Days are going by fast. No other murders have happened, and Sage says Mr. Leadford left her alone. He in fact didn't even dare to meet her eyes. Perfect.

Our moms went absolutely mad about the sleepover thing on Wednesday, though. Dahlia noticed after my mom left her house. Then we woke up to them yelling at my door.

Well, I think Dahlia was the only one who was actually pissed, and then Mom just started yelling along. Dad eventually stopped them from breaking down the whole door.

The next day, we snuck out and avoided them perfectly, and locked ourselves back up in my room. We repeated that until the weekend hit. Then it became harder to avoid them, so we just stayed in my room.

Today, this Monday, they're so happy we finally get out of my room that they aren't angry. The plan worked.

Sage's getting ready as I'm eating some breakfast at the kitchen table.

"Thomas." Mom sits down in front of me with a serious look.

Okay, maybe I was happy too soon.

I refuse to meet her eyes. "Mom."

"I think this streak is getting a bit out of hand, isn't it? How many days?"

"Twelve," I say.

"Yes." She nods. "Don't you think that's a bit extreme?"

I shrug. "No, I don't think that's extreme at all."

"You do know that eventually, when you're unable to share a bed, you might not be able to sleep?"

"The reason we started this is because I couldn't sleep." I take another bite of the cereal, and shrug again.

"You'll be too dependent on each other. How many girl friends does Viviette have?"

"Enough."

"And how long has it been since you hung out with one of your friends?"

"Mom, my best friend is literally Sage. And back when I was with Teresa, I didn't often meet up with friends either. It's fine. Minho is her sibling, so I often see him. Newt isn't allowed to hang out anyway. I see the rest at school and at parties."

Before she can reply, Sage appears. Her legs are covered in black tights, a bit see-through. Along with that, a tartan pleated skirt. The beige with red and white one. And lastly, a black turtle neck that's covered with a red leather jacket. Matches the skirt.

Her socks are white and thick. They come above the low-heeled, leather pumps. They're black.

I straighten my back. Look down at my clothes. A shirt and pants. The most casual thing ever. Nothing compared to her. Nothing that will stand out to her.

"Hi." The corners of her mouth curve up into a beautiful smile.

I smile back. "Hi."

"Morning," Mom's voice breaks the spell, and suddenly there is no sun shining onto her and the background isn't dimmed. "Was the weekend locked up in his room nice?"

"Very."

☯︎︎

Math. Favorite subject and probably the only subject I will enjoy today.

I copy what Mr. Hilbert writes down on the whiteboard. A while ago, I did have Oliver, Sage's dad, as math teacher, until I chose for a higher level math.

"Alright. Please solve this question," Mr. Hilbert requests.

I look down at what I just copied. Let x be a Viviette representing the independent variable in the function "f(x) = x² + 3x + 2"

Panicked, as if anyone will check what I write down, my eyes flash around the room. Then I put a cross through the name and write 'variable'. 

The rest of the question isn't that hard.

"Alright." After we've shared the answers, Mr. Hilbert walks around the room. "I want y'all to go practice. I've mixed all sorts of questions, from easy to hard." He starts handing out papers. "Now and then, I expect answers."

This is the third period. I have four more to go after this. One of them is a history test... awesome. Then I'll be spending my afternoon trying to teach Sage math. She said she'd help me with my art things again.

With a small sigh below my breath, I look at the paper. "If Thomas thinks about Viviette with a rate of 60 Viviettes per hour, how long will it take him to think about 180 Viviettes?"

I press my fists to my eyes. Blink a few times. This is not the right question.

"Thomas," he calls out, giving me a heart attack, "You mind telling us the answer? The method to get to the answer, at least?"

"Vivi—" I stop abruptly. Oh my lord. If someone noticed that, I'm dead.

"Fifty...?" He repeats.

"Uh, no. No." I shake my head, but on the inside, I'm smiling from relief. Then I look at the question again.

"If a car travels at a constant speed of 60 mph, how long will it take to travel 180 miles?"

Okay. He wasn't lying when he said he put some easy questions in there. A few laughs come from my classmates as well— never mind, those are probably because I'm taking too long answering this simple thing.

"Come on, class." He smiles. "Just testing if you still know these methods. You'll need them, too."

Time is 180 miles divided by 60 mph, which means it's three hours.

