"What do you mean you spent somewhat sixty dollars at the arcade?"

I don't think it was a good idea to tell Dad about those adventures.

"It wasn't my fault," I say.

"It wasn't your fault? Sixty dollars magically vanished out of your pockets and went into the machines?"

"No. Ben pushed me, which caused me to fall into her, so she lost the game, and then I felt really bad, so I gave her money until she won, and then she found out I'd pay for anything she wanted to do, so she played a lot of games, and I did not mind, because the look on her face was worth it."

He looks at me for a good few seconds, blinking. "Never in my life have I heard someone as insane as you. How can you lose a thousand and sixty dollars to someone in less than a month?"

I shrug.

Dad palms his face before his thumb and index finger slide over to his eyes so he can rub them. "Are you aware of what you did during geography at school yesterday?"

"...I didn't pay attention?" I guess.

"You wrote the initial 'v' all over your worksheet and doodled the name 'Sage' in about twelve different handwritings."

I can't do anything about that. My head was so full with her that I needed to write about her except I couldn't really start a whole damn letter in class so I did that.

I'm just wondering one thing.
"How do you know?"

"Oliver told me. Remember, he's a math teacher? I'm pretty sure your geography teacher told him about your behavior—he knows that Oliver knows me—and he then told him to tell me and that I need to have a talk with you."

I wait for more. I don't have a reply to this. What does he expect me to say?

On the table, my phone lights up. I'm sitting straight up before I know it, desperate to know who— just Ben. I lean back in my chair again.

"Don't you think it's getting a bit out of hand?"

"What is?"

"Your what I will easily call obsession with Viviette."

"Obsession? I'm not obsessed."

"No? Then what the hell does that word mean to you?"

"Like a stalker. I'm not a stalker."

"An obsession means an idea or thought that constantly intrudes on one's mind," Dad says. "You're doodling about Viviette during geography, you think it's her when your phone lights up, you're ready to spend all your money on her— what else will come?"

"I can't do anything about it. It just happens. It's not that weird, is it? I've been her best friend for eighteen years. Of course I think about her a lot."

Dad runs his head through his hair. "You don't seriously think your behavior is best friend behavior, do you?"

"...yes, I do. I've always thought about Sage like this. It's normal."

"You've always doodled her name everywhere?"

"Sort of."

"And don't you think you're a bit in love, Thomas?"

"No."

"And why so confident?"

"It would be rude because Teresa was three weeks ago. And again, I've always thought of Sage like this. But right now, thinking about her in that way tends to intrude on my mind a little more often than before."

"So you've always liked her, and now you're really in love with her?"

"No. Stop it. I'm not in love with her."

"Why are you denying it when it's so obvious, Thomas?"

"I'm not in love with her," I repeat. "I don't want to be in love with her. I don't want her to suddenly move away after a year. I don't want her to suddenly have interests in other boys—"

"Okay, Thomas. I get i—"

"I don't want to ruin our friendship. And she likes someone else anyway. I don't want things to get weird between us. I don't want the friendship to turn into a relationship because that asks a lot of things from me. I don't want to complicate things. I don't want to mess up again—"

"Thomas," he repeats. "I understand."

I take a deep breath. These aren't excuses. I know I'm thinking about her in ways that I shouldn't. I know I might like her a little too much. But that doesn't make all the statements from a second ago less true. I don't want all of that to happen.

"Go write a lot today. Will clear your mind," he adds.

"I will. Tonight."

☯︎︎

Oh lord.

The teacher has handed all our history grades out except I don't see a paper on my desk. Just as I'm about to raise my hand to tell him, another hand raises.

"Sir, I've got two tests with my name on it."

This is not happening.

The man walks over to Sage, looks at the tests, then at the class. "Who doesn't have a test?"

Very slowly, my hand raises. My cheeks are red from embarrassment. I want to disappear into the ground right now.

"Come over here, Thomas."

