I have to think really hard in order to remember when the last time I was a third wheel with Martin was; it probably tracks back to Leslie Durham days.

With Veronica at Sunset Central visiting her father, I'm pretty much left alone with Martin and Laetitia, but since I'm not a big chatter and Martin doesn't seem to mind that anymore, it's like we're not part of the same group. They don't even care that I'm lagging several yards behind them, and to be honest, I prefer it this way.

It's about three in the afternoon, and we're braving the threatening summer heat to browse through the Christmas Market in the town square. We're doing this mostly out of boredom, and maybe a little bit to avoid the ruckus at home. The adults closed Aloha early today to get ready for tonight, and there's a lot going on there, with a lot of orders being given: bring me this, bring me that, go grab this, would you please do whatever, as well as: you're in the way, honey, can you go buy this or that at the grocery store?

Let's just say that Martin didn't really dig it and leave it at that.

So, we find ourselves at the usual flea market, but enclosed in a square. Packed full of people—par for the course at this time of year.

Martin and Laetitia walk ahead of me, as usual, leaving me to my own thoughts, which only seem to revolve around the sudden lack of Vee's presence in my life. It looks like I've forgotten how to be by myself; how to be without her. What would the old John from Sunset Central do in a situation like this? Right; old me would still be at home, allowing himself to be bossed around by Mom, and maybe even having fun while doing it. I would be counting the fireworks I would've spent all of my allowance on (since I wouldn't have a girlfriend to buy gifts for, and therefore, had more money than I needed). I'd be hyped about it, too, because I'd get to be cool like the other kids on the block who went outside after midnight to set them off—

"John?"

I hear my name clearly through the crowd, and I also feel a pat in my shoulder from behind before I realize where it comes from. When I turn around, I see a familiar face.

"Steven?"

"John!"

"Steven!"

Then we proceed to do our three-move handshake just from muscle memory, and we laugh.

"So, this is where you've been hiding!" he says, flashing me a wide smile—enough that I see the gap between his front teeth.

"What are you talking about? You knew all along I was moving to Celadon Bay!"

"Did I? I don't remember you ever telling me about it."

"I did," I reply, and elaborate, because I remember it so vividly. "It was a few days before you went to France, after your bio exam."

I had gone with him that day because I'd had nothing better to do. Steven had his written exam, and while we waited for the oral test, I'd told him about our impending move.

"It doesn't matter anymore," he says, and we both sit down together in the grass. I should probably tell Martin, but he's out of sight, and even then, he's with Laetitia, so he should be fine. "How have you been, pal?"

"A lot better than I thought I'd be," I admit, and then I launch into a monologue, telling him about everything Martin and I have done in the last ten months. I tell him about school, about Vee, and it takes me a while to go through it all, and also to finally notice that I've been the only one speaking, so I pause, hoping Steven will say something, but he's just sitting there smiling. "What?"

"You've changed a lot," he said, still grinning.

"Have I?"

"Yes." He says. "For one, you actually speak now."

"Sheesh. Are you going to make fun of me about that, too?"

"No. I think it's great that you've come out of your shell," he says, and I can tell he means it. "Hell, you've even got yourself a girlfriend and all! The John I used to know would dart away in a blink!"

I laugh hard at this, because it's true. "I kind of still do that, though!"

He shakes his head disapprovingly, but he keeps the smile. "So, who's the girl?"

"Oh, her name is Veronica. Let me show you." I search my pockets for my phone and a few taps later I have a full-screen picture of her big toothy smile to show him.

He whistles. "Damn, man! She's pretty!"

"Damn right she is!" I keep scrolling, showing him more pics, and suddenly, a picture of Martin appears. "That's my cousin, Martin."

"Also, his best friend," says a voice behind us, and we both turn around to see Martin himself, standing there. There's no Laetitia in sight.

"Perfect timing, cousin," I say. "Let me introduce you."

"No need, Johnny. I can do that by myself," he says, and turns to Steven, extending his palm for a shake. "Martin Jansen. John's gigolo."

"What the hell?!" I say.

