and get the grade. But no, he couldn’t even lie about it. And not just because he’d feel bad; he simply didn’t know where to start. Elliott fidgeted and glanced around, looking like someone who had just realized they’d been in the wrong classroom all along. Which actually would’ve been handy.
He had no idea what that romance stuff was supposed to feel like, did he? Wow.
In the past, once or twice, he’d tried to get himself to feel it somehow. Though only out of some worry that it was a necessity, or the sense that everyone else did it, too. Schoolyard gossip and didactic movie plots could get under his skin. So he’d tried, he really had. But no matter where he looked, no matter who he picked out or what ideas he came up with, he couldn’t even find a way to feel it.
He literally couldn’t fall in love if he tried.
Elliott slumped back in his seat. A little, churning ache had burrowed into his chest, and was starting to gnaw. He didn’t get why. He wasn’t guilty of anything, was he? So what if he didn’t really know how to answer the question—in a school full of aliens, there was no such thing as normal, just like they’d always say. Though that didn’t change the fact that every other student around him, of every species and sort, was happily typing their answer to the same prompt.
Mister “Drexar Zababia”, and his pretentious writings about romance defining the meaning of life, weren’t helping either. Elliott skimmed over them again, brow furrowed. Yeah, maybe on Zeqoria.
He kept rereading, looking for something in the text that might vindicate him. A little footnote, at the least. But everything it said was just so…distant. Or even disparaging. One paragraph discussed how they who never feel the tender pull of romance are a sad, cold riddle with no answer.
(It took him a few seconds to really grasp what Zababia was trying to say there. Elliott sort of wished he hadn’t given it the time of day.)
Maybe the whole idea was nothing new. It made him feel smaller, but it was probably true. Elliott hadn’t noticed at first, but it wasn’t so different from some of Earth’s cheapest rom-coms, where the hero stayed miserable until they found some love interest they’d been missing all along. Or where the only character not happily in love by the end was the deplorable villain. Some of them weren’t afraid to say the quiet part aloud either, the “everyone falls in love!” part. The part that said anyone who really doesn’t must be broken.
But it had never felt like they were talking about…him. Friendly, big-hearted, loveless Elliott.
Yeah, he was feeling inclined to close the entire assignment and just do it later. Or copy someone else, or take the zero. Whatever.
He glanced over at Mo’s screen. It was, as a matter of fact, also blank. “Mo?” Elliott whispered.
“Hm?”
“Are you, uh…gonna do the assignment?”
“The what?” Mo grinned.
“The—” Elliott gestured at the hologram screen right in front of Mo’s face, before giving up. “Never mind.”
“Oh, that! Yeah. I didn’t have anything to say for it, so…I didn’t write anything.”
“You too?” Somehow it felt a lot more justified in Mo’s case.
Mo nodded.
“Okay, but,” Elliott continued, “we still have to write something.”
“Hm. Okay, then, I can write about…” Mo paused for a moment. “Us!”
Elliott blinked. “Us? Mo, I don’t think that’s the sort of thing they’re talking abou—”
“Sure it is! Look.” Mo scrolled up on his own little screen, then ran over a few sentences with one claw. The feeling of comfort, enjoying your time together…a casual, everyday bond…and always being there to help one another. “See? It fits.”
“But, that’s not…they don’t mean like, friends, like us.” Elliott reached over and pointed at lines about the constant passionate, rosy longing of the heart, or the surge of feelings and atmosphere when eyes meet, or some other crazy ramble.
“Eh, it doesn’t have to be exactly the same thing,” Mo said with a shrug. “Also I don’t have anything else to write.”
“I just think it’s not the right answer. It can’t be. Can it?”
“Well…the question asked about love. I think friends count,” Mo said. “Maybe it’s not exactly falling in love, like it says…but that’s no big deal. It’s different, but Mr. K won’t mind.”
Elliott looked down at his desk. Mo had a point there. Did Mr. K even read these things?
It was different…but it was still love. Maybe he had it in him after all.
In a way, at least.
“Alright. I’ll…do it too, then.” Elliott readied his hands to begin typing, and for the first time since opening the assignment, he smiled. He turned to Mo. “Hey, what are you writing about, anyway? I don’t want to end up using the same thing.”
“Our first day. Remember? We were walking in the city, and sat down together, and you shared your snacks with me before I even had to ask?”
“Yeah, the Kretzels—you know, I was just thinking that!” Elliott pushed Mo’s shoulder playfully. “Now I need a new idea.”
“You should write about the biosphere. I bet you remember it best.”
“No way,” Elliott said, even as he began to type the very thing. “Mr. K will think I’m crazy.”
“So?” Mo chirped. “It’s still the truth!”