rubik’s cube

After a night out, we were allowed to muck around at a friend’s house. It was my older brother, his two friends and I. Nice guys. Hours passed us by. Full of food and tongue-tied, we sat in a bedroom in each our own corners, thoroughly occupied. All lazy-eyed and sleep-deprived - best described as braindead. Back of my neck on the foot of the bed, solving a Rubik’s with tar in my head. We jump at the buzz from receiving a text, then I slump back down into my spot on the carpet. My brother gets up for the toilet.

Boy 1 on the bed lets out a smug chuckle. Boy 2 spins his gaming chair to ask him, what’ll we say? Just wait, Boy 1 says. All the while, they’re both on their phones, tapping away. They’re messing around on a group chat, I guess, but I want to find out what the jokes are about. I ask Boy 1. He grins, turning his phone around.

There’s a group chat with other boys from their grade and a picture of me where I sit, cupping my face. The cube hides behind a convenient bed frame. If my eyesight is right, Boy 1 has claimed that I am -what I can only describe as- erm... servicing them both for the night.

Boys can be stupid, right?

Well, I’m pleased to say that the only “service” Boy 1 got that day was a nice taste of Rubik’s cube straight to the face. After that, it was all fun and games; both boys said sorry and I had my way.

Some protests can be held without wasting air - with words, I wouldn't know where I'd begin. It was cool after that, though. Nobody cared. We were all back to normal when my brother came in.