I completely forget that I even have Josiah's phone until I get home and it vibrates in my pocket. Thinking that it was mine, I had yanked it out and then remembered that I had basically stolen his phone.

Which is fantastic. So great.

I mean, what am I even supposed to do with his phone? It's not like it's even the phone that my Secret Guy uses - unless he has a fake number on it or something, which I highly doubt (is that even a thing?) - and I don't think Josiah would be cool with me if I said, "Hey, man, you dropped this, but I didn't tell you, because I just wanted to make sure that you weren't my secret admirer. Thanks, for not flipping out like any sane person definitely would in this situation."

After a couple minutes of thinking about it, I decide that I can just go back to the school and drop it off at the front office.

But, even as I'm climbing in the family Subaru, its once-shiny red exterior dull from years of teenaged abuse, I can't help but wonder if this is the right move. I mean, for starters, what if Josiah realizes that he had it in his hand, then dropped it when he ran into me? What if he's already checked the office? Will I have to fill out a report or something?

I know where he lives, I think. We might have had a cast party for Shrek: The Musical there last year. (I was Lord Farquaad; they decided that my Scottish accent was 'absolute rubbish', so instead of embracing my inner ogre, I got to charge about on my knees in a disturbingly greasy wig.)

It takes me a few tries to find where his house is - I mean, it was nearly pitch black when we all met up there to play Secret Hitler and make fun of that time when I fell on my face in front of some kindergartners - but I finally find it.

123, Fruity Way. You're joking.

When I slip out of the car, I try to come across as nonchalant as possible. Yeah, there's probably no one watching, but it's still nice to think that someone out there realizes how cool and relaxed I am.

I'm not cool and relaxed. Fake it till you make it, I guess.

The door knocker is large and looks kind of antique. I'm almost worried I'll somehow manage to break it as I use it to gently rap against the door.

No one comes for about a minute, until, when I'm about to knock again, I see a figure in those little side windows of the door. My hands drop to my sides; I stiffen completely. So much for being "cool and relaxed".

"Hello?" greets the little boy cautiously as he opens the door. He's young. Like, eight or nine. Just like my own little brother, Ben, though Ben certainly isn't a spitting image of me like this kid is of Josiah. Which is really freaking creepy, especially considering how I was thinking earlier of how really freaking hot his brother is.

Now I'm uncool, non-relaxed, and very unnerved.

"Hey," I say with a (probably douchey) nod. "Is Josiah here?"

The boy smiles. At least he doesn't smile like Josiah - Josiah seems honest when he smiles, while this kid seems like he's just found his siblings' Christmas presents and is planning on telling them what they're getting. I'm even more unnerved now.

"He's not here right now," he says. "He's at the animal shelter."

Oh my freaking God. Of course.

At this point, I'm half tempted to just hand the peevish kid Josiah's phone, but I have a slight feeling that he'd take a hammer to it or use it for blackmail or something. Seriously - this kid comes across as more of a creep than David.

So, instead of handing him the phone, I smile tightly and say between nearly gritted teeth, "Okay. Cool. Thanks a lot."

The boy smiles snottily once more, then shuts the door with a resounding click.

As I'm walking back to the family car, I'm trying to work out in my head the quickest way to the animal shelter. Then, I realize that it's probably just a couple turns to the right, as well as the fact that I am an idiot. (Seriously. I'm not joking.)

Sure enough, there it is: the Caring Paws Shelter. It's such a lame name, but it's honestly a really great place. Our town has some sort of weird stray cat problem I guess, because they always seem to have about a million kittens. And with kittens come business, I guess.

When I walk in, there's a lady behind the counter literally pressing some paper towels against her face. A few dots of blood leak through.

"Um," I say, and stand still for a minute, just blinking. Then: "Are you alright, ma'am?" (Because I'm not that much of an idiot.)

She looks at me, her eyes familiar and wide. Even though her hair is straight, ruffled, and blonde, and her build is more broad than slender, I recognize the eyes right away. They look just like Josiah's.

Maybe everyone looks like Josiah to me. Maybe I've gone nuts. Maybe I've always been.

"I'm fine," she says amiably, blotting her face some more. "We have a cat here who - though she's quite lovely - doesn't take well to anyone holding her."

"Speak for yourself, mother," comes Josiah's voice; in he walks, holding a scraggly-furred white cat in his arms. I think it might be purring. "Sasha loves me."

Meekly, I wave. "Dude, you dropped your phone," I say, pulling it out of my pocket. Wrong phone. I put mine in my pocket and pull out his, a sheepish grin plastered on my face. "I . . . I came to bring it to you."

His face breaks out into this huge smile; Sasha the Scratchy Cat is set on the floor, and he's walking over to me, and I hold out the phone, because I just want to go home and sleep and I don't want him to touch me because his brother looks just like him and, oh my God, I am freaking tired. Just as much as he is adorable.

"Thanks," he says, taking it with a blink. His wink from lunch pops into my head, unveckoned. "I didn't even realize. . . . How'd you know I was here?"

I blink. "Uh, you're brother told me."

He chuckles. "Well, thanks. Um . . . do you want to come see the kittens? We just got a new batch." I can feel his mom staring. There's this little chant of "PRESSUREPRESSUREPRESSURE" in my head.

Nope. Sleep. You want sleeeep. Remember the sleeeeeep. No kittens. Kittens baaad. I'm too tired to be rational at this point.

"Sure," I say instead of being sensible.

And that is how I am roped into accompanying Josiah as he plays with kittens.

I mean, it's not unenjoyable; the cats are fluffy, happy, and perkier than I've ever considered possible. And they really are friendly. They're this mottled grey and have bright, white chests, and, boy, are they adorable

"You could name a few if you want," Josiah says, one trying to claw up his leg, one cradled in his arms, one perched precariously on his shoulder like some kind of parrot wannabe. "We usually let volunteers do the honour, anyway."

I mean, if they were guaranteed to stay this size forever and be of absolutely no nuisance to me, I would literally take them all. But they're cats, so that'll never happen. I don't have the required dedication.

"It's cool," I say, because I so would end up emotionally attached. And I don't need any more things to worry about - especially not spending the rest of my life as a lonely cat lord. (Which I would totally become if given the chance.)

Still . . . kittens.

Josiah laughs and shrugs, and I manage an earnest smile. "This is nice," he says. "You and me. We should hang out more."

I want to scoff at "more"; Josiah and I hardly see each other. Like, there's lunch, and the occasional hallway collision. And drama stuff, of course, though I can't say that I'm really myself during all that. I'm way more confident when I'm on the stage, apparently. Edward tells me I'm electrifying. (Like Grease Lightning, which we'd just rehearsed.) (Sidenote: Edward was an alright Doody.)

"Sure," I say, managing something that might actually sound confident. "That'd be nice."

He chuckles, just a few, short bursts of breathy laughter that makes me involuntarily chuckle back a bit in response. "It would, Nick. It really would."

I manage to hold an antsy kitten up in front of my face so he can't see I'm blushing, because that would totally be embarrassing. I let it bounce around my head some more: It would, Nick. It really would.