Steven laughs and accepts the handshake. "So, is business any good?"

"I just dismissed his last client." Martin says, turning to me. This probably means he's done with Laetitia, though I don't bother asking. "Are you making me beg for it again, or will you take me to the arcades this time?"

"What? The arcades?" I say.

"Yeah, sure. Let's go."

"Martin, you never go to the arcades."

"So, what? You like them, don't you?"

"Uh, I sure do," I say, but I'm kind of confused by Martin's sudden interest in going.

"Then what's the problem?" he asks.

I glance at Steven, who keeps his mouth shut. I've never really hung out with Steven, and I'm not even sure he likes video games. Still, I feel kind of dickish and I'm not entirely sure why. "Do you mind, Steven?"

"No, not at all. Go ahead. I was on my way to the bus stop anyway."

"Okay then, see you around," Martin replies, and turns on his heels toward the arcades, leaving Steven there like a sad stray dog. "Come on. Let's go, John."

"Martin, wait a second!" But he's not waiting at all; he's leaving me to choose to follow him or stay with Steven. What's wrong with him? I turn to Steven, unsure of what to say. "I'm so sorry..."

"Nah, it's fine, dude," Steven says, and gestures at me to give him a call as he gets up and quickly disappears into the crowd.

I turn back to Martin, who's now waiting a few yards away, a big scowl on his once-grinning face.

"What the hell was that all about, Martin?" I say.

"Who was that dude?" he shoots back, looking down at me.

"Steven! I told you about him, didn't I? From Sunset Central?"

"Steven? So, that's his name? He didn't even bother to introduce himself. What a rude bastard."

"What you did was even ruder!" I snap. "You just showed up and did as you pleased. You could've invited him to come with us, at least!"

"That's the thing; I didn't want him to come with us," he says, nonchalantly. "And I don't understand why you would."

"Because he's my friend?!" I say, and for once he keeps his mouth shut. "God, how dense can you be?"

"Then by all means, suit yourself and go back and hang out with that friend of yours."

"Dude, seriously? What's your problem?"

"You wanna know what my problem is? I'll tell you what my problem is, John." He jabs his index finger at my chest. "You call that prick a friend, that's my problem."

"Because he is!"

"Oh, yeah? That guy who completely ignored you from the second you moved here is someone you call a friend?" He takes a deep breath, and I brace myself for whatever is coming next, but instead of the angry whining, his next words are surprisingly calm. "Look, I'm sorry, John. But calling that guy a friend puts him in the same category with me. And I don't want to be in the same fucking category with goddamned Trevor."

"Steven."

"Whatever."

"So, basically, you're just jealous."

"Hah! As if."

"You are! Incredible..." Martin, jealous of someone else. I need to say it again. Martin Jansen, jealous. It's just as hard to believe as it is hilarious, and that's why I burst out laughing, right in his damn face. Of course, he is immediately offended.

"Fuck you! I'm not jealous!"

"I guess I'll see you later at home, then. Now I gotta fly; I'll see if I can catch up with Steven."

"Wait a minute," he stops me, grabbing my shoulder hard. "What happened to the arcades?"

"We can go any other time, can't we?"

"Of course not!" he snaps. "If you leave me to go off with Travis, we're done!"

"Wait. What?" I say, incredulous. "Would you really stop being my friend just because you're having a childish jealousy fit?"

"That's pretty much what Lorely did ten minutes ago, and it worked out just fine for her."

"Lorely?"

"The girl I was seeing."

"Dude, you suck at remembering names. Her name is Laetitia."

"It's a weird-ass name."

"Okay, what happened with her?"

"So, I noticed you were lagging behind a bit, and I told her we should go back and find you, right?"

Right. Except I don't get why he's telling me this while impersonating Leslie Durham, flailing hands and everything. "So," he continues, "she clings to my shirt and tells me that her parents won't be at her house and we could have fun by ourselves, but I'm like, no way, thot! John never leaves me behind when he's with Vee, so it's only fair I do the same thing."

"Go on," I urge.

