When Kenny called Timothy at eleven-thirty at night, Timothy had taken it up on himself to sit through a horror movie in his lonely house while his dad had gone visiting his aunts and uncles-namely The Black Phone. So, when Kenny called and the landline rang with a powerful shrill chime, so did Timothy’s vocal chords, sending the red plastic bowl of popcorn flying through the air- a comet with a tail of kernels and salt.

“Hello” Timothy said, the phone rattling in his hand as he filled his mouth with bits of popcorn that littered the floor. His mother had always told him that it was a crime to waste food and any germs on them would get killed by the acid in his stomach anyways. Or at least that’s how it was supposed to work. “Listen. I know you go around murdering children but let me warn you-“

“Timothy” Kenny exclaimed, “are you on crack?”

“Kenny?” Timothy guessed. He heard sounds of vehicles and the rush of people on the other side, “Where even are you?”

“Better question: why don’t you have my number saved?” Kenny interrogated. Timothy looked at the phone. It was one of those ancient ones with the spinning dial and hand piece, some of the intricate metallic designs rusted with age. He raised an unamused eyebrow at it as if it were the phone’s fault. As much as he despised it, his father loved collecting old trinkets and gadgets of sorts making his house the ideal set piece for a 70s sitcom complete with: a Rock’em Sock’em robot set, a gramophone with all the records of ABBA littered around it and multiple psychedelic posters hanging across the walls. He dragged his hand across his face and groaned.

“It’s an antique!” he complained, “There is no saving number business! The chances of you picking the phone up to your best friend or a serial killer is fifty-fifty!”

Kenny went silent on the other side. Timothy decided anyone would, having decided that his father’s choice of actually putting an antique to practical use was insane. “So…” Kenny dragged out the vowel, “You always answer your phone like this?” Despite watching a horror movie or not, Timothy DID answer the phone like that-especially if he was home alone. That didn’t mean he was going to admit that to Kenny.

“What did you call for any way?” he said, squishing his eyes between his thumb and index.

“What..-like.” Kenny struggled to find the words for what he wanted to say. It must have been pretty serious, so Timothy listened intently. “What do you do or...get your crush if they are feeling down?” The way he toned the question made it feel hypothetical, but Timothy already knew what Kenny was talking about after the not-so-generalized tea party Lois gave him in the middle of the furniture store. However, there was one thing he couldn’t quite put his finger on:

“Why call me?” he asked confusedly.

Kenny cleared his throat and fumbled on the opposite end, “Well you…well you sorta have a history…you know what I’m talking about!” Indeed Timothy did. Truth be told, Timothy was popular in school-very popular- the Sriracha of Swallow Tails International Scholars as Kenny put it. And how will he not be? He was the fastest in the football team, was chronically online on multiple social media accounts and apparently, curly chocolate hair, olive skin and deep purple eyes is a much respected beauty combination. Also, he spoke Spanish! Appearance wise, the only flaw Tim had was the X-shaped scar on his right cheek, although Lois insisted it gave him a more dapper swashbuckling aura. Popularity meant attention, attention meant, well…girls. He had dated a couple of times to know the basic routine of how things went: restaurant dates, chocolates and promises you don’t intend to keep. Yet now Timothy was interested. He was part drama beyond drama because the drama was going on between two of his best friends.

“Right.” Timothy cleared his throat and coiled the spiraled telephone cord along his arm.

“On second thoughts” Kenny said, “Maybe I should just ask my brother”. As insulted as Timothy felt, he couldn’t help but accept the truth: almost all his past relationships hadn’t had the best of endings.

“Oh c’mon!” Timothy pleaded, “I know I’m not the best at continuing ships but I’m great at starting them”. Taking the sound of Kenny’s sarcastic chuckle as a yes, he imitated a professional businessman “So, who are you hoping to court?”

Kenny hesitated, but in the end, he spilled everything. How he suddenly started seeing something in Lane that drove him to lunacy, the dance, how the clock struck Lois instead of twelve midnight. “I don’t get I.. Man,” Kenny said, “I love feeling like this and all but I still can’t put my finger on why. I hate it!”

“Why?” Timothy asked, the romance having moved him enough to dab his cheeks clean of tears. “Why should you know?” Kenny’s silence on the other side meant that he had no choice but to agree, so Timothy started explaining to Kenny what he should do and Kenny listened intently enough that Timothy was certain he was taking notes. However, as far as he was concerned, Kenny was quite impressive at wooing already, considering that he was able to get Lane to kiss him in a couple of hours – even if it was interrupted from actually happening. A part of him did say that Kenny had it easy as he already knew Lane ‘inside and out’ (PS. That phrase was framed horribly!) and the only thing he had to add to their already strong bond was a hint of romantic flair. So, he concluded his speech with “just go with your gut”.

“I knew I could count you” Kenny chuckled. Timothy’s eyebrows crossed.

“No you didn’t!” he objected, “You were literally about to hang up and ask your brother for advice instead!”

“Well” Kenny laughed guiltily, “See ya around!”

“Kenny wait – “ He pursed his lips realizing his friend had hung up. As much as he knew Kenny was clearly going to succeed, there was a small piece of information he had forgotten to give to him: the parents.