I walk fast to avoid all the gazes, then have a look at the two papers. One of them has eighty-eight percent above all the questions, and the other one has thirty-five.

I know exactly which one is mine and which one is Sage's. And if the grade isn't enough to prove it, then the handwriting will.

"Thomas, did you write Viviette's name down instead of your own?"

Apparently.

"...yes," is all I say. I'll start stammering if I say more.

"And why is that?"

"I don't know."

His eyes go to Viviette. "Were you supposed to write down his name on your test, so he'd get your grade and you get his? Because your average grade in history is currently high enough to risk something like that, and Thomas's average grade would love an eighty-eight added to that list."

"No, sir," she says. My stomach starts doing flips at whatever she's going to say next. "I didn't study well for history and Thomas did. I was tired from previous nights, so my handwriting got messed up, as you see. Thomas did study well for once. I know because he refused to hang out. He studied a lot."

The teacher's eyes squint at us. "I can't just assume this is the truth. You'll both have to take the test again."

I am just shocked she even lied like that in the first place.

"But sir—" she tries hurriedly. "Please just accept it. This one is mine." She takes the one with the lowest grade. "And this one is Thomas's." And she slides the eighty-eight percent over to me.

That's not true and that thought is written all over my face. I'm gaping at her, too surprised to help her lie.

No, I don't even want to help. She's ridiculous for taking my bad grade.

"No. You will both remake the test with your own names above it," he decides.

"Okay," I say. Viviette tries to resist again, but the teacher has walked off.

"Why would you say that?" I whisper-yell.

"Why not? This was the chance to get you a good average grade! And why would you write down my name?"

"I don't know. Because I'm an idiot," I say.

A little smile forms on her lips; she doesn't mind. "Whatever you say." She starts putting her stuff in her backpack. "Can you help me with my math homework after school?"

"No," I say, literally with sorrow so bad that it hurts to say. "I'm meeting up with Ben."

No, I'm not. I'm going to write and that will make sure I don't write her name on tests again, or doodle her name, or turn variable into her name. I will note every single thought about her down until I can no longer think of anything. Then I will put that thing in the drawer.

"Oh, alright." There is slight disappointment in her voice at first, but she's soon back at smiling. "Have fun. Will I still see you at night?"

"Of course. We have to make our streak fifteen days."

"Exactly."

☯︎︎

Hello,
My name is Thomas and I am eighteen years old.

I am prepared that my hand will hurt after writing this, like it always does. But the past eleven years, writing everything down has helped. I have written about the thing that's mainly on my mind, but not excessively much. I think that's what I need to do now, before I go completely insane.

So hi Sage, this is dedicated to you and all about you.

Especially since we started the sleepover streak, I have thought about you a lot. I have wanted to be close to you a lot. I have felt certain ways around you. Nice ways, but also less nice ways. Ways that I don't want to feel, because I know you're not supposed to feel about your best friend in those ways.

You have really helped me get through the breakup and the loss of Mr. Keller. I'm very grateful for that, and I'm also grateful that we're really close once again. But like, super close. A little too close because I can no longer imagine a night without sleeping next to you, or a day where I don't drive you to school.

Once again, that's why I'm writing. I understand it's not good to be unable to imagine these things. This will help me be able to think a bit more normally.

I'm not very sure what to say, though. My thoughts about you are all over the place and this would turn into a book if I write EVERYTHING down. I think making a short list will help:

- If I was a girl, I would steal your wardrobe.

- Your hair is on my mind a lot.

- It's also in my face when I wake up next to you.

- Sometimes, it's in my mouth.

- Your laugh is stuck in my head.

- Your face lighting up is the best thing ever. Just so you know.

- When you're cold, and we're watching a movie, or lying in bed, or whatever, I kind of enjoy the way you tuck your feet below my legs to warm up. It makes me feel needed.

- I think about how easy it is for you to understand me, and I'm grateful that I don't have to explain everything in many words.