"And, oh my God; she gets all jealous. Like, really? And she tells me that it's either her or you, and I'm like, joke's on you, bitch... I'm going on a date with my boy, Johnny."

I frown at him. "Did this actually happen?" A girl pretty much invites him over to get laid and he says no? Unlikely.

"Pinky swear." He even lifts his pinky, expecting me to do the same. I study it for a second, almost expecting to see some animal painted on his nails, like the ones Leslie used to paint on her own. That's how good the impersonation is. "The roles might have been reversed, but the story is hundred percent accurate otherwise."

It's not like the story makes any sense with reversed roles anyway. I sigh and walk past him toward the arcades. And for the first time since I moved here, he's the one who follows me.

***

Later that night, after celebrating with the family and opening our presents, I join Martin under the pine tree out on the front lawn. He's watching the kids across the street playing with firecrackers, his arms crossed behind his head as he leans against the trunk. The whole episode with Steven is way behind us already.

"What's up?" he asks, still looking ahead.

"The sky?"

"Oh look. Someone had a clown for dinner."

"And it wasn't you for a change!"

He gives me a lopsided smile and turns back to watching the kids. But you know how it works; Martin can't stay quiet for too long. He jumps to his feet, as if he suddenly remembered something important.

"Stay here. I'll be right back." Then he leaves me out on the lawn and jogs inside the house.

I take my phone out of my pocket to text Vee, and when I click the screen on, I see the pic of her I was showing Steven earlier. I go back through the menus until I find the messages with Steven, and I text him a 'Merry Christmas'. His reply arrives right away.

Merry Christmas! Who's this?

He probably deleted my number or something. I text back telling him it's me. His reply is immediate again.

I don't think I know any John Foster. You probably got the wrong number?

Sheesh. Come on, man. He leaves me with no choice, so I actually call him. Though the voice answering is definitely not his; it's actually a girl.

"Hello?" the girl says.

"Uhm... this is awkward," I tell this voice. "Isn't this Steven's phone?"

"Um... last I checked, my name was Alison, but perhaps Santa granted my wish and turned me into a guy? Wait, no. Let me check. Nope. I'm definitely still a girl."

And I was the one having a clown for dinner.

"Sorry," I say. "My friend Steven had your phone number up to last year."

"Okay, John Foster," the girl says. "To tell you the truth, this phone pick-up line of yours is a four out of ten, but I'll give it a six on its execution alone."

"Pick-up line? No. That's not what I'm doing!" What's with her anyway?

"Oh. I get it; you go into complete denial when it doesn't work."

"No, no, no. Listen to me." This is getting out of hand quickly. I need to reset the pace if I want to have an actual conversation and explain myself. "I've had this phone number in my contacts for the longest time, and up until last summer, it belonged to my friend, Steven."

"All right, all right. Then you've been getting the wrong number for at least the last six months, and no offense, but if you just found this out, you guys can't be such good friends."

A different set of words that imply the same thing Martin said earlier. What kind of friends don't even message each other for ten months?

"Okay. I'm glad this is all settled, and I'm sorry I disturbed your night," I say.

"What? You're hanging up on me now?"

"Uh, I guess?"

"Wait, so there's a real Steven out there who you haven't spoken to in so long that I managed to get his old phone number?"

"That's exactly what I've been trying to say all along, yes."

Weird fact: I'm just now realizing I'm speaking normally with a girl that isn't Vee. Whatever is going on here, she's pretty easy to talk to.

"So, you're not some secret admirer-slash-creep who somehow managed to get my number?"

"There's no way I could ever be an admirer when I don't even know who you are."

"None of my admirers-slash-creeps do."

"I can't speak for them."

"Right. Because you're not one of them, apparently."

"I don't believe this particular situation implies I could be one," I shoot back.

"Assuming your unbelievable story is actually true, that is," the girl challenges.

"I think you definitely want me to be an admirer-slash-creep, and I'm afraid I can't oblige."

"Then I assume you don't know how unbelievably hot I actually am."

"You don't sell yourself short, that's for sure."

