Page 12
Story: Pride High
“Where’s that?” Ricky asked.
“Across the street from the public library.”
“Umm…”
“Next to The Steaming Stack?”
“Huh?”
“The breakfast café. Man, you gotta get out more!”
Ricky looked a little wounded. “There’s a lot I haven’t seen yet. We just moved here.”
“Oh!” That made sense. Come to think of it, Omar didn’t recognize him. He didn’t know everyone he went to school with, of course, but most of the faces were familiar to some degree. “Where from?”
“Colorado Springs.”
“Colorado? As in the state?”
“You’ve never heard of it?” Ricky said with another glimmer in his eyes. “You’ve gotta get out more.”
“Touché,” Omar said with a chuckle.
“And for the record,” Ricky continued. “I already have glasses.”
“Then why don’t you wear them?”
A sigh preceded his answer. “I don’t want to look like a nerd.”
“Too late,” Omar joked. “I don’t know if you can see me clearly, but I said that with a wink. And frankly dude, you look weird squinting and bumping into everything. Go get them.”
Ricky hesitated.
“I won’t make fun of you,” Omar said. “I swear. Hell, I’ll give you an honest opinion. How’s that? I’m practically an expert.”
“You don’t wear glasses,” Ricky challenged.
“No, but my dad is an optician and my mom is an optometrist. This sort of thing is in my blood.”
Ricky eyed him warily before rising and leaving the room. When he came back, he had on a pair of black-rimmed glasses that pushed the hair away from his eyes, which had to help. Even at a casual glance, it was obvious he required a strong prescription.
“You’ve got nothing to worry about,” Omar said.
“They make my eyes huge.”
“Not huge. Just bigger. That’s not a bad thing. You have nice eyes. Now people can see them clearer. And you can actually see.”
Ricky stared at him, as if unsure what to say.
“If you really hate them,” Omar said, “you can get contact lenses.”
“I tried once. I couldn’t get them in, and when I did, it hurt.”
“You get used to it.”
Ricky made a face. “How would you know?”
“It’s the family business,” Omar said, clearing his throat. He wasn’t about to trot out his own shortcomings, even to make someone feel better. “You look good. That’s all that matters.”
“Across the street from the public library.”
“Umm…”
“Next to The Steaming Stack?”
“Huh?”
“The breakfast café. Man, you gotta get out more!”
Ricky looked a little wounded. “There’s a lot I haven’t seen yet. We just moved here.”
“Oh!” That made sense. Come to think of it, Omar didn’t recognize him. He didn’t know everyone he went to school with, of course, but most of the faces were familiar to some degree. “Where from?”
“Colorado Springs.”
“Colorado? As in the state?”
“You’ve never heard of it?” Ricky said with another glimmer in his eyes. “You’ve gotta get out more.”
“Touché,” Omar said with a chuckle.
“And for the record,” Ricky continued. “I already have glasses.”
“Then why don’t you wear them?”
A sigh preceded his answer. “I don’t want to look like a nerd.”
“Too late,” Omar joked. “I don’t know if you can see me clearly, but I said that with a wink. And frankly dude, you look weird squinting and bumping into everything. Go get them.”
Ricky hesitated.
“I won’t make fun of you,” Omar said. “I swear. Hell, I’ll give you an honest opinion. How’s that? I’m practically an expert.”
“You don’t wear glasses,” Ricky challenged.
“No, but my dad is an optician and my mom is an optometrist. This sort of thing is in my blood.”
Ricky eyed him warily before rising and leaving the room. When he came back, he had on a pair of black-rimmed glasses that pushed the hair away from his eyes, which had to help. Even at a casual glance, it was obvious he required a strong prescription.
“You’ve got nothing to worry about,” Omar said.
“They make my eyes huge.”
“Not huge. Just bigger. That’s not a bad thing. You have nice eyes. Now people can see them clearer. And you can actually see.”
Ricky stared at him, as if unsure what to say.
“If you really hate them,” Omar said, “you can get contact lenses.”
“I tried once. I couldn’t get them in, and when I did, it hurt.”
“You get used to it.”
Ricky made a face. “How would you know?”
“It’s the family business,” Omar said, clearing his throat. He wasn’t about to trot out his own shortcomings, even to make someone feel better. “You look good. That’s all that matters.”
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