- I have imagined kissing you.

- For four hours straight.

- And I feel very guilty for that.

- I don't want to be away from you like I am right now, but on the other side, it's a smart idea to take a little bit of distance. We can spend the nights together, of course. Maybe just taking some time for ourselves after school will make sure we don't think about each other so much.

(Well, so I don't think about you so much. You think about Gally, which I'm still shocked about)

- I have ordered a new phone for you and it's supposed to arrive today, yay! I will give it to you tomorrow because I need to put the screenprotector and phone case on, and I want to put your SIM card in there already, so you don't have to.

- I turn the word variable into your name.

Okay, Minho is calling me and I think he's about to yell at the phone so I'm going to stop writing. I've said maybe three percent of what I need to say but that's alright, because those three percent ARE the things that are usually on my mind. Now they will hopefully be on my mind less.

Thank you for reading/listening once again (I know I never send the letters, but I like the idea of it),
Thomas/Steph

I move my aching hand around a few times after I've our the paper away, and then pick up.

"DUDE—"

"Minho, don't you dare start yelling the whole phone call."

"Fine," he snaps, used to it. "Tonight, you and I, to Newt's house, sneak him out, go do some crazy shit. You in for that? Oh, yeah, I hear you agreeing."

I roll my eyes, even though he can't see it. But this sounds like another way to keep my mind off Sage. "Sure. Does he know we'll be there?"

"Yes. I told him at school. He made sure to play some fake sleeping sounds on his laptop and will put a lot of pillows under his sheets. He even has a wig. And he'll make sure his window is open so that we can intrude through there."

I hum. "And what is it that we're doing after that?"

"We'll go to the beach. I'll bring beer if I can. And then we'll just talk. Purely talk. Catch up on some things. FINDING OUT WHY YOU HAVE BEEN SLEEPING NEXT TO MY SISTER FOR TWO WEEKS STRAIGHT! How do you do that? She kicks in her sleep. Her hair gets in my face. She takes the blanket away. She looks ridiculous when she sleeps."

"She's actually kind of cute when she sleeps, and the kicks are really soft. You're just a wimp."

"And you're just absolutely whipped like thick ass whipped cream," he spits back. "Anyway, I'll see you tonight. Don't tell Vi about this. I swear if you end up taking her with, I will kill you."

"Got it. I'll tell her I'll just be hanging out with you and she'll be so disgusted that she doesn't even want to come with."

"Yes, because you're there. You must be drunk on the fuming air of her shampoo to put up with her snores," he says.

"That's rich coming from you, a human chainsaw. It's very surprising you didn't scare her into never sleeping again."

"At least I don't lie in bed like a starfish on steroids. Like both of you do."

"Guess we match like that, Minho."

"Yeah, yeah, enjoy your little love nest. Remember this though, bros before blankets, or whatever the saying is."

A chuckle leaves my mouth. "I'll remember that next time you come complaining about Evie and you tell me to tell her how impressive and amazing you are."

"Don't you even mention her, you little shit," he says, but the amusement is hearable in his voice. "I'm telling you, sooner or later, my sister is going to kick you to death in her sleep."

"She go the genes from you, then, Mr. 'Accidentally Punched Himself In The Face' last week."

"Touché. But don't cheer too soon. Let's see how long it takes for you to turn into a sap at the beach."

"Oh, I'm prepared. You just need to take tissues with you in case you start crying when I prove I'm a faster drinker than you. Wait, I'll take them with me for you."

"Bold words. Take some extra while you're at it. You're gonna need them when I absolutely destroy you. And Newt will be on my side," he teases.

"Yeah, yeah. We'll see about that."

He also chuckles. "Also, seriously, thanks for taking care of Vi. She's really happy. Like, all of the time, and you cause that. Even if you're a whipped cream weirdo."

I feel a big smile grow onto my face. "I'm glad to be of service. See you in a few."

"Later."