Thomas groans for the millionth time, complaining about his hangover once again.

"Then you shouldn't have drunk on a Sunday night," I reply, taking some books out of my bag and pushing them in my locker. Then I reveal one of his shirts. "Oh, and there your shirt is. You're disgusting, did you know that? I literally found holes in the armpits, not just the one at the back."

"But you fixed them," he says. It's not even a question.

"Yes."

Thomas isn't dirty or anything, but when his clothes get holes in it or whatever, he just delivers them to me so I can fix it with my sewing machine. I don't mind doing it— it's a simple job that Thomas is still thankful for every time.

"Thank you." He gives me a crooked smile before he stuffs the thing in his bag.

"Hey— I ironed it!" I snatch it back. While holding my knee up as surface, I fold it, then put it in the bottom of his bag. "There you go."

"Thanks," he says again. "Let's go now, before we're late for math."

"We can be late for math. No one will care. I won't care, at least," I mutter, but he's already pulling me closer to the classroom.

"Freaking nerd," I whisper before we apart ways to the correct seats. Dad unfortunately put me in the front after he figured out Brenda and I weren't doing shit in the back of the class, so now I'm forced to listen.

One good thing is that Thomas isn't that far away from me. He could sit in the back if he wanted to, but chose a seat in the front so he could listen even better.

Sometimes I don't understand that boy.

Or any boy at all.

My eyes automatically move to his seat. Teresa sits behind him—she's very good at math as well—and they're quietly talking, both with wide smiles.

Swallowing, I turn back to my own desk to open my book on the correct page. At the sight of the numbers and letters, I bury my head in my hands.

☯︎︎

"You said you'd give me a ride home, Minho!"

"And I got detention, so unless you wait, that won't happen," he replies, slamming his locker closed. "The science teacher went crazy on Alby and I today. We—"

"I don't really care," I reply. "Who can I get a ride from? I won't walk."

He shrugs. "Jeez, Viviette. Don't ask me. Thomas maybe—"

"He left with Teresa," I interrupt. "Brenda doesn't have a car and most of your friends suck."

Minho looks around, clueless for a second, until he takes a boy by the collar and forces him between us. "Hi, Gally. If you deliver my sister at my house, you will no longer have to pay me back for that lunch you got me."

Seriously? From all the people he knows, he chooses the tall and grumpy one? The one that honestly scares me?

"You swear?"

"On my life, man," Minho says. He claps Gally on the shoulder before he walks off.

Leaves me and this guy alone. Gally Potts, I'm sure his full name is. He has shortly buzzed, dark blonde hair. He's the kind of guy that needs to be a little ugly to be attractive, does that make sense?

"Hi," he greets. "You ready?"

No.

"Yup." I try to gift him a smile, but he's already walking off, his steps enormous and fast. I somewhat have to jog after him.

His car isn't far away from the school, luckily. It's some kind of truck that I expected him to have. Both of us sit down in silence. To be honest, I plan on staying silent.

Around people I don't know very well, I tend to get pretty shy and very red. But the second I get closer to someone, it's over, and I'm my usual self. Or rather, the other personality.

"You're Thomas's friend, right?"

"Eh, yeah." I nod.

Gally is one of the people Thomas doesn't like, so I should technically also dislike him.

"Did you know he broke my nose in first grade?"

I nod again. "I stood right next to y'all."

"Of course." The corners of his lips turn up.

"Why did he break your nose again, though?" I ask. "I don't remember."

He chuckles, covering his mouth for a second. "Pretty sure I told you I liked your hair. You had two pink clips in there, I think."

Okay, I don't have an active memory of that. Compliments normally stick with me my whole life. Maybe I was too busy thinking about the fact Thomas broke a classmate's nose.

"I'm sure he didn't mean to," I say. "He probably just slapped and—"

"He definitely meant to. But it's okay. No need to apologize like eleven years later."

Hm. He's actually very nice.

"Yeah." A smile starts to form in my face as well now.

The drive to my house is about six minutes. We don't talk a crazy lot during it, but I've had more awkward interactions with boys, which means this was fine.

"Thank you." I jump out of the car, close the door, wave and smile, then disappear inside.

Silence erupts the second I close the door. I let go of a sigh, pressing my forehead against it. Survived the Monday, yay. Another four days to go.

I turn around as I pull my jacket off and then get a heart attack.

Like, literally— Finn is standing right there, a few feet away from me, shadows darkening his silhouette. Before I even know it, I've thrown my keys at his head.

I think I just start throwing with things when I startle.

"Jesus Christ— can you not just appear there and scare the absolute—"

"Who was that?"

I groan. "Someone connected to Minho. He got detention so forced that boy to take me home. Why?"

"Just curious."

"Yeah, sure." I slip past him in a quick movement, headed to the kitchen. Having something in my system after school is a need. "Do we have those bars left?"

He tosses one of the granola things at me. And I don't manage to catch it because... yeah, I don't have a decent reason.

