“Resistance is futile.” Now where have I heard that before?
Oh, right. It’s on that silly show he watches all the time. Star Train? Star Truck? Something with a “star” in it. Some robot thing says it and then turns whoever’s nearby into a robot, too.
I’m thinking about this because…it now applies to me. Me and him. Him and his silly Star Truck, and me sitting next to him, watching his face instead of the show.
His eyes are too beautiful for those glasses. He doesn’t really need them anyway. He just wears them for a free ticket out of our school’s sports programs. They’re all ugly and thick and black. They overshadow his blue eyes and make his nose look too big.
He should get a proper haircut, too. As it is, it just hangs limp around his face in a stupid bowl-cut. And he’s too cool for that kind of haircut. Even if he does watch Star Truck.
He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, totally focused on the screen. Something seriously intense is happening.
He’s got such a nice body under those stupid clothes. He runs a lot, so I know he’s at least kind of fit. And he’s skinny and lanky, but there’s not a single imperfection on his body that I know of. I remember one time, some senior boys stole his shirt from his P.E. locker as a prank. He chased them all the way to the end of the field and everybody, including me, got a good view of his chest.
I finally look at the screen just in time to see one of those robots. It looks point-blank at the screen and tells me, “Resistance is futile.”
And it is. The more I see of him, the harder it is to resist. He’s drawing me in, turning me into a robot that’s programmed only to see him. Him and his beautiful eyes, and perfect body, and perfect skin, and could-be perfect hair…underneath his geeky disguise.
He looks at me and points to the screen. “See, look, Tabby; that guy’s about to be assimilated.”
Funny…I think I know how he feels.
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