So I tell him that, and that satisfies him enough to not call on me again.

☯︎︎

After a torturous hour of taking a history test, I wait for Sage to put her stuff back in her backpack. She always feels the need to take a thousand highlighters and pens to a test, and it takes long for her to put them back.

I don't even have a pen. I lose all of them. The people who sit in front of me just take an extra one with them at this point.

"How did it go?" She asks.

"Awful," I say. "How did yours go?"

She turns her head away, but I still see the smile. "Not to make you feel any worse, but it went very well."

"That's good." I shrug. "You ready? What's next?"

"You have PE."

"You have music."

"Right. Well, have fun. Try not to kill Janson."

"I'll do my best. Good luck."

"Bye." She follows me out of the classroom, and we walk the same direction. Then we really have to apart ways, so say bye for a second time.

☯︎︎

"Thomas, that's eleven point ninety-nine seconds." Janson, who I still don't think deserves to be called sir, looks up from the stopwatch. I'm really glad I have the one Mr. Keller owned, and not this guy. "Could be improved."

Even with my lungs on fire and the very desperate need to lie on the ground and catch my breath right now, I step in front of him. "The world record," I begin, gasping between my words, "for running one hundred meters," another gasp, "is nine point fifty-eight," gasp, "and you're telling me," gasp, "that eleven point ninety-nine," gasp, "is bad?"

"No. I said it can be improved."

"Which means you think it's bad."

"And what if it means that I believe you can do it even faster?"

"Then you're lying, because you don't believe that, and even if you did, you would've said 'can be improved' in another tone. Not whatever this nasty voice was."

"I recommend you stop picking out fights. I know I'm not the only teacher you've had discussions with. Sooner or later, you'll find yourself with detention."

I press a hand to my forehead. Even the cold fall breeze doesn't help my skin cool down. I'm gonna need to chug liters of water after this. "I only start discussions with teachers that deserve it. And just so you know, because it doesn't seem like you do, the man who was our teacher before you died. I pretty much found him." I don't mention Sage. He doesn't deserve to know her. "So please stop acting like you know it all so well and like you can control our class. We're still healing from a loss, thanks."

Without any other reply, Janson yells for Ben to start running. I'm finally able to lie down. My chest moves up and down in fast, unsteady motions. I didn't stretch well enough for this. Didn't prepare.

So yeah, indeed, it can be improved, like Janson said, but he didn't mean it like that. I swear he didn't.

My muscles will be aching tomorrow. I can feel it already. The way it'll hurt while walking up the stairs or standing on the tip of my toes.

"Eleven point thirty seconds," Janson calls out.

I sit straight up. "Nice, Ben!"

"You, too." He grabs my hand. Pulls me up into a short hug. "By the way, wanna go to the arcade with Minho and I after school?"

"Nah, I've got plans."

He raises an eyebrow.

"You know, studying. Making homework."

"Nerd," he teases as we walk inside the changing rooms. "Can't you do that after the arcade?"

"No, 'cause Sage and I are studying together. We promised that."

His eyebrows rise even higher. "And how much actual studying will there be?"

"A lot." I elbow him in the side, cheeks burning.

From running.

Obviously.

"Yeah, sure."

"I swear!"

"You've been hanging out with her a lot lately, haven't you?"

"She lives across the street and has been my best friend forever, Ben."

"Minho told me you have a sleepover streak. How many days was it? Ten?"

For a second, I want to deny. Then I change my mind. "Twelve," I say. "Why?"

"You don't think that's a little..." He trails off.

I cross my arms. "A little what?"

"I don't know. Strange, for just best friends?"

"I'm sure you've slept over with Minho before." I splash some cold water from the sink into my face, then start changing into my normal clothes.

"Yes. But we're straight. Point is, so are you and Viviette."

"I'm bi."

"That doesn't make a difference," he says. "You like girls and she likes boys. I have never heard of a boy and girl that sleep next to each other that much. There is no way you don't have a thing for her."

"What's that supposed to mean? A thing for her?"

"You know exactly what I mean."

"Yes, but I don't have a thing for her, so I can't relate."

He watches my face for a few seconds, inspecting it in a way that makes me feel like he's looking into my mind. It's scary.

"I heard a little thing today, though," he then says.

"...what?"

