"And? Did she like the sunglasses?" Thomas wonders.

My gaze shoots daggers at him.

"Oh." His face falls. "She didn't like them?"

"She did."

"Then what's the problem?" He follows me into the classroom, sitting down next to me.

"Yesterday, she asked if everything was okay between us. If nothing was weird. Through a text."

"Oh," he repeats. "Well, at least she can sense that something is going on—"

"That's exactly the problem!" I snap, keeping my voice low but sharp enough to make him flinch. "If she senses something is off, it means I'm doing a shit job of hiding it."

Thomas leans back in his chair. "Or," he says slowly, "you're overthinking it. Girls ask stuff like that all the time—it's like, I don't know, a vibe check or something. Doesn't mean she knows anything for sure."

I drop my head into my hands. "You don't get it. She barely ever talks to me, and now she's asking if everything is okay between us?"

"Yeah, that does sound terrifying."

I glare at him, and he throws up his hands defensively.

"Alright, fine," he says, leaning closer so no one else can hear. "But let's be real—what's the worst that happens? She figures out you're losing your mind over her? Big deal.

"It is a big deal."

Thomas frowns. "You know, Minho, you can't keep doing this forever. Pretending you're fine, acting like it doesn't kill you every time she smiles at him—"

"Shut up," I hiss.

"No. You need to either take action or give up on this. Not stay miserable and... I don't know, dream about all positions possible."

"Do I want to know what kind of positions you're talking about?" I groan. "Look. I can't just quit liking her, nor can I just kill Dariel and steal her from his corpse."

"But you can't stay miserable," Thomas repeats. "You're wasting your time and money."

"She likes the sunglasses, didn't she?"

"Sure, whatever, until she finds out how much you paid for them. She'll be freaked out and Dariel will kill you before you can even kill him."

"Edison, Fiore," the teacher warns. "Either pay attention or study for the upcoming class."

Thomas and I eye each other. We manage to be silent for one minute before he speaks through his teeth, "We should come up with a plan."

I sigh. "What do you have in mind?"

"What if you pretend to get hurt and she has to help you? Or if you pretend to be the all-innocent, sweet little brother? She'll adore you. Or pretend to be heartbroken because of another girl. She won't just comfort you, but she'll also realize you're not crushing on her. Or what if you just kiss her in front Dariel—"

"Holy shit, you want me to die," I state.

"No, I'm just helping."

"Helping me create a staircase to hell, maybe."

Thomas shifts in his seat, his grin widening as the teacher continues droning on about God knows what. I try to focus, but my thoughts keep circling back to her. To the way her laugh sounds, the way she brushes her hair behind her ear when she's focused, the way her lips quirk into this tiny, amused smile when she's caught me staring—not that she knows why. I hope.

Thomas nudges me with his elbow. "You're zoning out, Romeo."

"I'm not zoning out," I mutter.

"You are. You've got that look on your face again. The I'd burn the world down for her but also I'm too much of a coward to say anything look."

"I don't have a look," I snap.

"You totally do."

I let out a frustrated sigh. "If I say anything, it'll ruin everything. She's happy with him."

"Again, humble, but also total crap," Thomas whispers, leaning closer. "Look, you need to stop torturing yourself. Either confess or do something so wild she has no choice but to notice you. Preferably something that doesn't involve arson or murder, but hey, I'm flexible."

"You're insane."

"No, I'm a genius," he confirms. "Here's what we do: we stage a moment. For real."

"A moment," I repeat flatly.

"Yeah. Like, something that makes her feel something. You can't just be the guy lurking in the shadows, waiting for her to magically fall in love with you. You need to be the guy. You know, the guy who swoops in, saves the day, and leaves her questioning her entire existence."

"And what exactly does swooping in mean?"

Thomas grins like he's been waiting for this. "Oh, I've got ideas. I can dress up as a kidnapper and then you can come save her from me—"

"Or I could just write 'I love you' on my forehead and let Dariel beat me to death. Both bad ideas."

"Better than doing nothing," he says with a shrug.

I pinch the bridge of my nose. "I can't just... stage a moment. She might not see through it, but Dariel will."

"Not if it's real enough. Look, Minho, you're not subtle. You might think you're hiding it, but you're not. And if Lucy hasn't noticed yet, it's because she's not looking. So, make her look. Do something that forces her to see you differently."

I swallow hard. The idea is strange, but it makes sense.

"Trust me. A little chaos is exactly what you need."

We spend the rest of the time in silence until the bell rings, signaling the end of class.

As I gather my things, Thomas claps me on the shoulder. "Think about it. I'll brainstorm some more ideas. Maybe something involving fire after all. Or ropes—"

"Ropes?"

"Not like that," he says quickly, though the grin on his face suggests otherwise. "Unless you're into that kind of thing."

"Goodbye, Thomas." I shove past him.

He runs after me. "Okay, hear me out—what if you take up poetry?" he suggests, grabbing a tray from the cafeteria and handing one to me. "You know, deep, angsty poetry. Girls love that stuff. Boom. She's yours."

