I Just Want To Be Average

"So, what do you want as welcome dinner?" Pratt asked.

Pratt was lying on the couch. Dia was sitting on a beanbag by Pratt's head. I was sitting cross legged on the carpet, facing the two of them like a contestant facing the judges on a talent show. They were taking turns firing questions and I was answering without pause.

"I don't know."

"Do you want to eat at home or go out to some party?" Dia asked.

"Home."

"So, you don't like people?"

"Not too much."

"Anti-social?"

"Selective."

"So, you don't want to tour the academy?"

"No. Not in any particular rush."

"What aren't you telling us?"

"That I like quiet."

"So, burger or sandwich?"

"Not much difference between the two. But sandwich, definitely."

"Alcohol or flavoured soda?"

"Soda. Black."

"Vegetarian or meaty?"

"Meaty with enough vegetables."

"Healthy eater. Are you trying to get me to fall for you?"

"Definitely no."

"So, there's someone you like?"

"No."

"Then why definitely no to me?"

"I like being invisible."

"So, that's your dream?"

"No. My dream is an average life."

"You're weird. You'll fit in perfectly."

"Umm, thank you?"

I wasn't sure how I felt about their acceptance of me. It felt like I passed a test I didn't know I had taken. A very confusing feeling. At least the "hazing" was done with.

Pratt headed to the kitchen as he spoke.

"You'll find celebratory dinners all over the academy tonight. Especially when it involves girls and pretty boys. Loud. Sombre. Cheesy. Delinquent. Parties of all kinds really. Let's have our own quiet celebration."

He stopped as he burrowed into the fridge.

And Dia began speaking immediately.

"Dear Pratt can't eat out. He's very particular about food. Has high demands. And he refuses anything that falls short by even the slightest. But that makes him a wonderful cook. The very best I've ever tasted. If he wasn't so into runes, he'd be a world famous chef with his own restaurant and reservations running longer than a year at least. That would have been so good."

She had a dreamy expression. Clearly, she meant what she said.

"Dean, chicken?" Pratt screamed.

"Sure. Not my favourite, but I'm fine with it," I answered.

And that was the truth. A piece or two of chicken tasted fine, but after that it was tiring. I never even managed to finish a whole chicken leg.

"So, what is your favourite?"

"Prawns. Crab."

"Essentially sea food. We don't have that, so for tonight we'll just have chicken. I'll try to make it so you'll enjoy too."

"Just don't give the description," Dia said loudly.

She looked at me and said much more softly. "There's no stopping him once he get's into it. It's a giant bore. He's best when he just cooks and we just eat whatever he prepares."

I nodded. I was more like Dia than Pratt. Food was food. It had to be tasty and filling. Any more details were unnecessary.

I still wanted to see Pratt at work. And it was a truly memorable sight.

I stood on the other side of the counter, safely out of the way. Pratt gave me a smile. But as he began, I became invisible. The chicken, the vegetables, the cheese, the sauces and the bread was all there was in his eyes. He looked like a true artist.

He prepared four portions. He had only just finished dressing the plates when Dia announced that Jerry had arrived.

I tore my eyes away from the beautiful plates to look at the old man. He looked the exact same as he did in the auditorium.

"Hello," he greeted in a boisterous voice. "You've all met. How do you like each other?"

"Fine," Pratt and Dia answered in unison, in a toneless voice.

Three pairs of eyes turned toward me. Was I supposed to get fl.u.s.tered?

I copied the answer. "Fine," I said, in the same voice.

"Good," Jerry said cheerfully. "What's for dinner, Pratt?"

"Pan fried chicken sandwiches."

"Enough," Dia said, cutting him off before Pratt could describe more. "That's just enough."

"Yes," Jerry agreed, laughing loudly. "That is just enough. You know that Pratt. And I know, you can't help yourself. Let's dig in."

Jerry was exactly what I imagined he would be. An annoying old man who was too full of himself. I made up my mind again.

"So, Jerry, who's he really," Pratt asked, pointing at me with his eyes.

Jerry was too busy eating to answer.

"Yeah Jerry, who is he," Dia repeated.

"I'm no one," I said, for the nth time.

"Yeah, that you said you are," they said in unison, looking at me. Turning toward Jerry, they continued. "Why did Jerry take you in, though?"

It finally occurred to me. The two of them were surprisingly on the same wavelength. They seemed to have one mind between the two. Could they be twins?

Jerry could ignore the twins. But couldn't remain blind to my glare.

He blushed like a maiden in love. Cleared his throat. And answered.

"His mother's real pretty."

He wore a disgusting expression which amused the twins and infuriated me.

"So, you did this for his mother."

"Now you know too Dean."

I nodded.

"Can you believe it?" Pratt asked.

"Is she so pretty?" Dia asked.

"Yeah," I answered. "I can definitely believe it. I don't know if she's that pretty. But Jerry is definitely such an idiot."

The longest silence ended in deafening laughter. All the while, Jerry was frozen.