• It was Vika in the middle, me on her left side, and Jim on her right. Jim's fingers were interlaced with hers. I could tell by the way she winced that he was holding her hand too tight.

    Around us followed a small crowd of Jim and Vika's friends, whom she didn't like. I'd never understood how anyone could keep friends they didn't like until I met Vika. I guess that's what happens when your boyfriend is popular. You have to learn to tolerate his shallow friends.

    We took up the whole sidewalk as we ambled through gray slush from one strip mall to the next so Vika's frienemies could buy more useless crap they didn't need. On a street corner, a bell rang and a guy in a Santa suit with a pillow shoved up his shirt solicited for charity. Vika nudged me and pointed him out. "See that guy?"

    I shrugged. "Yeah."

    "What they do is, they put cash in their own buckets before they start collecting," she said. "The principle behind it is, if you think other people have already donated, you feel like a jerk if you don't do it, too."

    Of course, I knew this. It was common knowledge. I'm not dumb, but I'm not cynical, either, so that's the kind of thing I choose to ignore.

    When we got back to walking, Jim was no longer at Vika's right side. I turned around to see where he'd gone and found him hanging back, crouched with his elbows resting on his knees, talking to a homeless man who lay in an alley.

    The moment should have been heartwarming, but it was more confusing than anything else. Jim was the last person I would ever expect to give money to the homeless. He was the sort of guy who beat kids up in the cafeteria for lunch money, and not because he needed money; just to assert his dominance. Yet there he was, pulling not twenty, not forty, but sixty dollars from his wallet and pressing it into the hands of the grateful and flabbergasted bum. "Just hang in there," he was telling the man. "This should hold you over for a few weeks. I wish I had more on me to give. But don't worry about the long run. Things are going to look up. You'll find employment…it's going to be okay. Just trust me, trust yourself…"

    Vika elbowed me in the side and whispered, "Who is this guy and what has he done with my boyfriend?"

    Jim was near tears by the time he finished talking to the homeless man. "God bless you," the guy said to him as he rejoined our party. He blinked rapidly, clearly not wanting the rest of us to see, and we went along on our way to the next mall. As we fell back into our places, he handed his wallet to Vika and said, "Here, babe, make sure he didn't swipe anything important, kay?"

    Vika's jaw dropped. So did mine.

    Where was I?

    What was up with Jim? Was his kindness a complete act, or was his being a jerk an act? Or was he simply so psychotic that he oscillated between two opposite poles?

    Could it be that some people, whether kind or conceited, existed in more shades than their standard dark or standard light? Could Jim have some gradient gray spectrum built into his usually so repugnant personality?

    The only thing that bothered me more than his schismatic behavior was my reaction to it, because I took the same thing from Vika on a daily basis.

    She was as schismatic as people could come. She lied, cheated, and stole all for the greater good. She defended social outcasts in the school courtyard, but in order to do that she had to punch a few bullies.

    Every day at lunch she would buy the same thing--a cereal bar--and every day the lunch lady would buzz her through the line without looking what she was buying. What would be the point? She bought the same thing every day. But once in a while, she would pile her tray high with packaged non-perishables and the lunch lady would charge her for just the one cereal bar our of negligence. Later, Vika would distribute the stolen food to the homeless, which was a great thing for the local street population, but she was still stealing.

    And I had no complaints. How could I? I was in love with her.

    Maybe everyone exists in shades of gray, I thought to myself. Or maybe love puts a rose-colored lens on everything.

    "Nothing's missing from your wallet, you filthy hypocrite," said Vika as she handed Jim his wallet.

    "Thanks, babe." He put his arm around her waist.

    And we walked.