Dad raises an eyebrow at Mom. "What kind of drink did you give him?"

"Hm? Drink?"

"Some energy booster?"

"I didn't give him anything."

"Thomas, did you drink coffee?"

I shake my head.

I kissed her, that's what I did. And it was better than I could've ever imagined. I'm so happy about it that I've been jumping around the house ever since it happened.

Okay, not completely true. I had to remain calm until just an hour ago. Sage spent the night, obviously, and then she went to her own house to have breakfast there. Sadly, we agreed that it's good to spend some time apart now and then.

"You've been bouncing on your seat since you sat down."

"I kissed her," I announce.

Mom and Dad stare at me for a while, as if they want me to say more.

"Who?"

"Who do you think?" Dad and I reply in unison.

Mom gasps. "You and Vi?"

I nod.

"Aah!" A small yelp leaves her mouth. "Does Dahlia know? We'll finally become family! Oh my gosh—"

"Let them kids rest first," Dad interrupts, chuckling. "They're eighteen. They're not thinking about the future yet."

I frown at that. At eighteen, most kids are definitely thinking about their future. Maybe not marriage, though. That's what he means.

"Okay, but you will marry her, won't you?" Just when I'm thinking about it, the words leave Mom's mouth.

"Yeah," I say, way too casually, mouth full with my croissant. One today, and one yesterday. I haven't given up on the Saturday breakfast at the Lee's.

"How did it happen?" Mom asks, listening attentively.

"Mango pulled us into the sea and then it happened. Twice! Wait, no, three times. I've kissed her five times now, can you b—"

"Five?"

My mouth stays half open. I forgot about the fact they're not aware of the other two. Technically, I'm also not aware of one of them.

"Eh, yeah."

"When else did y'all kiss?"

"At eleven."

"When?"

"At eleven."

"Yes, I understand that," Mom replies. "How many days ago?"

"Many."

"Thomas, when?"

"At eleven!" I throw my hands in the air.

Dad looks from me to Mom, back to me and then at Mom again. "He means at the age of eleven, not at eleven o'clock."

"Oh." Her shoulders lower. "Wait a minute— why am I not aware of that? Was that your first kiss? With Vi?"

"...yes. Do I need to tell y'all everything that happens in my love life?"

"Not anymore. But at eleven— how did it happen?"

"I don't know. I liked Sage back then. So I..." wow, now that I'm saying it out loud, it's kind of crazy. "...told her that we didn't want our first kiss to be someone random, so we shared like a tiny peck."

"And the second time?"

"Oh, I don't even remember that one, which is horrible. Apparently, I kissed her when I was drunk, and—"

"When were you drunk?"

Ah, man.

"Uhm." I'm spilling way too much this morning. "A while ago."

"Were you screaming as you skated down the hill in your boxershorts?"

Slowly, I swallow my food away. I lie my hands down on the table. Let go of a breath— all of that to give me some more time to think about a lie.

"No..." I reply.

"Because the police got a call from poor Miss. Callaway."

Our very old neighbor.

"Oh, really?" I straighten my back. "That wasn't me."

"Three boys," she adds, eyes squinted. "Surprisingly enough, Dahlia mentioned something about three boys covered in sand, only wearing their boxers. Oh, and one of them was my son—"

"I think it's time I go to the bathroom—"

Dad interrupts the both of us with a laugh. "Let the boys live. They were having fun."

I smile in appreciation.

"Just don't do dangerous things like that."

I motion at her belly. "If I die, you immediately get a replacement."

Now they're both gaping at me.

"That was a joke," I hint fast. "Talking about my sibling, what's the gender? How many weeks are you pregnant now?"

"About eight."

"Eight already?!"

"My period is always late, so I didn't think too much of it until it reached like two and a half weeks, and then I also hid it from you and your father for a while."

"Will you do a gender reveal? Wait, at how many weeks do you know the gender? Can't moms feel what the gender is?"

"No, and around fourteen weeks, and I don't know. Do you have a preference?"

I cross my arms, shrugging. "Even if I did, it's not like that kid is going to listen to it."

"So no preferences?" Mom asks.

"No. Do you have any?"

"No, not really. I mean, on one side, a girl would be a lot of fun, but we have some of your baby clothes left, so a boy can wear those."

"A girl could, too."

"True. But you get what I mean."

"Dad, what do you hope?"

"I really don't mind as long as they're healthy."

"Decent." I nod. "Oh, by the way, Sage wondered what we're doing with Thanksgiving."

"The usual."

"Thought so."

"Speaking of holidays," Dad begins, "we've got plans for Christmas. With the Lee's, of course."

I raise an eyebrow.

"We're going on vacation. For about a week."

"Really?" I perk up. "Where to?"

