"So what are we?" Tana asks me and I nearly upchuck the chips I just ate. What is this? So now when girls offer you food they immediately want a relationship? The Tana girl tilts her head strangely at me. By strangely I mean she keeps the exact same calm expression on her face the entire time and just moves her head to the left. Wow, kinda freaky. Maybe I shouldn't of sneaked into the library tonight. 

"Dirty-minded pervert,"she says slowly in monotone. I'm not sure if it's because she was thinking of what to say or she thought that I needed to hear it syllabically for me to comprehend. "I mean, what type of people are we? We sneak into the dark corners of the library so that the librarian won't notice and sleepover. I know it's disturbing, but I thought I was the only one who classified as disturbed in this area," she tells me. 

I take a seat close to a bookshelf and put my hand to my head. I can't help but burst out laughing. I've met an alien. She's weird, but what can I say...so am I. 

"You're already contemplating the meaning of the universe before you know my name," I tell her. She shrugs. 

"Well most people usually tell you their names when you tell them theirs. I assumed that you got too preoccupied with the food and forgot basic etiquette or that you're some wanted fugitive and needed time to think of a pseudonym," Tana tells me. I resist the urge to laugh again. The strangest part though is that I can't tell whether she's pulling my leg or serious.

"Just call me Sam," I tell her. 

"Would you like green eggs and ham?" She asks me with a smile. She's cute when she smiles. In fact she is pretty good-looking. If I liked girls I would probably be very intrigued by her. 

"I think I'm the one that's supposed to ask that"

"Because Sam you are,"

"Am," I correct her

"Actually, I am not Sam, you are," she corrects me. 

I don't respond immediately and take some time to examine her. She's got a bag full of food, a fleece blanket, pillow and is wearing layers of clothes. Is she a runner?

"How old are you?" I ask her.

"Twenty-two," she tells me. 

Liar, she doesn't look more than eighteen, nor does she seem to act like it. She shrugs and takes out an ID. It has her picture on it and states she was born on the twenty-second of June nineteen ninety-five. Wow, she's older than me by three months. I can't help but wonder if she's using a fake ID.

"It's not fake," she says reading my mind. "There would be no use in a fake ID when I sneak into a library. In fact, them thinking I'm a minor would be to my advantage." 

She's got a point. I take a book from the shelf and hold it up to her nose. It's the Selected Prophecies of Nostradamus. It's a nice old-smelling book. She inhales it deeply. 

"Nostradamus was a fool wasn't he?" I ask her.

"No he was human," she tells me, "All humans are fools. We all are trying to make sense of the world around us."

"Why are you here?" I ask her. She shrugs.

"Wanted to get away from my mom for a little bit and contemplate the meaning of my existence," she tells me.

"You having issues with your career or degree decision?" I ask her. It's normal. You finish university to realize that you hate the field of work that you're qualified to work under. 

"I've dropped out of varsity three times so far. My mom's at her wits end and I just want to be a writer. I plan on moving to Cape Town soon because it has a great writing community, but I'm an only child so getting my mom to agree to that is going to be a mission,"

I don't exactly know how to respond to that so I just say "ow"

"You thought that I was a runaway teen didn't you?" she says after a long pause in the conversation. I nod. She nods. 

"Running away isn't that bad of an idea though," I say dreamily. 

"Did you run away?" she asks me. I scoff. "You do look about as young as I do which means that you could be anywhere from sixteen to thirty...but you're a guy so you have to be less than twenty-one,"

"I'm twenty-two!" I snap, "I just like to shave smooth,"

"To keep your bussy fresh?" she asks me. I roll my eyes. 

"What if I'm a top?" I ask her.

"According to stereotypes no, and ninety-nine percent of people act according to stereotypes," she tells me.

"Well that's none of your business," I tell her. She shrugs.

 "Fair enough"

 Wow, she's really not like other people who would prod at me until I told them whether I'm a top or bottom. Neither does she have a filter though, talking about my backside with so much ease.

"I'm verse," I admit. She shrugs again, I'm realizing that's characteristic of her. 

"I'm an aspiring real estate mogul, designer and architect," I continue. "My parents don't really know about the fact that I'm into guys yet and I don't really know how they'll react because you know how Zimbabwean parents are. I'm doing my passion her and I create outfits with a lady in town. I don't like to call it a job because it immediately makes it boring. I don't work, I passion" I start to blab. She nods. She has the same calm expression on her face, but her eyes are sparkling now like she understands...or maybe she's been holding in a sneeze for too long. But she doesn't look like the type to hold back. I continue talking, shouldn't I be wondering why I'm sharing my life with an almost complete stranger? I stop talking for a moment and take a moment to look at her. She seems to have stopped listening and is lost in her own mind. 

"You made enemies with a model in Bulawayo and pretty much got banned from every model agency there. I heard you," she says reading my mind again. She stands up from where she was sitting and dusts herself off. She faces me and does her weird head tilt.

"What are we?" She asks again.

"Misfits United," I tell her. Tana smiles.

"I thought you'd say Green Eggs and Ham,"

"I guess in a way we are both,"