Henry staggered. All his energy drained out of his head, and his body turned into a statue of jelly. He looked at Amal. Amal sat there, in Henry’s chair, his eyes glued to the floor, his legs tight together… how could he just sit there? Why could Amal maintain a calm face while Henry’s world slid further and farther away from him?
“Your… the thing… you never told—“
Henry put his hands on his forehead. He slowed his breathing, yet it came out jagged anyways.
“Amal,” he said, “I’ll have to be an-“
“This is not a betrayal,” said Amal. He took a deep breath, lifted his head, and stood up. Henry shrunk under the shadow of someone he once knew. “I only chose this job because it allows me access to demographic info,” continued Amal, “Which will help me hone my materi-“
“Oh,” stated Henry. He put his hands on his hips. “It’s fine when you use data to help further a job in comedy, but not for me.”
“Look, you can take the job. Forget I raised a fuss.” Amal’s eye line rose to the level of Henry’s keyboard. Slow progress. If Henry told him to ‘look me right in the eye,’ the next president would already be chosen by the time Amal complied.
Henry sighed. “Amal, we had some minor arguments about the state of politics before. But this… this is bigger than you believe. I though we agreed that Kerry Ebner was the worst thing to happen in the U.S.A. since pineapple pizza.”
“That’s why she’ll never win. We learned our mistakes from Kingston Pound.” Amal let a smile loose. “Also, shut your mouth on pineapple.”
Henry stepped back. He grinned, and then pointed two finger guns at Amal. “Ok, so here’s ...