"Somewhere in the mountains. Cold, but sets the winter vibe. There's lots of snow. We'll be there until a little after New Year's."

"Fun." I smile a bit. "Are we staying in a little hut or something?"

"Yup."

"Can I—"

"—share a room with Sage?" Dad finishes. "No, but you can sneak out in the middle of the night and then share a room."

"Noted."

"There's one room left. All the kids got their own, obviously including Aris, and us parents share bedrooms, as always."

"So someone can invited someone else," I state.

"Yes. And that will most likely be either Finn or Minho, perhaps Aris. But Dahlia figured because you and Vi have each other and because Vi is great friends with Aris, the three of you are satisfied."

"We should invite Newt," I say. "That's literally the best idea ever— that week will be awesome. Oh, but then I feel bad for Sonya. They can share a bed, right? Or Newt goes with Minho and Sonya has her own room. Can we please bring them? Pleaseee—"

"If their parents are okay with that."

"They're not. I already know. But we can sneak them away—"

"Thomas!" Mom gives a warning glare. "Without their parents' consent, they're not coming with us."

I'm basically bouncing on my seat at the imagination of spending a week on vacation with not only Sage, but also Minho and Newt. "I'll ask Newt at school tomorrow. You guys should also discuss it with their parents. They don't like me anyway. They might accept it if they know y'all are there."

Mom and Dad share a glance. Dad is the first to turn back to me. "It's a Sunday and we have nothing better to do. We're going to forget about it if we don't go now. So, well, let's go now."

"I'd send a message first," I warn. "Do you have their number?"

Dad nods, taking his phone out of his pocket. As he types a few things, Mom starts speaking. "Your grandparents are coming over next weekend."

I have to stop my mouth from dropping open. "No."

"Yes."

"Which ones?"

"The alive ones," she says dryly.

"Ah, fuck," I mutter. I'd rather hang out with the corpses of my father's parents than the alive souls of my mother's.

"Thomas. These are your grandparents!"

I bury my head in my hands. "Even you don't like your own parents." 

"I expect you to be respectful. To behave."

"If they behave."

Mom has been best friends with Dahlia since the age of ten. Ever since then, my grandparents have not liked the fact that she's Asian. So they obviously don't like the fact that my best friend and now girlfriend—shockingly—is also Asian.

They just don't like the fact we hang out with them so much.

Besides that, they also have high beliefs we still live in old times. My grandfather has no issues calling girls who wear clothes only slightly revealing something I will not repeat, and he has always been convinced boys are not supposed to shed a single tear in their lives.

Back in the days, Mom was still quite controlled by them. That has faded now, luckily, but when I was just a little kid, she made me read some handymen book before her parents showed up. According to them, boys should know how to fix things with tools and she was worried they wouldn't approve of them or something, unless I knew the basics about tools.

Teresa has met them once. I remember very well that my grandparents got upset she 'prioritizes her career over her family', which she didn't even say. She only mentioned she was working to get into the medical world. And then grandma dared to say women shouldn't be doctors, too.

That's the craziest thing of all, I think. That she doesn't even support her own rights.

"How long are they staying for?"

They come from far away. It's a seven hour drive, which I'm really glad about; we barely ever see them.

"A week."

"A week?!"

"Yes. And, I'm sorry, but they're going to need your room. They refuse to sleep in the guest room."

Makes sense. The guest room only has a single bed, but "They can put a mattress next to the bed," I say.

Mom shakes her head. "They won't do that. Not in a million years. And your grandpa will probably not even be able to get off the ground with his back."

"I don't care. He may stay there," I blurt out.

"Does mean he'll stay at our house even longer."

"Okay, never mind."

"So you need to take the guest room for that week, though I assume you're spending most of your time at Vi's."

"Yes." I nod, glad for at least th— "Wait a minute! They're going to investigate my room or something!"

"You don't have anything to hide, do you?"

"No— well, yes. From them. They can't read my letters."

"Take your letters away," she says calmly.

"And they find that kid shirt with the blue handprint from Sage childish. They'll throw it away without my consent. They'll judge literally every inch of my room—"

"Just take everything you don't want them to see into the guest room."

I sigh loudly. A whole week of criticism on everything. Oh hell no— even with the 'career over family' incident with Teresa, they will one hundred percent make it clear they prefer Teresa over Sage.

Because Sage is a Korean-American.

That's the only freaking reason.

"Anyway, better news," Dad says, "Newt's parents have invited us over for lunch. We can immediately discuss the trip."

"All three of us?"

"Yes. So you better go put on some neat clothes and lower that attitude of yours."

I scoff. "I don't have an attitude."

"The exact way you just said that proves you do," Dad says. "But whatever. They also asked for the Lee's, as they will also be involved with their dear kids on that trip."

