My Romance Life System-Chapter 77: Fail, Again

FOM THIS POINT FORWARD, WE ARE SWTICHING FROM 1ST PERSON TO THIRD PERSON POV. HOPE ITS NOT TOO BAD.

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And so, the new plan was set. A plan so simple, so painfully obvious, that it felt destined for failure. The strategy was now "no strategy." (Honestly, you have to pity the boy. This was like telling a fish to try "not swimming.")

Jake was now on a solo mission. A lone operative armed with nothing but the vague instruction to "be a person." He shadowed Ruby from a distance as she left the library, his movements a masterclass in how not to be subtle. He would duck behind a locker. He would pretend to be fascinated by a fire extinguisher. It was a pathetic display, really.

’Okay, just be normal. Kofi said be normal. Nina said be normal.’

He was sweating.

’What is normal? Do I talk about the weather? No, that’s what old people do. Do I ask about her weekend? Too personal. Do I just say hi and then walk away? Cowardly.’

He watched as she stopped at her locker, fumbling with the combination lock. This was it. This was his window of opportunity, the moment where he could execute the brilliant "no plan" plan.

His legs felt like they were filled with concrete.

’Go. Just go, you idiot. She’s right there. She’s not a final boss. She’s just a person.’

He took a step. Then another. It was the longest walk of his life, a journey of ten feet that felt like a pilgrimage across a desert of social anxiety. He finally came to a stop a few feet away from her, his throat completely dry.

Ruby turned, sensing someone was there, and she flinched a little when she saw him. Her hand tightened on her locker door.

’Great. I’m already terrifying.’

"Hey, Ruby," he finally managed to choke out.

"Oh. Hey, Jake."

She wouldn’t meet his eyes, just focused on pulling a textbook from her locker.

"Listen," she started, her voice quiet. "I just wanted to say sorry about yesterday. In the library. I was kind of weird, just leaving like that."

’An opening! She gave me an opening! The heavens have blessed this mission!’

"Oh! No, no, it’s cool," he said, maybe a little too loud. He tried to remember what a normal person would do with their hands. He shoved them in his pockets. "I get it. Your brain was fried. My brain gets fried all the time. It’s a very normal state for brains to be in."

’Why did I say that? Why did I say "brains" so many times?’

She looked up at him, a small, shy smile on her face. "Yeah. It was just a lot of stoichiometry."

"Totally."

They stood there in silence for a second. It wasn’t a comfortable silence. It was the kind of silence that has a countdown timer attached to it.

’Say something else. Say something normal.’

He remembered Kofi’s original, failed plan. The documentaries. No. That was the old way. He had to be real. He had to be himself.

"So," he started, a brilliant, original thought forming in his head. "Do you like... bread?"

She just blinked at him. "Bread?"

’BREAD? OF ALL THE TOPICS IN THE UNIVERSE, I CHOSE BREAD?’

"Yeah," he said, now committed to this catastrophic line of inquiry. "You know. As a food. I think it’s pretty versatile. You can make sandwiches, or toast... or just eat it plain. It’s a solid S-tier food item, in my opinion."

He was trying to be funny. He was trying to be like Kofi, with his weird, nerdy comparisons. It was not working.

"I... guess?" She said, slowly closing her locker. The look on her face was one of profound confusion, like a cat trying to understand calculus. "I haven’t really thought about it."

"You should," he said, digging the hole deeper. "A proper tier list of carbohydrates is essential for a balanced life."

He was smiling. He thought he was being charming and quirky.

He was not.

"Okay, well," she said, hugging her textbook to her chest like a flotation device. "I, uh, have to go meet my mom. She’s picking me up."

It was a lie. He knew it was a lie. Her mom worked on the other side of the city.

"Oh. Okay, cool," he said, his own smile starting to feel fake. "Well, have a good... bread-filled evening."

She gave him one last, pitying look, then just turned and walked away, her pace just a little bit faster than normal.

Jake just stood there in the empty hallway, the echo of his own stupidity ringing in his ears.

’Bread-filled evening?’

The mission was a failure. Operation: Don’t Die Alone had officially flatlined. He had not only hit the wall; he had gone through it and landed in a dumpster fire on the other side.

He walked out of the school, a walking monument to social failure. The fresh air did nothing to clear the toxic cloud of cringe that had settled over him.

’Bread. I asked her if she liked bread.’

The thought replayed in his head on a loop, each repetition a fresh wave of humiliation. He wasn’t just a guy who was bad at talking to girls. He was a guy who, when faced with an opportunity, chose to discuss the tier-ranking of carbohydrates. (Honestly, you can’t even make this stuff up. It was a masterwork of romantic self-sabotage.)

He was so lost in the fog of his own pathetic performance that he almost didn’t see her.

Stumbling near the crosswalk, a small figure moving with a slow, pained gait, was Thea.

’Isn’t that the kid that got bullied?’

He stopped, his own trivial problems dissolving in the face of a much harsher reality. She looked... bad. Worse than yesterday. Her face was pale, and there was a dark, purplish bruise forming on her cheek. She walked like every step was an argument with her own body.

He felt a pang in his chest. A sharp, immediate feeling of pity. It was a raw and ugly sight. A kid who looked like she was carrying the weight of the entire world, and losing.

He felt sorry for her.

And then, almost immediately, another thought pushed its way in, cold and practical.

’There’s nothing I can do.’

He was realistic. (This, by the way, is the word people use when they mean "cowardly.") He saw the situation for what it was: a massive, complicated disaster far beyond his pay grade.

’What am I gonna do? Run over there and offer her a granola bar? Ask her if she wants to talk about it?’

The idea was absurd. He had just proven, with scientific certainty, that he was incapable of navigating even the simplest of human interactions. This was a job for an adult. A teacher. A principal. A hero.

He was just Jake. (The bread guy.)

He watched her limp across the street, a solitary, broken figure against the backdrop of a normal afternoon. This wasn’t his problem. Getting involved would just make things messy. It could even make things worse for her. Worse for him. It was better to just stay out of it.

And so he did.

He turned and started walking home, leaving her to stumble on alone. He chose the path of non-involvement, the safe and simple route of pretending he hadn’t seen a thing. It was the realistic choice. It was what most people would do.

(And that, right there, is the saddest part of this whole damn story.)

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