Whoa. This girl is unbelievable. It's pretty much like speaking with the female version of Martin. That's probably why the rapport is going so smoothly.

"But," I continue, "it doesn't really matter because I'm not that big on unbelievably hot girls anyway. I like the sweet, gentle kind better." Like Vee, see? Like my Vee.

"You're implying that I'm not sweet or gentle, and that's a super rude thing to imply, Johnathan."

"First of all, it's just John, not Johnathan. And second, I didn't imply anything. I just said that I like sweet and gentle girls, regardless of their looks. In fact, I stray quite far away from hot girls as a general rule."

"Two dates with me and you'll change your mind."

"Two hundred reasons why we won't have those dates, and at top of the list sits my unbelievably sweet and gentle girlfriend."

"A sweet and gentle girlfriend who doesn't know you're speaking to a true hottie like me?"

"A sweet and gentle girlfriend who doesn't even need to worry about a conversation with a so-called hottie."

"Okay, John. Be that way. I'm not in the business of stealing guys from other girls, either way."

"And I'm not in the business of denying your charms, but it's safe to say that you wouldn't ever be able to steal me from her, even if you tried."

"Hmmm..." The girl on the other end of the phone seems to ponder my words, and then she chuckles before adding approvingly, "Not bad, John. Cheesy, granted, but not bad at all. I can tell you're actually serious about your girl. It's a great thing that you aren't chasing every butterfly that flutters around you."

Is she kidding? That's Martin's business, not mine.

"Thanks. I'm glad we finally reached an understanding," I tell her. "Now, if you'll excuse me..."

"By all means. It's been a pleasure, John."

"Likewise. What was your name again?"

"Don't sweat the details. It's not like we're ever going to speak again anyway, right?"

"I suppose you're right. Merry Christmas, nameless unbelievably-hot girl."

"Merry Christmas, John-not-Johnathan."

All right. That was a weird turn of events. I stare at my now turned off phone screen for a little while, and it's Martin who finally snaps me out of my stupor.

"Let's go for a walk, shall we?" he suggests.

There's only one place we can go right now, so I don't bother asking about our destination. I just get to my feet and follow him.

As soon as we reach the corner, I get a message from Steven-aka-Unbelievably-Hot-Chick. Martin watches over my shoulder with curiosity, but when I open the message, I see a picture attached of the most unbelievably hot girl I've ever seen; hot enough to make Leslie Durham go pale.

Straight brown hair cascades past her broad shoulders; big olive eyes full of life framed by eyelashes not unlike those of Martin, and they wink at me through the screen. A big smile rounds up her face, her lips dark and full. And, okay, there's no way I can't notice how amazing her breasts are, nor how tight a fit her tank top is, especially with the post-it she has stuck on her bosom that reads "Def not Steven!" complete with a small heart drawn in the end.

HELL!

I'm about to delete the pic from my phone, and my memory (if possible), but Martin snatches it from my hand to get a better look.

"You sly dawg!" he coos. "I didn't know you had it in you!"

"It's DEFINITELY not what you think," I protest.

"I bet it isn't," he says, deflating a little. "So, who's the bombshell?"

"I don't know. Steven?"

"If this is a Steven, then I'm gay as hell."

"No, like, I sent a message to Steven but apparently this girl has his old number now."

"I want her number."

"You realize she could live about anywhere within a thousand-mile radius, right?"

"I guess..." he says, giving me my phone back, which I pocket before he changes his mind. "Anyway. It doesn't matter. Look what I stole from Dad."

He takes something from his shirt pocket and produces two half-crumpled cigarettes.

"What? You smoke now?"

"No, I don't," he says, like he's talking to a five-year-old boy. "But this Christmas won't go down in history if we don't do something stupid, so, here's the plan."

"Do something stupid, huh?"

"Yeah."

"Then you acknowledge there is a whole level of stupidity behind this?"

"Mostly, yeah."

"Okay then," I say, nodding approvingly. "Let's do this."

Martin gives me the broadest smile I've ever seen in my entire life. "That's my best buddy."