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Artifex Ex Machina (or A Good Idea Is Hard To Find)

What I Would Say To You Now

The Streetlight Goes Out When You're Underneath It

The Art of Rejection

Rapture

Untitled

Amber

Intangibles

If you asked Dylan what she had said to him that night, he probably would tell you that he couldn't remember. He remembered walking with her out of the coffee shop, the wind swirling snowflakes around them. He remembered the moon; its glow was so overwhelming that it carved a ring of light into the clouds. He remembered standing by her car and feeling anxious as she fumbled with her keys. He remembered what he said to her (and exactly how he said it): "Do you maybe, um, sometime, wanna go out sometime? You know...like on a date?"

But he didn't remember what she said. Except that it was in the negative.

And here he was, a few days later, walking to the school's Winter Wonderland dance by himself. The night air was crisp and there wasn't a cloud in the sky. The stars were sharp, icy diamonds in the chilly dark blue above. He pulled his hands out of his coat and rubbed them together in front of his mouth, breathing hard hot breaths onto them before tucking them back into his pockets. He hoped that all this was worth it. He desperately, desperately hoped that Grant and Roger would pull through.

Grant and Roger were Dylan's two best friends, and all of this was their idea. Well, Roger's idea, mostly. When Dylan had told them about the rejection the morning after, their responses were typical. Grant smiled mournfully and comforted Dylan. "Don't worry," he said, "We've all been there." (Dylan knew this was a half-truth. Grant had never had the guts to ask a girl out)

Roger also tried comforting Dylan, but his approach was decidedly different. "Listen buddy, just relax. What you've gotta understand is this: The art of seduction starts when she says no."

You might say that it was that one simple statement that had brought Dylan on this cold night walk. Roger had connections with the fairer sex, and had known that Lyla was still pining after her ex, Bryan. He supposed that this was why she had turned Dylan down. "It's been way too long, and he's a jerk anyways," Roger explained, "So don't feel guilty about it. She's fair game." Grant, of course, scowled at him when he said it.

So the plan would unfold like this: one of them would talk some sense into her, help her get over it, convince her that Dylan was the right man for the job. It couldn't be Dylan himself, though; "She would clearly see that he was just trying to get with her," Roger said, and this time it was Dylan who scowled at him.

It was decided that this would be done at the dance; the romance of the occasion was sure to help sway her. There was only one final problem: that of Lyla's best friend, Amber. Like most girls who are best friends, the two of them were completely and utterly and absolutely inseparable. In order to pull the plan off, they'd need to somehow get rid of her. This was their solution: Roger would attract Amber's attention and get her away from Lyla with his "undeniable masculine charm". Grant would then talk Lyla through things, and immediately after, Dylan would walk in and sweep her off her feet. The plan was absolutely perfect. Grant was opposed to it, though. "You know I can't talk to girls," he protested. "Well, you'll have to learn," Roger said. "If you don't do it, who will? I certainly can't. The poor girl would end up falling in love with me, and where will that leave Dylan?"

As Dylan shuffled along to the school, Roger and Grant were indeed beginning to set the plan into motion. They leaned back against the wall by the entrance, waiting for Lyla and Amber to show up. Roger was grinning madly and cool as ice; Grant was in a cold sweat and shaking. Noticing this, Roger turned to him and said, "What are you so nervous about? I thought you were used to standing against the walls at these things, not dancing with anyone."

Time passed, and song after song, chorus after chorus, beat after beat of dull dance music grinded through the sticky air; wave after wave of boys with slicked back hair and too-tight or too-loose pants wandered in, accompanied by wave after wave of girls with too-short skirts and too much makeup. Roger kept checking his watch, more and more frequently. Occasionally Grant would ask him for the time.

"That's it," Roger declared vitriolically, after a good deal of time, "I'm leaving!"

But just as he said it and turned towards the door, he saw them walking in: Lyla, with Amber walking next to her, a measured distance apart. But something wasn't right. Hanging off her shoulder like a coat was Bryan the ex, small and smugly smiling, the light reluctantly shining off his bad pseudo-moustache and strained beet red swollen head. Roger and Grant looked at each other, confused and anxious. "What do we do now?" Grant asked. In the meantime, of course, Dylan was still walking. As he got closer and closer to the school, his heartbeat began to quicken, and he started sweating in spite of the cold. He was almost there. This time - this time, he'd get it right, it'd all be sorted out, and everything would be right, for once. Everything would be perfect.

Roger and Grant were still in a confused daze. Roger was rubbing the back of his neck, frustrated and flummoxed. Grant leaned against the wall and muttered quietly under his breath. He watched Lyla, Bryan, and Amber descend into the crowd, and let out a willowy sigh. He then stood up tall, with as much strength as he could muster, and began to run after them. Roger shook his head in shock. "What on earth are you doing?!"

"But we can't just change these things," Roger protested, "You know that. You of all people."

"Yeah, I know. But'we gotta try. We can't just give up. And you of all people know that. Giving up never gets you anywhere."

And with that, Grant ran off into the throng of people. Roger let out a resigned sigh.

Dylan finally saw the school, and he smiled. He was there. If everything had gone according to plan...him and Lyla might be going on a date this Saturday. He'd take her to the movies. After the show, the two of them would stand by the ticket booth, smiling awkwardly at each other. The ticket seller behind the window would be watching them. They'd move in slowly and press their faces against each other. Afterwards, Dylan would apologize. "I'm sorry. I've never really kissed a girl before. I know that was awful."

She would just smile and try to tell him that it wasn't so bad, but he would shake his head. Then, after a moment of awkwardness, he'd smile and say, "But you know what? Practice makes perfect," and kiss her again, and it would be fantastic.

But what movie would they see? They weren't any that he was interested in. Besides, a movie was such a boring, clichéd date.

Instead, he'd take her to a Japanese sushi restaurant. Dylan did love sushi. He didn't know if Lyla did, though. They'd go there and Dylan would impress her by ordering the food in Japanese. She would be amazed.

The only problem was, Dylan didn't speak Japanese.

A boy and a girl, clearly a couple, walked out of the school doors. Dylan looked at them and watched them. They were so perfect; just what he wanted him and Lyla to be. They both wore coats and scarves and denim jeans, and she wore mittens and had lovely hair and flawless makeup, the kind of makeup where it doesn't really look like it's there at all, it just makes her look prettier. Sometimes, Dylan thought, Lyla wore too much makeup. But that was OK. Still, he looked closer. She was frowning, their conversation was heated. She turned her head down and away from him just as the two walked past Dylan. He stopped, turned, and watched them walk down the street. Things didn't seem to get any better between them.

Dylan looked back up at the school and hesitated. Did he really want to go in there? He had walked all this way, just so that he could. Still, the more he thought about it, perfect seemed less and less perfect. Dreams don't always work so well in reality, and maybe that's all Lyla was. Dylan cast his eyes downwards, hardened his resolve, paused for a moment, then turned around. Even after the long walk there, he had to turn back.