My face lights up.

"Thomas, you and Vi are free to be clingy but rather not at their house. If you want a real chance of Newt coming with you..."

"Got it." I nod.

At least Newt's parents aren't racists. They're just awfully strict.

☯︎︎

Haha, very funny that I can't be clingy, because that's a total joke if she dresses like this.

In a good way. She looks awesome. Wide leg, vintage pants. The kind of faded ones, you know? And then a beige, off-shoulder halter top. It's a button-up. She often wears button-ups. As she should, because she looks good on button-ups.

Sage can be shy and very introverted, but she's not scared to show off her good sense in fashion and I'm glad she isn't.

Though I have a feeling Dahlia did not agree with the off-shoulder thing for this neat lunch thing.

I don't think I ever mentioned that Newt's parents have a lot of money. And a big house.

I don't think I've ever really heard about a rich, happy family either. Not in this town, at least.

Mom forced me in a white blouse and dark blue pants. The only thing 'Thomas thing' she let me keep is messy hair.

Well, not really. She smashed gel in it and tried to comb it backwards but then I shook her off, so now my hair looks wet as if I just got out of a swimming pool.

"Hi!" Sage runs over to me the second she sees me. I press my lips together so I don't start yelling that she needs to look before she crosses the street, even though barely anyone ever drives here.

Imagine an almost naked boy on a skateboard suddenly hits her!

My lips get less tense when she presses a kiss on them— right. We can literally do that all the time now.

Not at Newt's, though. We can't do it there. Gotta keep that in the back of my mind.

She's already pulling away by the time my mind has connected all the dots again, so quickly, I pull her closer, eyebrow furrowed with yearning. How am I supposed to not do this?

"You look nice," she says, quietly enough for only my ears to hear.

"These clothes are very uncomfortable. But thank you. You look amazing."

"Thank you. You look awesome, in fact. Why did it not come to my mind to dress you in a white blouse before?" She murmurs to herself. "I like your hair like this, too."

"I look like a dog that came straight out of the sea."

"No. It's really nice." She runs her hands through my hair a few times, fixing the strands that will likely be ruined later on. The feeling is so nice that I hope she will do that tonight until I fall asleep; run her hands through my hair. "All done. No way they won't accept us now."

I smile automatically. "If you say so."

"Hey." Minho whistles so loudly that we are somewhat forced to turn to him. "We're going. Hop in."

"Someone has to go with Thomas. Six people don't fit in our car," she replies.

I'm glad she agrees to my silent request.

Hand in hand, we take our places in the backseat of Mom's car. It's the same one I often drive to school with. Dad has his own car.

She's sitting in the middle. I know she hates that place, but it's the only possible way of sitting next to me. And I should probably tell her to scoot one place to the right so I sit in the middle but still next to her, except we're already driving by the time I think of that.

I lift our intertwined fingers up to place a kiss on the back of her hand, then I catch the blue color on her nails. A deeper blue. Darkish. My favorite color. And I wonder if she made them this color because of that or if she just chose a random color.

"You like it?"

I nod.

A laugh. "You want it on your nails, too?" She teases.

I'm too struck by her laugh to hear properly. So I nod again, to whatever it is what I'm agreeing on.

Another laugh. "Better than primer on your face, I guess."

And another nod from me.

Mom twists around, eyeing us. Then she turns back around.

"What?" I ask.

"Nothing," she says, her tone high.

"...huh."

"You two are just— really adorable." I swear a squeal leaves her mouth.

Dad chuckles from behind the wheel. Sage leans even closer to me, smiling brightly.

After a while, we arrive at Newt's house. It's bigger from the inside than it looks. I guess the very few houses in the street do say something about it, and the giant gate that only opens with a certain button.

A slight ball of nerves is rolling around my stomach as we get welcomed inside. I hope Madam No-Fun has forgotten about our staring contest. That won't work in our benefit.

It's a good thing Dahlia stopped Minho from stepping up to their table. Then all our chances would've been gone.

After a lot of polite greetings, we're sitting at the long-stretched, wooden table. It's near the gigantic window that gives us view of the garden. It's big but boring. Just a lot of perfectly cut grass and hedges. There's a pool, though.

I see braided baskets filled with all kinds of bread. Refillable, glass bottles with orange juice, water, milk. A lot of plates that seem very break-sensitive.

Newt is right in front of me, Sage next to me, and Dad on the other side of me. Sage faces Newt's mom, who sits between Newt and Sonya— everyone just sits a bit randomly.

No one brings the trip up yet. I think that's good. We can break the ice first.

I'm not sure what to say to Newt, though.

'Oh, yeah, remember when you stole your dad's rum and we skinny dipped before we skated down the hill in our boxers?'

