Try again

Kip smiles a little as Karla gets a brain freeze, though he refrains from teasing her this time. As she shifts around, he turns a little bit too to face her, bringing one leg up onto the bed.

Hearing her explanation, it seemed to fit what Twila had told him, which helped him understand better, though deep down he was starting to feel even worse. Licking off his spoon, he sets the ice cream aside, not caring if it got a little soggy.

Turning a bit more, he hesitates before giving her leg a pat. She looked so sad... disappointed. He couldn't help it that his own eyes showed how sad he was too... sad and sorry. "Karla, I..." This was awkward. It felt terrible. But he knew if they didn't talk it out at some point, this wasn't going to go away.

Looking her in the eye seems to give him courage. "I want you to know that... that you you are special. That you're very special. And... what I did today... it was because I'm not so special."

Kip swallows hard. "I've... had problems... telling people no... but it's no excuse. It just means that... I probably don't deserve a friend like you 'cause I'm always messing up." He forces a sad sort of laugh. "I've always been that way. Getting into trouble 'cause I don't think first. It's no wonder Erik's always on my case, and Twila... she's got good advice, but I haven't deserved any more than her treating me like a kid most of the time."

He knows he's getting off the point, so he closes his eyes for a moment, trying to get back on track. "You being special... it has nothing to do with anyone else 'cause... well, 'cause you make you special, not other people. You were special when I met you, and you always will be."

Kip tries to give her a little smile, though he felt just about as low as he could right now. "I don't have feelings for Whitney, I just... she always paid attention to me, even if I know it wasn't good. I don't have a reason for kissing her back today. She caught me by surprise, I wasn't thinking, and before I knew it, I was feeling stupid all over again. I've got... I've got a lot to work on, and I know it, so if you don't wanna be close to me anymore, I... I understand."

His head hangs and he doesn't even try to keep eye contact anymore. "But... I... I still wanna be friends and... and maybe after... after you've had enough time and stuff, we could... well... maybe try again... or something."


Leaving Scott on the bench near the walking path, Justin ambles towards the parking lot. His bat was slung over his shoulder, while in the other hand he lugged the bucket of baseballs he and Scott had collected. It had been an interesting day. Scott had talked more than Justin thought he would, and he had learned a lot about this patient who had been brought here against his will. It was an odd case... certainly unique, with bits and pieces that seemed unreal, in connection with this organization called the Agency. It was more like a sci-fi novel rather than reality. But Justin had enough people stating facts that he believed it, and he knew well enough not to share the information with anyone else, lest he himself get put on a list of people the Agency wanted to kill.

Once again, he doesn't stop in at the office. He had not been asked to report daily, as Dr. Hawks knew full well that Justin would refuse. He didn't like reporting every day - one day at a time was hardly a way to analyze these encounters. Eventually, he'd let the doctor know what he thought, but until he was ready, these days were between him and Scott.

Arriving at the parking lot, Justin heads for the beat-up, rust-red pickup at the far end. Halfway there though, the old bucket groaned under the weight of the baseballs, and one side of the handle gave way. Baseballs went everywhere, scattering all across the parking lot.

Justin stares at the runaway balls and stops to sigh a deep sigh. Wandering the rest of the way to his pickup, he tosses the broken bucket and the bat into the bed and begins to pickup the baseballs. One at a time, he zigzags across the parking lot to collect his stash, throwing them into the bed of his truck with pretty good aim. One ball in particular had rolled under a car and he finds himself on his stomach, crawling to try and reach the rogue baseball.