"Apparently, during math, the teacher asked you a question and you replied with her name. Which means you were thinking about her."

"How do you—"

"Connections." Ben smiles in satisfaction. "You like her."

"No. Well, yes, but in a friendly way."

"No, no, Thomas. You like her in a non-friendly way. You like her sexually. You have a crush on her."

"I like her sexually?" I whisper-scream. "That's the worst way of describing something like that."

"But it's true, isn't it?"

"No."

He puts on a fresh shirt. "No? Never got a little problem around her? You're not thinking about her twenty four seven?"

"A little probl— you're insane. Absolutely jacked."

"I will figure this out. You're lying and I'll prove it. Getting you two together will now become my goal in life. It's the only good, realistically reachable thing for me."

I roll my eyes. "You can't prove it."

"I can. Somehow, I will. I will ask Minho every single detail. I will interview the girl herself—"

"No!" I blurt out. "Don't you mention a word about this to her."

"So basically you're saying you don't want her to know about the crush you have on her."

"I'm saying I don't want her to think I have other intentions. I don't want you wasting her time with something stupid like this— besides, she likes someone else. She's too busy thinking about him to notice anything about me. So you won't get a single word out of her."

"Really?" He steps closer, eyes wide in curiosity. "Who?"

"That's not my secret to tell."

"Thomas, please! I promise I won't talk to her if you tell me."

I squint an eye at him.

"I promise," he repeats. "I won't 'waste her time with something stupid like this', alright?"

"Fine." I sigh deeply as I lean towards his ear. "It's Gally. Now remain sile—"

"Gally?!" He yelps, then slams a hand to his mouth.

"Did you just say my name?"

Our heads turn, slowly, so slowly that it's like we're in a movie and have a realization moment, towards Gally.

Right. We're still in a changing room full with boys and I bet half of them have been eavesdropping the whole time.

"Viviette has a crush on me?"

"Hard to believe, isn't it?" The words leave my mouth without me really wanting them to, but then I notice that I don't really care. He already knows I don't like him.

"She doesn't," he says. "She definitely doesn't. We're friends."

Ben casts me a look. "That's what they all say, right, Thomas?"

"Shut up." I look around the changing room for a second. "Did everyone hear the whole conversation Ben and I just had?"

"Yup."

Awesome.

"If I catch you telling anyone else about this or if I see you talking to her about it, I will kill you. I don't like Viviette in that way. And don't tease her about the Gally thing. She can't help it that she has horrible taste."

"Offense taken," Gally says.

"That's what you get for breaking my nose."

"Excuse you? You broke my nose."

"I've always wondered why it's so deformed," someone mutters.

"No," another mumbles. "There is no way Thomas's nose is like that naturally. Gally must've broken Thomas's nose, who then got a nose job."

"I never got a nose job," I say, offended.

"So you did break Gally's nose," Ben points out. "Why?"

"I don't know. It was third grade or something."

"I told Viviette I liked her hair clips and you punched me in the face," Gally announces dryly. "You literally stood next to her, did not hesitate a second, and threw hands."

Ben snorts. "More like, fists. Amazingly done, Thomas. You've been in love with her since third grade." He claps in his hands.

"No," I defend. I cross my arms over my chest again, as if it'll make it more believable. "I still had a girlfriend about two weeks ago. I was in love with her." 

"But you were thinking about Viviette."

"No," now it comes out rougher. "I was in love with Teresa, dude. Fine, keep on saying I liked Sage in third grade and that I like her right now, but during Teresa, it was Teresa and her only."

"Whatever you say," Ben replies, holding his hands beside his head in defense. "But—"

"Eh, Thomas?" There's a knock on the changing room door. "Has anyone seen Thomas? I've been waiting for like twenty minutes and he normally only takes three. Is everything alright?"

I really want to scream at all of them to now shut their holes, but all I can do is shake my head.

Which does not work. "Don't worry, Viviette. You can come in. We're all changed. We're just talking."

"Uhm." She's clearly hesitating. "Is Thomas there?"

"Yes," I say. "Wait. Let me just grab everything and I'll be there—"

"Come on in, Vi," Ben says.

She won't do that. She better not. I've known her so long that I'm supposed to know if she will listen or not, except I have no idea right now.

She ends up listening, and slowly enters the room.

