Cindy teleported me home. Both I and my bike are whole, and there is no glitter anywhere this time.

In my bed, Cindy does away with the double of me that was there for the night. Even as I start drifting to sleep, all I can think of is my bike and the five blocks I'll travel with it tomorrow as soon as the sun is out. I can imagine biking against the cool morning air, towards the 21st street.

I feel a mix of emotions:

a kind of awe feeling for finally getting what has been going on during all this time;

some surprise — most of it because I can't imagine how it took me all this to understand;

and excitement for might happen now.

I wish I didn't also feel hurt because of Mara. Now everything seems so obvious, but I think I deserve an apology from her. I'm hoping she'll come to me and show me that we're still are worth it.

I'm unable to pin point exactly when my thoughts turn into dreams and pull me to sleep.

I wake too early in the morning, feeling renewed. And I don't just mean it physically. It almost feels as if I'm a new person.

I have to wait until it's 10 am to bike to his house. I arrive in front of his door fifteen minutes later.

I ring two times and wait; glad it's not raining this time. It's even a bit hot for an autumn day.

The door opens, and Rafael catches me in surprise as I'm straightening the collar of my T-shirt. I attempt a smile, but he doesn't smile back to me.

I didn't expect him to be the one to open the door. Last night when I fantasized about this, it was his mother opening the door. She would tell me Rafael was sleeping, but not send me on my way home.

I'd be invited in, and I would follow her to the living room, where I'd sit awkwardly. That's where I'd wait for Rafael.

Occasionally, I would exchange glances with his father, who would be trying to catch up on another game that he'd have missed the day before. Just like the last time.

This fantasy gave me some sense of security last night. But it doesn't seem like I'll have to go through any of this.

Rafael looks tired as he stands at the door spot. He doesn't say anything for a moment.

"You weren't there last night when I came back with the cakes," he says, subtly showing that he's not happy with it.

"Sorry. I—" I trail off.

"Jord, right?" he says.

"Jord. . ." I echo, feeling stupid because everything seems so obvious now. "I guess you won't ask me to get inside."

He shrugs. "Why would I?"

"I'm sorry. Why didn't you tell me you were the one who wrote me the poem?"

"I don't know. Would it change anything?" he questions, "I guess you saw what you wanted to see. It was obvious that Jord wasn't into you from the start. I mean, not like you thought. I told myself that maybe you'd finally see if he tells you that. But I heard you two upstairs and—" he sighs. "Look, I have few things to do, if you don't mind."

"Please," I say, a palm clasped on the door to keep him from closing it. "I need to talk about this. I need some sense of closure."

"Well, I don't?" he says, "listen, I don't care if you like someone else."

I can tell he's lying. He's silent for a moment and shakes his head.

He continues, "I don't know. I'm not even sure anymore. But I definitely I wasn't ready to have you ditch me and just go have sex with another guy upstairs while I waited for you with a piece of cake. That was shitty. You could have at least told me that you had to go somewhere."

"We didn't," I say.

"You didn't?" he questions, forcing to say the words.

"We didn't do it... Have sex," I say.

He nods slowly. And I wait for him to say something. He doesn't.

"But there's no excuse for my my behavior. I could have told you before I disappeared," I say.

He nods again. "There was a sign in the poem," he says, and I narrow my eyes, but he continues, "there was a line where I told you to read it many times."

"Till the words stick like glue," I say, recalling the line. He nods. "I remember." I have almost memorized it. "What about it? I did read over and over again. Probably more times than I should have."

"Come in," he says, pulling the door open.

I step inside, torn between thanking him or keeping my mouth shut. Silently, he leads me to the living room and I follow behind.

The TV is turned off and the oriental scents that were coming from the kitchen the last time I was here are non-existant.

Books pencils and notebooks lay above the small table next to the TV. Rafael was studying after I came in. Aside from that, the house is empty and silent. His parents don't seem to be home.

Before I ask, he says that they're away for the week. "My parents are on a trip in Salvador da Baía in Brazil, for their marriage anniversary. They didn't want me around for some reason."

It's surprising to me that they trust him enough to live him at home alone, when he's only sixteen, like me.

"So you're alone?" I question.

"Technically, but my aunt calls regularly. She's offered to cook for me whenever I'm not feeling it," he says,"it's just a week though."

He leads me upstairs. To his room. When I'm inside, he pats a spot on his bed for me to sit on. I sit down and he begins scouring his drawers.

"Here." He unfolds the piece of paper and sits beside me. His leg is brushing mine.

I don't know if it is intentional, and I'm unsure whether I like it or not until he shifts his position and is leg is inches apart from mine.

Yes, I did like it, I can tell now.

Grabbing a red pen, he begins reading the poem:

❝𝘐𝘴𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘥𝘰𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘴𝘱𝘪𝘬𝘦𝘴,... He highlights the I in the beginning of the verse, and does the same thing with the following verses

𝘈𝘯 𝘰𝘭𝘥 𝘴𝘦𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘵 𝘭𝘢𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦, 𝘣𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘥...

𝘔𝘰𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘰𝘯...

𝘕𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵'𝘴 𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘬 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘤𝘰𝘭𝘥, 𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩...

𝘖𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘩𝘪𝘥𝘥𝘦𝘯 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦 𝘮𝘦...

𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦, 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘪𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴...

𝘑𝘢𝘺, 𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘵 𝘑𝘢𝘴𝘰𝘯...

𝘖𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘮𝘺 𝘴𝘬𝘪𝘯 𝘪𝘵'𝘴 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘯, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘴...

𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴, 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯...

𝘋𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘰 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘦... ❞

"Now read all the initials of the verse vertically," he says, adjusting the position of the paper so I'd be able to read it better.

I AM NOT JORD.

"Oh." I am torn between laughing or getting mad at myself. In the end I chuckle and he does too, "I guess I was supposed to get that?"

He purses his lips. "Well, I have to admit that it's not that obvious when you're not the one who wrote it." He looks away at the window.

I can't help but feel that I've been failing to see how cute he is. Even with his thick glasses, long-sleeved shirts and a strangely timid confidence that I'm beginning to envy.

He looks at me. "Well I guess it's all out there now."

"It is," I say.

"I'm sorry about Jord, though. I just couldn't bring myself to tell you. And Mara, she knew," he says.

"Don't be sorry. It's not anyone's fault but my own. Mara came talk to me yesterday at the party. Apparently, she felt so guilty about not telling me the truth that she thought the solution was to ignore me. She was completely drunk yesterday." I sigh. "Anyway, I don't want to talk about it. Don't you want to do something else instead?"

"Like what?" Rafael asks. "I mean, I was studying before you came in, but  I would rather kiss you now instead." His cheeks are burning, and he looks away from me. "Shit, sorry. What am I thinking?"

I shrug. "Go ahead."

He looks at me, unsure, as if asking with his eyes if I'm serious.

He kisses me. His lips are soft against mine, cold at first. They part mine with such delicacy, as if teaching me how to do this. He lifts a hand to my cheek.

I can feel his glasses rubbing my forehead as our mouths merge. Our lips part and we stare at each other's eyes for a moment. In silence.

"Friends from now on?" I say.

"Friends from now on," he says, and before I can turn away he's kissing me again.