"I'd rather eat glass."

"Alright, fine, no poetry," Thomas says, piling his tray high with food. "What about a grand gesture? Like skywriting!"

"Skywriting?" Newt and Alby pop up beside us. "What, do you expect Minho to hire a plane and write 'I love you, Luciana' in the clouds?"

"Okay, fine, no planes. What about something a little more... personal? Like, you show up at her door with a scrapbook of all the times you've secretly taken pictures of her—"

"Thomas, that's serial killer behavior," Alby comments.

"What? No, it's sweet," Thomas argues. "It's like, 'Hey, I've been obsessed with you forever, and here's proof.'"

"Sweet?"

"Alright, maybe not the scrapbook." Thomas waves it off. "But we're onto something with the personal angle. Like... what if you carve her name into a tree? Or your arm. No—your chest."

Newt stares at him in disbelief. "What the hell have you been watching?"

"No carving either," Thomas mutters, rolling his eyes. "You guys are no fun."

"None of this is fun," I shoot back.

Thomas ignores me. "Or, here's another idea: you pretend to be really into something she loves. Like... musicals. Or knitting. Whatever weird hobby she's got going on."

"I don't think she knits," I say.

"Then learn how to knit for her," Thomas insists, leaning forward with a devilish grin. "You could make her a scarf. Or a sweater. Or, if you're feeling really bold, lingerie."

Newt spits out his drink, coughing violently. "Bloody hell, Thomas!"

"What? It's romantic!" Thomas says, completely unfazed.

"No, it's creepy," I snap.

"What if you show up at her place in the rain, shirt completely soaked, hair dripping, and you say something like, 'I couldn't stay away from you anymore.'."

Newt blinks at him. "So you're suggesting he look like a wet dog and hope she's into that?"

"It's not about the wet dog thing," Thomas argues. "It's about the vibe. The passion. The desperation."

"And then what? She'll send me to a mental hospital."

"No, no, no. You don't stop there. You grab her. Gently, but firm—you know, like, possessive but not creepy. And then you tell her you've been in love with her for years. You can't eat, can't sleep, you're basically dying without her—"

"Right. And then her boyfriend shows up and punches me in the face. Great plan, Thomas."

"Getting punched could actually work in your favor. Girls love the whole 'wounded hero' thing."

"You're actually mad," Alby mutters below his breath.

"Mad genius," Thomas corrects. "How about this: you accidentally leave something in her bag. Something personal. Like a hoodie. Or—oh, this is good—a pair of—"

"Don't finish that," Alby commands.

"Hear me out!" he insists, holding up his hands. "She finds them, right? And she's like, 'Oh my god, these must be Minho's.' And then she'll start thinking about you. Like, really thinking about you. You'll be in her head. Boom, you win."

Newt is laughing so loudly that his face becomes red. "Thomas, you're bloody insane. Please, keep going. This is fantastic."

Thomas grins like he's just been handed a challenge. "Alright, Minho, fine. No underwear. But you're not getting out of this. Here's another one—what if you walk in on her changing? Not on purpose, obviously. You just 'accidentally' open the door. Instant tension."

"Instant lawsuit," I snap.

"What if you do something dangerous to impress her? Like... climb something really tall. Or fight someone. Or—oh, oh! Save her from a burning building!"

"Where the hell am I supposed to find a burning building?"

"Details, details," Thomas waves it off. "The point is, you need to be the hero. You need to make her feel like she can't live without you."

"Thomas," I cut him off harshly. "None of this is going to work as long as she's dating Dariel."

"So we break them up?"

"No, we're not the bad guys."

"We just need to wait for something to go wrong in their relationship, and Minho will take his chance," Newt suggests.

"Nothing will go wrong. They're head over heels. You don't want to know what torture I went through Sunday."

"I do want to know, actually. Spill."

A groan leave my mouth at the memories. "Well, the dinner was awkward. Dariel saw me gift her those sunglasses. Then I had to sleep on the couch while they shared Luciana's bed."

"Okay, okay. Let me guess. You had to live through the sounds of their love-making," Thomas jokes, rolling his eyes. "Whatever—"

"Yes, actually."

His mouth falls open. Newt's eyes wide in horror. Alby—the unemotional guy—shows a hint of emotion. 

"No way they did that while you were in the house."

"Yeah, well, they did."

"That's weird."

"Probably not. I bet there's plenty of times your parents have done that while you were present, Tommy," Newt says. "You just didn't notice."

"Thank God I didn't." He pulls a face. "Ew. Now I'm weirded out."

"Now you understand how we felt when you told me to carve her name on my chest."

"That wasn't even that bad—"

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

Not only Thomas, Newt, and Alby came with me to Dad's house, but also Fry and our other friend named Aris. I don't know why we're having a whole party. As long as Thomas doesn't say more weird things, I guess it's not too bad—

"What if you just show up—like, crash their date?"

Never mind.