Sometimes I wonder what goes on in her head. To walk into a boys' changing room even though we're all decent is... something.

"It stinks in here," is the first thing she comments. Her nose scrunches as the familiar bottle of deodorant gets taken out of her bag. "Arms up."

Now it's way more embarrassing than back in the car with Minho, and not a dozen boys watching. Yet I still obey, and she sprays two exact equal amounts on each one of my armpits.

"You too, Ben. The sweat is sticking on your shirt."

With a pointed look, he holds his hands in the air.

"Can I get some?" One asks. "I forgot my own deodorant."

"Sure." She walks over to Jeff. Sprays again. "Anyone else?"

Before I know it, she's done the whole group. Even the ones I saw put on deodorant three minutes ago.

Well, can't lie, hers does smell really good. No wonder she smells good herself.

You know what's kind of crazy, though? That she feels safer in this room than in a room with a teacher.

But on the other side, she knows half of these boys. And she knows I won't let anything happen to her. I guess her love towards Gally also tells her he'd do the same. That's two safe ones already.

"Do you want to go to the arcade with Minho and I?" Ben asks.

"Eh." She looks at me for a second. She's always found it harder to say no to something than me. "Thomas and I were planning to study, so—"

"You can study after the arcade."

"...alright, then."

"Can we come?" Jeff and Clint ask.

"Sure," Ben says.

Sooner or later, the whole ass changing room is coming with us.

They're going to do something.

I don't know what and I don't know if I want to know, but they will embarrass me for sure.

"Can I invite my friend?" She asks. "You might know him. Aris?"

"Sure," Ben says again.

I don't have any issues with Aris coming over. He's nice and he won't embarrass me. And he deserves a good time.

"But you guys need to shower first," she says, now stern. "This smell is horrible."

"It's because we ran so well. Especially Thomas," Jack points out. "He got ten seconds."

"Eleven point ninety-nine," I correct.

Ben shoots me a 'are you serious, this was your chance to impress her' look.

I give him a 'I don't need to impress her' glare.

"That's very nicely done," she compliments. A smile forms on her face at her next words, "I probably can't even do it in twenty seconds. What was the highest score?"

"Thomas had the highest score," Dan tells her.

"What?" She laughs. "I thought Ben did track."

"Yes. Ben got the highest score," I say.

Behind Viviette, Clint throws his hands in the air, Jeff pretends to slash his own throat, and Jack slams his head to the wall.

Sage looks down, her hair falling across her face. I kind of have the urge to move it out of there. "But you just said... whatever."

"We'll take a shower at home and then meet at the arcade, yeah?" Dan suggests.

☯︎︎

"I hate you," I tell Ben. "You are the worst person I have ever met. If anything happens today, I will make sure you won't see daylight in—"

"And what if you two end up kissing?"

"We won't. I don't like her in that way. I've liked her as a best friend for eighteen and a half years. Why would it suddenly change?"

But then I fall silent at the thought of kissing her. We kissed once. Like, a quick peck, which was still awesome. I told her it was so our first kiss would be with someone we like, in case 'we would accidentally kiss someone we don't like'.

But, to be honest, I just wanted an excuse to kiss her. I was eleven, alright? My body and interests started to change and there was a girl I saw every single day. A really beautiful one, who I felt like kissing at the time. And then we did, and then the feeling started to fade, because I locked it away. I was confused. Was terribly afraid I'd ruin our friendship. It was the best thing I had. Have, in fact.

So okay, maybe I haven't always liked her as just a best friend.

I remember last Wednesday. The same day Mr. Leadford was acting absolutely crazy. But then, at night, I got driven crazy. It felt like I was back at that party, when I got very drunk.

Just in another way.

There was background noise, but I was only focused on her. It felt like a dream. I don't know what about it made it feel like that. It simply just felt like a dream, AKA I felt drunk. Her voice was echoing in my ears. Every soft reply or question that I nearly closed my eyes at was echoing. All I could see was her. The room was dimmed on the background again. All I could hear was her. All I could feel was her— blows of breaths onto my skin. Making the hairs on my arms rise.

And then we lay down. A thought popped up in my head. What if I kiss her? What if I had kissed her right then and there? The consequences were endless, that's why I had asked myself it. Because it was entertaining to think about what could happen.

