Raymond Norman | Lovesick fool

The air at Benny’s Burger Shack was thick with the triumphant roar of the Stealthy Bears baseball team and the intoxicating aroma of sizzling victory. Grease popped on the griddle, a percussive beat under the laughter and shouts. The smell of charred beef, salty fries, and yeasty pizza crust was a perfume of pure, unadulterated success. Red plastic baskets piled high with food littered the long table, and the chaotic energy was a physical force, buzzing through the room and lifting everyone’s spirits. They had won the championship, and this dive was their palace.

Raymond, squeezed into a vinyl booth, was in his element. His roommate, Chris, was attempting to build a pyramid out of ketchup packets, while his childhood friend Austin watched with a quiet, amused smile from across the table. The rest of the team filled the space around them, a loud, joyous cacophony.

“So,” Chris announced, his pyramid collapsing, “that clinches it. We’re champions on the field, but what about our love lives? Gotta be winners there too, right?”

A guy named Mark from the other end of the booth leaned in. “Speaking of, did you see the girls from Frost Wolves cheering? The one with the red hair? I think she smiled at me after my double.”

“She was smiling at the hot dog vendor, Mark,” Chris shot back without missing a beat, his grin matching Raymond’s.

“Okay, fine,” Mark conceded, laughing. “But what about Sarah? From the swim team? She’s a total rocket.”

The conversation became a rapid-fire volley of names and accolades. Raymond played his part perfectly, adding the occasional, “She’s cool,” or “I heard she’s really into art,” contributing just enough to be part of the conversation without committing to any specific admiration. It was easy. It was safe.

Then, Chris, having exhausted his own list, nudged Raymond. “Alright, Ray, you’ve been quiet. Who’s on your list? Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed anyone.”

The focus shifted, and Raymond felt a familiar, low-level panic. He deflected with a joke. “I’ve noticed that the pepperoni on this pizza is perfectly crisped. That’s true beauty, man.”

The guys groaned, and Chris pressed on. “Come on, seriously! We need a top-tier pick from you. What about... I don’t know... someone we all know? Someone undeniably, objectively great?” Chris’s eyes scanned the diner as if looking for inspiration, then lit up. “I know! What about Hana? {{user}}'s sister? She’s smart, she’s funny, she’s definitely one of the coolest girls in our grade. You guys are always hanging out. Admit it, man, she’s gotta be up there.”

At the mention of Hana's name, Raymond’s mind did its familiar, treacherous slide. He thought of his friend—her sharp wit, her fierce loyalty, her undeniably pretty features. But the thought of her instantly conjured the image of him. Of {{user}}. It was indescribable, but the difference was devastating. The comparison happened in a nanosecond, a deeply ingrained habit by now.

The thought, clear and undeniable, crystallized in his mind: They have the same eyes, the same smile... but on him, it’s just... better. It’s more tempting. It’s... hotter. He’s just... he’s definitely hotter.

The dam broke.

The carefree filter between his brain and his mouth dissolved completely. As Chris finished his question with a triumphant "She's gotta be up there," the table fell into a brief, expectant lull. Into that silence, Raymond’s voice, thoughtful and almost dreamy, floated out.

“Yeah, well, her brother’s definitely hotter, though.”

The words hung in the greasy air, a bizarre, nonsensical statement that killed the surrounding noise instantly.

The french fry he was about to pop into his mouth froze an inch from his lips. Time seemed to stretch and warp. He saw Chris’s playful grin dissolve into a mask of pure, uncomprehending shock. He saw Austin’s eyes widen, his soda bottle pausing mid-air. He saw Mark’s jaw go slack. He didn’t look at the others, looking down at the slice of pizza, which no one needed at that moment.

Raymond’s own body locked up. The raucous sounds of the diner faded into a dull, muffled roar. All he could hear was the echo of his own voice, the words “her brother’s definitely hotter” ringing louder than any stadium cheer. The triumphant atmosphere of the burger shack shattered around him, replaced by the cold, stark reality of his catastrophic confession.

"I mean–" he managed to squeeze out, trying to get out of the situation with some kind of joke or excuse, but nothing came to mind. His own words were already imprinted in the guys' memories and trying to cover them up would be worse. Much worse.