A Face Like a Sock Full of Soup

Contains Themes or Mentions of: Racism, homophobia, and a girl who needs to set her standards higher.

Summer was over, and so were we.

I never should have kissed that boy.

So many people would have told me that. Milly. Sue. Xaden.

But I don’t think I would have listened.

Still, they never told me how wrong it felt to hear me talk about him. They never told me that I deserved better. Maybe they wanted to be happy for me. Wanted to approve of one of the only people who had ever dared to like me. To make a move romantically. Someone who thought I was special.

Well, maybe not special. Plenty of people have called me unique. Plenty of people like me. Just, not romantically. Only two that I ever knew of. This boy was one of them.

This boy, was the one I’d never known. The one who didn’t have rumors attached to him about sending nudes to a girl without her permission. The one who I hadn’t met through his girlfriend.

The problem was his racism.

We met at a speech and debate tournament. My first tournament. It was my freshman year. He was a sophomore. He walked down the hall with his friend. He was wearing an orange tie. I complimented him. We met. I offered a handshake, as I had to so many that night.

“I’m Amie, and you two are?”

He didn’t notice my hand, “Mitch.”

His friend nodded, “Dude, I think she wants to shake your hand.”

“It’s that or a hug,” I joked.

Mitch smiled, “I’ll take the hug.”

I blinked, “You would?”

He laughed, “Sure.”

Mitch had a stupid laugh, by the way. It was sort of cocky, like he knew something I didn’t. It sort of reminded me of McLin’s laugh. Probably because he did debate. I was a speech kid through and through.

“Seriously?”

He laughed again, “Yeah.”

“Alright then.”

We hugged. Which was stupid. Because I was hugging a random guy I’d met practically seconds ago. A guy with a stupid laugh and a face that looked like a sock full of soup. But he was a good hugger. I’ll give him that.

I pulled away, “Hey, that was a nice hug. You’re a good hugger.”

“Thanks.”

“So, what event do you do?”

“Impromptu and congress.”

“No way. I do impromptu too! Are you in novice or open?”

“Varsity.”

This guy could have just said ‘open’. But that’s just me being nitpicky.

“Cool.”

“Well, have a good day.”

“You too!”

I started to walk away. Then, I heard his friend’s voice again.

“So, you were saying, about the racist joke?” she asked.

I turned around, curiosity sparking, “What joke?”

He smiled nervously, “Just one my friend told me.”

“Can I hear?”

“Um, I guess?"

The joke was not a good joke. It wasn’t even funny.

So, I–very gently–grabbed hold of his shoulders and shoved him against the locker behind him, “Dude, aren’t you white?”

He stared at me, looking way too laid back, if a little baffled, “I’m an eighth Canadian.”

I tilted my head, “Native, or…” I trailed off.

“I just mean that I’m very white.”

I should’ve shoved him harder. But I was a pacifist back then. Still am. In fact, I happen to know from experience that I would not fight any harder than that if someone were trying to murder me.

“You can’t say that sort of stuff if you’re white. You shouldn’t say it anyway. But especially when you’re white.”

I let go.

“Why not?” he teased.

I found this to be worrying behavior.

So, naturally, I reshoved him against the locker, “Are you okay?”

He laughed that stupid laugh, “No.”

I let go, “What?”

“I guess I’m just a racist white guy.”

“That’s…concerning.”

“I bet.”

“Alright then.”

I moved to leave, then looked back at him, “Are you straight?”

For a moment he looked genuinely shocked, “Yes, and homophobic, why?”

His friend was staring at us.

“Because that makes it worse.”

Later, I told my friend Xaden how I’d met this confusing boy. How he’d joked about being homophobic and racist. How I wasn’t sure where the jokes ended and the truth began. How I’d gotten a hug from him.

He seemed concerned. He had a right to be.

I brushed it off. I didn’t think I’d talk to Mitch again.

Then, I talked to him again.

I saw him in the commons, “Hey, Xaden, that’s the straight racist white guy I got a hug from.”

“The Canadian?”

Mitch must have heard me, because he approached, “You say that like it’s unique. There’s plenty of racist white guys. That probably describes half the people here.”

“Maybe the special part was the hug.”

“The hug?”

I should have shut my stupid mouth right then and there.

