42

Okay.

It's 1:02 a.m.

I've reorganized my sock drawer.

Twice.

I've Googled "how to know if someone likes you back but doesn't say it and only shows it with pinky contact under a library table."

I've opened and closed Instagram like five times. Scrolled. Saw a couple kissing. Cried a little. Closed it again.

I am not okay.

She touched my hand.

More specifically:

She let her pinky curl around mine.

Voluntarily.

For a full forty-two seconds.

Yes, I counted.

Because apparently I'm that guy now - the one who counts seconds of skin-to-skin contact like it's treasure.

It was small.

Stupidly small.

The kind of thing no one else would've noticed.

But I noticed.

I noticed that her pinky fit perfectly between mine. That she didn't yank it back. That she let it stay.

And I haven't breathed right since.

I'm lying on my floor now.

Hoodie half-on, one sock missing, face pressed into a sketchbook like that'll absorb the embarrassment out of me.

Because here's the thing:

I said "I love your pinky."

Out loud.

To myself.

Like a creep.

A poetic, mango-lipgloss-drunk, absolutely-down-bad creep.

I roll over, fling my arm across my face, and groan.

I think about texting her.

Something casual.

Something cool, like:

"Yo that hand-holding earlier? Top-tier. Five stars. Would recommend."

But instead I just stare at her name in my phone like it might explode.

God. She's gonna think I'm weird.

Weirder.

Too soft. Too much. Too fast.

I mean, what kind of guy catches feelings off a single under-the-table brush?

Me.

That's the kind.

Idiot.

Eventually, I give up pretending I'm fine and sketch it.

Her hand.

My hand.

That moment.

I shade every line like it's sacred. I mess up one knuckle and redo it three times.

Then I just sit there, holding the book to my chest like a diary.

"I'm not in love," I whisper.

Then immediately correct myself:

"I am, but like... in a chill way."

...

"Okay maybe not chill."

...

"Okay maybe I'd jump into traffic for her but like... controlled traffic. Like a go-kart."

I curl up. Hoodie over my head. Heart in my throat.

And I know it's over for me.

Fully, catastrophically over.

Because if holding her pinky made my brain melt like this?

What the hell am I gonna do when she kisses me?

-------------------------------------------------

It's Saturday.

And I've been smiling since 7:42 a.m.

Why?

Because Luca's coming over.

To my house.

With my brothers.

Where people yell and Nerf bullets fly and the couch squeaks when you breathe wrong.

What could possibly go wrong?

Bear and Auggie have already eaten half a box of waffles and are vibrating at the frequency of chaos.

"So this is The Boy?" Bear asks, arms crossed, chewing cereal from a mixing bowl like a villain.

"THE BOY'S COMING HERE?!" Auggie screams, mid-cartwheel.

"You two, please be normal for ONE hour-"

"WE ARE NORMAL!!" Bear yells.

"I ATE SYRUP FROM THE BOTTLE!!" Auggie howls, like that proves a point.

I pray silently.

The doorbell rings.

I open the door.

And there he is.

Luca. Hoodie. Sketchbook. Smile so soft it should be illegal.

"Hi," I say, like my soul didn't just leave my body.

"Hey," he says, doing that half-grin he does when he's nervous but trying to be cool. "You smell like sugar and chaos."

"Welcome to my home."

He steps in and the interview begins immediately.

Bear: "What are your grades like? Don't lie. I read report cards."

Auggie: "DO YOU KNOW WHAT A CREEPER IS?"

Bear: "If you break her heart, I break your nose."

Auggie: "Can you do a backflip? BE HONEST."

Luca is blinking. Smiling. Lowkey panicking. Highkey in love.

"I... I brought gummy worms?"

Both of them freeze.

Bear narrows his eyes.

Auggie gasps.

"You may sit," Bear declares.

"He's okay," Auggie adds. "He understands snack diplomacy."

We end up on the floor surrounded by Legos and juice boxes.

Luca is fully participating. He's helping build some weird castle-robot hybrid with Bear while Auggie sticks googly eyes to his hoodie and declares it "decorated in the name of friendship."

I've never laughed this much in my life.

"Do you want to stay forever?" I ask him.

"Honestly?" he says, tossing me a gummy worm, "I already do."

Then it happens.

Bear, casually, while drawing a sword with a Crayola marker:

"So... are you gonna marry her?"

My brain explodes.

Auggie gasps so hard he drops his juice box.

I stare at Luca.

Luca looks... calm?

"Maybe," he says, smiling at me like I'm sunlight. "If she lets me."

I malfunction.

Like, my cheeks go nuclear.

My laugh is a whole squeak.

I hide my face in a pillow.

Later, we're in the kitchen, swinging our feet off the counter and sipping juice like two oversized toddlers.

"You really said marry?" I whisper, grinning like an idiot.

"I was under emotional attack by a 10-year-old with mafia energy. I panicked."

"You didn't sound panicked."

"That's because I meant it," he says, gently bumping my knee with his. "Kinda."

And that's it.

I giggle.

He giggles.

I hide my face again.

He pokes my cheek and tells me to stop being cute.

I almost fall off the counter.

Best. Saturday. Ever.