Before I honor your ears with the events of this momentous occasion, let me make one thing clear.

I. Did. Not. Lose.

Ｌｏｓｅ

𝐓𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐮𝐜𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐟𝐮𝐥 𝐢𝐧 𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐟; 𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐲.

𝐓𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐝𝐞𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐟 (𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐬 𝐡𝐚𝐝).

Ｌｏｓｅ

𝐑𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐮𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠

I declare fault in the scoring and an error in the mind of the judge.

And no, I'm not being a sore loser.

"Stop being a sore loser," the pin-headed nerd (the guy with the pin experiment obsession) groans.

"Shut your pinhole—I mean, pie hole," I snap back. "How can I be a sore loser if I didn't lose in the first place?"

"The game was that whoever could name the most memes—that are not made up—in a minute would be declared the winner," Lucas declares.

"The home depot theme song is not a meme!" I retort exasperatedly.

"Yes, it is!" He begins playing the theme on the electric guitar strapped on his shoulder. "Look it up," he sings to the beat.

"Why should I?" I return with my arms folded defensively.

"So you'll stop being a sore loser."

"Forget it," I declare. "This competition meant nothing anyways."

Truth is, I know I lost. But the words streaming from my mouth were getting harder to control, and I can't help snapping and throwing around useless objections.

From the look on Lucas' face, I know I hurt him. I'm not sure why. He won and everyone knows it. Shouldn't he look happy?

"Well, I'm off," I say to interrupt the uncomfortable silence. "I can hear my homework calling."

Oh, wait. Maybe it's just my pride screaming from its cage in the depths of despair.

"Catch you losers later." With that, I rush out of the library and down the school steps.

"Wait! I'll walk you home!" Lucas calls after me.

Feeling bad about my bratty attitude, I let him fall into pace beside me. After a few minutes of silence, I finally look up from the sidewalk to face him. "Sorry for being a sore loser just now. It's just that, with the low level of confidence I have inside, my fake pride is all I have," I say with a laugh. "Words tend to spill out of my mouth that I truly don't mean to say, but it's like someone else is controlling me and making me say it. What am I even saying now? I'm just rambling with no ability to stop."

Why in the world am I opening up to him? He's so goofy and dumb, yet kind and understanding. He's like a trap. Is that a superpower or something? The ability to make people spill all their secrets?

Well, there's at least one secret that he will never be able to get me to spill.

"You probably don't even understand what I'm saying. You always say the right thing like some sort of protagonist in a television show. It's just...so unfair."

And I didn't even mention the fact that he's a literal famous superstar. Why did I even tell him this? The only person I have ever told about the silent war in my heart and it's someone who could never possibly understand.

Silence returns my confession and I feel heat rise in my cheeks. "Well say something, you dummy!"

"You really think I do?" He finally whispers.

"What? Do what?"

"Always say the right thing? You really think I belong on this pedestal you're putting me on?"

By now we've stopped walking to face each other, although I'm not-so-subtlety avoiding eye contact. "Don't go and get a big head," I say curtly. "I'm not putting you on any pedestal. I'm just saying that you're good at putting people at ease around you. Unlike me, you're friends with everyone. I've noticed how much people like you in the times we've spent together."

His eyes sparkle and his smile widens as he leans forward and says, "You really think I'm that amazing?"

I push his face away and reply, "Stop with the puppy dog eyes."

"That wasn't an answer!"

"Well, I never got an answer either."

"Well," he replies with his annoying smile, "you never asked a question."

Slowly his smile fades away and his face grows serious. The world stops, and I feel a dizzying terror as his eyes flicker down to the lower part of my face. His hand went up to my face and—

He booped me.

Right on the nose.

Then he stumbled away, laughing the head off his shoulders.

Jerk.

———————

"Hey, mom, I'm home!" Lucas and I say together.

"She's not your mom," I snap.

"Tell that to her," Lucas replies with a grin.

My mom sweeps into the room, smiling from ear to ear. "Oh, honey, we missed you!"

Why does it seem like she's walking towards—

I stand and watch my mom pull Lucas into a hug. "Should I get a snack ready for you?" She asks as she pulls away.

"Sure, mom! Just send it up to my room," he answers with a quick wave as he heads up the stairs.

I run after him and grab his shoulder. "Your room?" I question.

"Yep," he returns. "It's right across from yours. And don't worry, it's just a room for when I'm here."

I follow him up the stairs to the door facing mine. He opens the door, and I behold the sight in shock.

Holy walnuts—why does this room look bigger than mine!? It's not even the guest room!

And why does he look totally moved in?

"When your sister goes to college, I'll move into her room, and you'll get this one," he says, throwing his bag on his bed and following right beside it.

"Hey, champ!" I stare as my dad pokes his head into the room. "I got two tickets for Saturday's game. What do you say to a boy's night out? You and me cheering for the best team." He ends with finger guns.

"You got it, Dad!" Lucas answers with returning finger guns.

After my dad had left, I turn to face Lucas and say, "I have never seen such a high level of parent favoritism in my life. AND THEY'RE NOT EVEN YOUR PARENTS."

"What up, big bro?" a voice sounds from the doorway. A flash of pink crosses my vision and suddenly a figure is trampling Lucas with a hug. I notice messy brown hair flowing over a bubblegum-colored jacket, and I immediately know who it is.

"Where's my hug, Emi?" I ask mockingly.

"Don't call me Emi," my sister growls, all cheery sound gone from her voice. "And your hug's in the void. Go there to find it and maybe get lost while you're there."

"That wasn't very nice, Em," Lucas says seriously, pulling away from her tight hold and patting her head gently.

Immediately, Emilie turns cheery again as she replies, "Sorry, big bro!" Then she leaps off the bed and skips away, making sure to stick her tongue out at me before she leaves.

A few seconds later, Mia passes by. When she sees Lucas, her lips rise into a slight smile, and she greets him. "You better not be too excited about me leaving in a few months."

Did any of you see that!?

She winked!

She flipping winked!

I stare in shock as she continues on down the hall, her skirt swishing over her legs and high heels. I turn back to Lucas, but he seems totally unfazed by my family's familiarness.

Am I missing something here?