But of course, at every consequence I imagined, I also had to imagine kissing her. So after imagining that like twenty times, I also figured out what would be the best way to do it.

Definitely slide a hand in the silky hair. Then I'd slide it down to the side of her neck. My hand would later on still smell like her perfume. The other hand would hold her waist or hip. Depends on if we'd be sitting, standing, or lying down. And it would last a few seconds, so we could really feel each other, unlike that quick peck. Then we'd stare for a few seconds, and then the consequences would happen.

Maybe she would hit me. Maybe she would kiss me again. Maybe she wouldn't say anything and go to sleep. Maybe she'd run off. Maybe she'd tell our moms, either in a scared or excited way. Maybe she'd never talk to me again. Maybe she'd start a conversation about it. I imagined the good conversation and the bad conversation. And I imagined a bad conversation that also led to her never talking to me again, and then horror filled me at the thought, so I returned to the good consequences.

Then I turned to her, and she was asleep, in her clothes and all, purple nightgown still hanging out of her pocket. And then I turned to the clock on my nightstand, and it was three AM. I was so in shock that it was four hours later, that I stared at the ceiling for another ten minutes before not only embarrassment, but also shame, excitement, fear, and anger (at myself) kicked in. It was eventful, I shall say.

And then I did not dare to look at her lips for another three days because I couldn't stand the fact I imagined kissing her in that one exact way. That's because my mind goes a little crazy past midnight, and then it stays with me for a few days.

"Helloooo? Earth to Thomas?" Ben waves a hand across my vision.

"Yes?" I blink a few times.

"I thought you went in a shock," he murmurs. "Alright. Let's go."

I see Sage and Aris playing that basketball game as we walk towards I don't know what. She misses, grabs the mini ball another time, and then scores. Cheers loudly as Aris claps in his hands. Then Ben has to somewhat rip my arm off to pull me with him.

Him, Jeff, Clint and I play table football for a while. I'm not really paying attention. Once I zone out, I will keep that feeling of nostalgia— zoning out actually makes the world around me quiet and peaceful—and then I start zoning out again. And again. And again. That's the annoying part.

Mom is convinced I have ADHD. Or at least had, when I was younger. Zoning out, bouncing on my feet, unable to pay attention— all of that was ten times worse back then. Now I can usually pay attention. I don't think I have the disorder. Or no longer have it.

We went to a child psychologist for a test once. Well, not really for a test. She just gave me a tip. If that tip didn't work, I'd have to come back. But it did work.

I have to write if I get too many thoughts. I have to write all of them down and I have to keep them somewhere safe. If the paper rips, the thoughts will escape and jump back in my mind. Which now sounds ridiculous, even though I still don't throw them away.

I keep every single paper in the lowest drawer of my bathroom. I have tons. We went to that psychologist when I was like seven, and now I'm eighteen. I write nearly every day. That says a lot.

There's a scary part about that drawer, too. A lot of things can be revealed if someone finds out and takes advantage of it. I trusted Teresa. I don't think she ever opened the drawer and even if she did, she didn't mention it. I also trust Sage. But it's scarier with her than with Teresa.

Not because she would look into the drawer sooner than Teresa would, but because she will read eleven-year-old me's thoughts. And little shreds of what I've also thought in other years. This year.

Teresa I've known for about two years. Sage I've known almost my whole life. There is a difference between the things a fifteen-year-old and an eighteen-year-old writes. Or a seven-year-old.

Whatever— it's just things I don't want anyone to have a peek at.

"I give up on you today." Clint shakes my shoulders. "We've made ten goals while you were doing nothing."

"Yeah, man. Thanks a lot," Ben complains.

"Sorry."

I think tonight's writing session is gonna take a while. But that's fine. I'll feel so much better. It will get late. I always do it once Sage is asleep. I can't pace around my room while writing. Can't put music on. Can't hum. Can't curse when I accidentally bite the pen open so that the ink is all over my face. It's pretty hard to do. I manage every time, though.

Or she fakes it. She's kind enough to do that. To pretend to be asleep while my noises keep her awake, but she doesn't want to interrupt.

"Let's go. Perhaps we should splash some water into your face," Ben says. He takes my arm. We walk through the long path in the middle of the arcade— and then suddenly, he pushes me to the side.

"What the—" I catch myself right before I fall.

Catch myself is basically gripping my hands around Sage's hips.