"You storm in, grab her, and kiss her like there's no tomorrow. I'm talking a kiss that'll leave her breathless, Minho. Make her forget about Dariel for a second."

"That's insane," Fry says.

"Right?" Thomas's grin widens. "Think about it, man. You swoop in, steal her away, and just kiss the shit out of her. She won't know what hit her. Dariel won't know what hit him."

I know what will hit me. And it has to do with Dariel.

But my stomach flips at the thought of pulling her away from Dariel, kissing her in front of him. It feels like poison. But not in a bad way. Like I'd just injected myself with something dangerous. Exciting. My body is fighting against the idea, but my brain is plotting out the details.

"You're out of your mind, Thomas. I'm not doing that. No way."

"You know you want to, though."

I lean back in my seat, pretending I'm not already considering it (even though I know I will never, ever dare to do it). "And what if she doesn't—"

"She will, Minho," Thomas interrupts, his tone a little too confident. "All you need to do is show her that you're that guy. Show her you can make her feel things that Dariel can't."

"I need to know what TV shows you watch," Aris says.

"Thomas," I start, "you can't go around kissing people. Especially not in front of their boyfriend."

"You can and you will—"

"It doesn't matter what he does, he should just take action," Fry insists. "At least before summer starts."

"Y'all scare me. I thought you were tame." 

"Clearly not. What if we lock you guys up somewhere?"

"No-oh. You don't understand. With Dariel around, it's never going to work. But, once again, they're head over heels. We can't come between them. They need to breakup for some personal reason—which is never going to happen."

Newt, who grabbed a car magazine off the ground, looks up from it. "We could catch him doing something bad and help them drift apart."

"We could send her a letter with his name on it, telling her it's not working out. If you then manage to make him stay away from her for at least a month, she won't forgive him."

Out of nowhere, something creaks behind me. Even though my back is turned to it, I know it was the door.

Fuck.

Is Dariel home?

Aris's eyes say enough.

"I love Sophie so much!" I throw my hands in the air. "I mean, if you guys really want to sabotage Luke, go for it. I hate him anyways. Maybe that's my chance to steal Sophie for real."

"Exactly," Fry agrees. "You got this, man. You're irresistible. She has no reason not to want you back."

"I guess not... I've been trying to ask Luciana for help, since she's the only girl that I'm remotely close to, but it's difficult."

A cough.

I spin around, forcing a guilty face. "Oh..." fake hesitation in my voice. "Did you hear all of that?"

"Yes," my brother confirms. "Who's Sophie?"

"His crush," Newt says. Again, I force a face. This time, an embarrassed one. As if Newt wasn't supposed to admit that.

"This is your chance! Ask him to ask Luciana if she can give advice on Sophie and her boyfriend Luke," Thomas bursts.

"I guess I can do that," Dariel says slowly. "I was going to ask if someone has time to run to the store real quick. Lucy got the role, and I want to buy her flowers and a cake, but I have a deadline in thirty minutes. I have no time and only just found out she got the role."

I jump up, eyes wide. "She got the role?"

"I just told you twice in a row."

A scream that sounds way too girly leaves my mouth before I sit back down, nonchalant. "Wow, that's... cool. Good for her, I guess." I rub my neck. "It was Grease, right? What's the name of the character she plays again?"

Sandy Olsson is one of the main characters in Grease. She is a sweet, innocent, and kind-hearted girl from Australia who falls in love with Danny Zuko during summer. When she unexpectedly transfers to Rydell High, she finds that Danny has adopted a more rebellious persona in front of his friends. Sandy struggles to fit in with the social scene at school. Over time, she undergoes a transformation, becoming more confident, particularly in the final scene.

Besides that, I rewatched Grease like ten times when I heard she's going to audition.

"I guess we can buy those things, yes," I say. "If you pay. Which flowers do you need?"

"She likes roses." Dariel hands me the money. "Don't cause any trouble."

"Got it." I stand up again. "Alright, guys, come on."

A few minutes later, we're gathered in the store, right in front of the rack full of sweets.

My friends dump a whole load of it in our cart. "You need to outmatch Dariel's gifts. He wanted a cake and flowers. So you need better flowers, better food, and something more valuable."

"That's weird. Especially if I gift it while Dariel is there, looking."

"At least get her some flowers, too. How would she react if you gave condoms? You could write something about Sunday, when you overheard them doing it, or indirectly insist on a night of your own—"

"Thomas, please, what have you been smoking?"

The brunette shrugs. "Just trying to help. Should we come with? If we all get one present, we'll also outmatch Dariel."

"You guys don't even know her and you'll somehow blurt out something weird. If anyone comes with, it's unlikely to be you, Thomas."

"Aris," Thomas whispers, "you should go with him and be the wingman."

"Eh, I'm not good at that."

"Just leave it alone. Let me handle everything. I think I've heard enough of your advice, Thomas." I lightly push him away. After putting the sweets back, I choose a bouquet of marigolds and pay for it with my own money while Newt handles Dariel's gifts.

"Good luck, buddy," Fry snickers.