I spoke quickly then, “Maybe I don’t get a lot of hugs from people, even my own family, but my love language is physical touch, so when someone hugs me I remember. Maybe the only reason I remember who you are is because you hugged me. Because racism and homophobia are so common that they aren’t even notable anymore.”

“Huh,” he responded, “Maybe you should ask more people for hugs, then.”

“What?”

“I don’t think I’m the only person who would give you a hug. I also don’t think I should be memorable because of it. Especially when I’m just a straight racist white guy.”

“A straight racist homophobic blue-eyed freckled orange-tied white guy who does congress and impromptu.”

“Yeah.”

“Maybe I will start asking people for hugs.”

He smiled, “Have a good night.”

“You too.”

That night, I made a friend named Matt. I jokingly called his friend gorgeous. We taught him how to flirt. I forgot about Mitch.

That is, until the end of the night. I had a bag of Skittles. I did not like Skittles. Nobody would let me gift them the Skittles. Then, I saw Mitch.

“Hey Mitch!”

He walked over, “Yeah?”

“Do you like Skittles?”

“Yes, why?”

I threw them at him. He caught them, “Thanks.”

I smiled, “You’re welcome.”

Then, I turned to walk away.

“By the way,” he continued, “Could I have your number?”

Believe it or not, I did not expect to form a romance of any kind with this boy. I thought we were just being weird, friendly acquaintances. I was always overly affectionate with my friends.

I turned back, then looked at Xaden–who was eyeing this interaction with disapproval–then back at Mitch, “Can we talk about this later?”

Mitch nodded, confidence seeming to shatter, “Sure.”

I walked away, then went to the bathroom and paced for a couple of minutes.

The mixed signals I’d been sending had become suddenly clear to me. He’d probably thought I was flirting with him. That I was being unnecessarily forward in a romantic way instead of just a platonic way. That I hadn’t just been a weird person who didn’t know how to make friends. This hadn’t been my intention.

Still, it felt nice to be noticed in a romantic way. Like the idiot I was, I decided to give him my number. But by the time I got back to the commons, his team had left.

I went home on the bus with my team. I sat by Xaden. He listened to music while I looked out the window, watching the dark world pass.

The next day was awards. I saw Mitch. I walked up to him.

“Did you really want my number?”

I thought maybe he’d been joking. Messing with me.

He smiled nervously, “Yeah.”

I wondered if he thought I’d make fun of him.

I handed him a slip of paper with my number on it, and left.

So, I had his number. For about a week, we texted back and forth. Our banter was spectacular. But it felt wrong. So, I called things off. I told him it was because he didn’t like musicals, which was sort of true. Really, I was just unsure.

I didn’t see him for months. I moved on. I met another guy.

I was pretty sure the other guy didn’t like me back, but he was a safe chance. One I intended to take, eventually. After building a friendship with him. Meeting him for a second time. Playing things slow. Feeling them out.

It was the second to last tournament when I saw Mitch again. He was talking to my friend Ri and her boyfriend. I only went over to hug Ri, and wish her good luck. Then I noticed Mitch. I waved at him awkwardly. He saluted.

I hugged Ri from behind. She hugged me back.

“Hey, don’t steal my girlfriend,” her boyfriend objected.

“Imagine having a girlfriend,” Mitch remarked.

We shared an awkward look.

“Yeah, imagine,” I said.

I walked away. It felt oddly nice to see him again. I’m pretty sure I had some sort of addiction. I forgot about him when I wasn’t around him. The conversations I’d had with him felt off, when I wasn’t around him. But the space between us felt electrified.

And he was so respectful to me.

Later, we were arguing. I don’t remember what it was about. I can guess that I was flustered. Unable to fluster him, as always. He’d probably said something morally dubious.

One of his friends told us to ‘just kiss already.’

Then, I made one of the most idiotic decisions I had ever made in my life.

“We could,” I remarked.

Mitch stared at me, cheeks reddening.

“I don’t think I would stop you,” I continued.

He shook his head, “Not in public.”

The problem was, I knew the back hallways of the school. Between the drama room and the band room, I kissed him. And he let me.

We returned to our tournament. To our lives. I continued to text him about flowers. And tournaments. And life. He was a good listener. Though he was terrible at talking. Soon, I stopped texting him.

In September, I finally deleted his number.

Summer was over, and so were we.