"Tho-mas!" More frustrated than I've seen her in a while, she throws her head back. Right into my shoulder. It fits perfectly, just like my hands on her hips. Like my neck and hands were made to do th— but she shakes me off before I can finish that thought, groaning.

"I spent like fifteen dollars on this already. I finally had it until you bumped into me!" She slams a fist against my chest. "That was the last money I had!"

Dazzled, I blink. "You almost had what?"

"The bear," she bleats.

I look into the claw machine to have a look at the brown, stuffed animal. It's holding a little heart. Quite cute and definitely something Sage would want.

"I'm sorry," I say.

I hate Ben.

She crosses her arms; she's pretty angry and upset but probably understanding at once. "It's okay. You probably tripped or something."

I reveal a few dollars. "Here. Try again."

Her face lights up like the sun breaking through clouds. The best feeling and look ever. "Thank you!" And she continues trying.

And fails.

"I swear I was doing so well when you weren't watching," she murmurs, concentrated.

I hand another dollar when she has failed to do it with the first load I gave.

"It's two dollars per try," she says.

I hand three dollars to give her two attempts, which both go wrong.

"Do you need my he—"

"No."

I watch her bite her lip. Watch her jaw clench in frustration when she feels again. Watch my money get wasted.

Well, why don't you stop giving her money, Thomas? Because I can now watch her without an excuse, and the way her face lights up is absolutely worth it.

Like forty dollars later, she actually succeeds. I don't notice because I'm looking at the claw, but at her face falling in victory.

"I got it!" She's smiling so hard she throws her head back. "I thought these machines were impossible but I finally did it. Wait— how much do I owe you now?"

"Eh, just a dollar or eight," I lie fast. "Don't worry about it."

"Eight," she repeats. "It only took eight tries?"

I force a laugh. "Yeah. Just eight."

Multiplied by three.

Perhaps I should've lied at the running score part, like the boys encouraged me to do, and not at the expensive part.

Forty-eight more dollars away from paying Dad back for the phone.

At least I made her happy. And in a day or two, when the phone gets delivered, I'll make her even happier. It's all going to be worth it.

"Alright. Thanks." Even though it's just a quick hug, the touch still lingers as I walk after her.

"Can we do this?" She points at the Pac-Man game. "No. You can do it. It's your money."

I press the fifty cents in her hand, happy enough that this one doesn't cost two dollars.

"Oh, thank you." And her face lights up again. That does it for me... again.

One hour later—or maybe three, or maybe just ten minutes—she lets go of a deep breath, which tells me she's done. "How much do I owe you now?"

"Nothing."

"But I played like..." She looks at her fingers. Counts a bit to herself. Frowns. Counts again.

"You only played five," I say. "And most of them cost me fifty cents. You're fine, Sage."

She definitely played more than five. But that's okay, she deserves some fun. And she'll be just fine thinking it's only twenty-six.

"Sixteen dollars plus..." More counting on her fingers. "Five times fifty cents... plus sixteen... is twenty-six dollars. I owe you twenty-six!"

"No. I'm paying right now. You can pay next time we go here, or get a drink, or go bowling, or get ice cream, or— whatever. Besides, you paid half of the time we went to get ice cream. It's fine, really."

Her eyes are a little wider as she looks at me. A look of appreciation. Though at the same time, it can manipulate me in a second. So I look past her to avoid her gaze.

"Okay." She wraps her arms around my neck once again, embracing me. "Thank you, Steph. But now you can't get me a phone. Too much money you're spending on me."

"I'll spend my money however I want to," I tell her. "So don't you dare say another word or look at me with those eyes."

Viviette lets go, her eyebrows scrunched. "What eyes?"

I press a finger to her lips. Just like that, a whole wave of electricity runs through my body, coming from that finger. "Shh, I told you not to speak."

Okay, I made the look in her eyes even worse. She's now looking at me like she desperately wants to say a word. She's pleading with her eyes. So, once again, I look away.

"We should go study now," I say.

She doesn't reply.

"And you can talk again," I add.

"Yes, we should go study."

☯︎︎

A/n: that was really long but I hope you enjoyed

I've never written a love interest SO obsessed with the OC before

And now I'm living for Thomas's POVs

Btw I did not edit this so I'm sorry for typos

Have a good dayyyy