Finn scoffs. I give him the nastiest glare I'm able to make. When I'm eating the bar, he grabs himself some water. "How was school?"

"Awful."

"Did something happen?"

"No. It was just awful, as always." I shrug.

"And what did Minho get detention for?"

"I don't know. Said his science teacher went mad on him and Alby. That's all I know."

"Typical," my brother mutters. He refills his glass only to chug it down as fast as the first one. "Did you want to come running with me?"

"No, thanks."

He pulls a face. "Yesterday, you literally said you would—"

"I've decided that sewing and drawing is way more fun," I reply. "Besides, I can't even catch up with you and you just keep running while I'm dying. I'll go swimming sometime."

"Whatever you say." He puts his glass down on the counter, wiping his mouth. "Mom went through some old stuff, by the way. She said you have to look if there's things you want to keep. She'll send the rest to charities."

"Will do."

"Alright. I'm going on my run, then. See you."

"Bye— wait, where did she put the boxes?"

"Literally right behind you," he calls, then the front door slams shut.

I'm left in a second silence as I bend down to the boxes. Most things seem like old toys and clothes. I immediately take all the clothes that I know I can recycle into something way nicer with my sewing skills, then continue looking.

My favorite childhood book. How dare Mom?

Thomas's mom actually wrote it. It's a little kids' story about how all the Greek gods were born and what they ruled over. Now that I'm thinking about it, I'm pretty sure it taught a lesson about multiple parts in life.

Thomas and I read it a thousand times. At first, our parents read it to us during sleepovers. Then, when we began to learn how to read, we took turns reading like five words. Then we read whole chapters, and then just the whole book in one night. Mom wasn't happy with how exhausted we were after spending that whole night awake.

Smiling like a creep, I press the book against my stomach. I won't allow Mom to throw this away. I think she just looked over it and didn't realize it's her best friend's book.

'Cause that's how Thomas and I met. Our moms have been friends since high school. Then they got boyfriends, our fathers, and went on a lot of double dates. My mom got pregnant after many years. That's what motivated Erin, Thomas's mom, to also get a child. Apparently she never planned on one until my mom did.

But there were a lot of miscarriages and other fails. The child she did manage to keep was born three years after Finn, and two months before me.

So you could say we were forced to grow up together, though it didn't feel like that. Things only started to feel forced when around the age of twelve, we had to share a bed on summer holidays. Our moms either thought we wouldn't mind sharing one at that age or they specifically put us together in one room so that one day, 'they'll officially become family'.

But we did mind, because we were starting to grow out of the phase where it was still normal to be friends with another gender.

Now we're back at an age where it's totally fine to have friends of another gender without it being romantically, yet we're also at an age where you could easily apart ways due to many things.

Thinking about all of this now immediately brings back so many memories. The awkward year when we were fourteen. The things we swore to never tell our parents, one thing crazier than the other.

Oh, wow.

"Okay, but we can't tell anyone, because this is just an... experiment," Thomas had said.

"Yes," I agreed. "We just need our first kiss to be with someone we actually like."

"Exactly. We don't want someone to accidentally collide their lips with ours while we don't even know them."

"Why would someone... eh, yes." I nodded. "So this is just to make sure our first kiss is with someone we care about?"

"Yes," he said. "Okay, ready?"

"Yup." I crossed my arms over my stomach as eleven-year-old Thomas leaned closer. I leaned closer as well, and then boom, we shared a kiss.

AKA a peck that lasted like a millisecond in which our lips barely touched.

Well.

I guess my 'first kiss' wasn't with some random dude.

With the book and clothes clutched in my hands and my bag hanging on my shoulder, I make my way to my room.

Up the stairs on which Thomas and I overheard our parents when we were younger. Through the hallway we used to run through. Past the other rooms we played hide and seek in. Then, into my room, in which we've laughed, cried, slept, drawn, read— almost everything.

I remember his room and I wonder if it's still the same. His dad painted the walls baby blue his first few years on earth, then dark blue. I don't think he has changed that. It's the pictures of us together on the shelves that I think he removed. The background of the two of us on his laptop. The handmade presents I used to make for him. The shirts we had made when I first got a sewing machine, saying "SAGE'S BEST FRIEND" and "STEPHEN'S BEST FRIEND".

There was a phase in which we called each other by the second names, purely because it felt cool. And now he still calls me Sage. It feels weird to call him Stephen now that he has a girlfriend, so I don't.

I knew it would happen and I try not to act too depressed about it, but still. I figured one of us would find someone we were even more interested in, causing the other to be the third wheel, or not invited. The worst thing is that I understand it so much that it just makes me sad.

I wouldn't be happy if my boyfriend's best friend was a girl and she'd constantly spend time with him, had him as laptop background, called him a nickname, made him gifts, et cetera.

But if she's nice to me too, then I'd be okay with it. If she's not lingering around my boyfriend with a certain vibe, it's okay. So for now, I'll try even better with Teresa, so I can also stick around my friend.