However, that might cause some really funny drama— shut up.

We start eating like it's a cue or something. I'm not sure what's going on. I'm not sure about a lot of things right now, I have noticed.

I'm sure that Sage looks really pretty. I'm sure but unsure about the fact that she's now my girlfriend. Sure because I want to keep her forever, unsure because it's just... very unbelievably.

What if I travel back in time and tell eleven-year-old Thomas about this? I don't think he'd believe about the kisses in the sea.

Or fifteen-year-old Thomas.

I think I had some kind of seasonal crush on Sage every other year.

I barely communicated with her at fifteen. I changed, she changed— both mentally and physically. And I guess that was what did it for me. All the changes that made her seem like so much more than just a best friend.

Suddenly, she is nudging her knee against mine.

I look at our knees, then at her, confused, and then at—

A cough from beside me.

"I'm so sorry— were you talking to me?" With a lot of embarrassment and awkward chuckles, I look at Newt's mom.

"I asked how it's going at school. I heard... things."

I straighten in my seat. This can go about three teachers; Mr. Leadford, Mr. Keller, or Janson. I still refuse to call him mister. If I knew Mr. Leadford's first name, I would be calling him that, too.

"What kind of things?" I ask.

"The loss of your teacher."

I don't think that was the best option to go for. However, Janson would make me blurt out rude things and Mr. Leadford and I don't exactly have the greatest history either. I hate him. So much. I hope he's the next victim—

I don't know if that thought goes too far.

Not if I keep it to myself, right?

That man has not a single good intention. I know his teaching is shitty anyway.

"Uh, yes." I nod.

"I understood that you and..." she pauses, thinking for a moment. "...Viviette, is it?.. that y'all found him?"

"Yes, true."

"Must've been a shocking experience."

"I— eh, yes."

What else am I supposed to say? Have a fun little talk about the death of my favorite teacher?

"I heard about the memorial. Newt and Sonya never had him as a teacher, so they I wouldn't let them go— of course. Might have had too much influence on their health."

What.

"Of course," I reply, because it is so damn obvious why she wouldn't let her kids go to a memorial to show some appreciation!

And Newt did have Mr. Keller. But that year, his leg was just too bad to sport with. And Mr. Keller was nice enough to just sit next to him the whole period, because Newt refused to go do something else. Others would call him out for ditching class, if he did that.

And he secretly liked watching me suffer. And when I passed him, he'd grin a bit.

But his mom doesn't give a single shit about things like that.

Funny, because her and her husband are the main reasons his leg is bad in the first place.

Long story short, he tried to kill himself a few years ago. And failed. Is now stuck with a limp.

She turns to someone else. "And you?"

I nearly allow a sigh of relief to leave me. I can't deny that I'm the person who will most likely ruin our chance of getting Newt and Sonya with us.

Never mind.

She asked Minho.

I'm the person after him.

"Hm?" He's not eating very politely either. Mouth is half full with bread as he speaks.

Finn kicks him below the table so hard that it scoots away a bit, and Minho visibly squirms in pain.

"How's school going?"

"Oh, well," he says quickly. "Very well."

Luckily, she loses interest in Minho soon and goes to Aris. He won't ruin anything. It might just get a bit sensitive.

Or that will ruin things because she probably 'doesn't want her kids to be around others with bad mental health'.

Not like her kids have good mental health at this point.

She asks him about who he is and why he's here. Calm and politely, he explains the truth. He's so calm that she almost seems interested. Like, actually interested.

I look around the table. There is some kind of sauce in front of the grumpy face of Newt's father. I wonder what would be the consequences of squirting that sauce in his face.

Or what if I push the table over right now? Mom will never forgive me. I am nearly smiling at the thought.

Push her in the pool, is what my mind tells me when I look at Newt's mom.

My mind is weird.

Impulsive for sure. Or intrusive. I'm not sure what the difference is. I'm gonna have to look that up.

I feel a hand on my knee. It's Sage's. This time, not to shake me out of my thoughts. Just a gentle hand on my knee. Her thumb caressing my leg as she listens to Aris's words.

I lie my hand down on hers. Frown. Lift our hands up. Place them on her own leg, but this time a little further up her leg than her knee. Still not inappropriately, of course.

She gifts me a little smile. I give a bigger one in return.

Her eyebrows raise. I shrug. She tilts her head to the side. I shrug again, eyeing Newt's mom. Sage nods, understanding. I sigh quietly. She smiles softly.

Translation of that:

Sage: Do you think Newt and Sonya will be allowed to come with us?

Me: I don't know.

Sage: Why not?

Me: Newt's mom is literally interviewing us.

Sage: Ah, true.

Me: I don't think it's going to work.

Sage: It'll be okay.