of person who responds to people on the elevator.”
“I would like to accept your apology, but I need proof.”
“Well, I’ll show you proof!” Caio says, getting up from his bed.
For a second, I think he’ll jump on me and kiss me intensely, and then our love will be official. But obviously that’s not what he does. He reaches for his phone and sends a voice message to someone I don’t know.
“Becky, emergency! I need your help to prove that I’m not a jerk. So as soon as you can, I need you to send me a testimonial about how wonderful it is to be my friend. But please try hard; it needs to be convincing! I need to show my neighbor that I’m an amazing human being. Thanks, see you soon, bye!” he says into his phone.
I am a little upset that I’m just the “neighbor” instead of something else.
A few seconds later, Caio gets a response. He hits play and I hear a girl say, “Hey, Caio’s neighbor, don’t believe this kid. His face might be cute, but his soul is cruel. He complains about everything, always shows up late, and wears Crocs and thinks they’re cool. Bye—” The recording stops before she finishes her farewell. I’m laughing as I imagine Caio in Crocs. Caio is laughing, too, because his plan backfired.
“Becky is my best friend. And I’m sure she’s trying to sabotage me because she’s jealous.”
His phone beeps, announcing another audio message. He hits play and Becky’s voice invades our bedroom again.
“The last message was a joke. Except for the thing about the Crocs, which is totally true. Caio is wonderful, gives great advice, makes a divine brigadeiro, and has three years of experience as an underwear model. Okay, that last part isn’t true. But, hey, just to be clear, I am his best friend, and therefore THAT POSITION IS NO LONGER AVAILABLE. There, I said it, bye.”
“You see?” Caio points at me. “I’m not a jerk. There’s your proof.”
“I still have my doubts about the Crocs part,” I say, evaluating the situation.
“Dude, Crocs are basically slippers that you can wear outdoors. Why not wear them?” he counters, and deep down, I think it might make sense.
“Oh, and about the brigadeiro. I’m interested,” I say, thinking about the perfect mix of condensed milk, cocoa powder, and butter, then regret it almost immediately.
Because I hate talking about food. Because when you’re fat and you talk about food, people always think, There goes fatty, talking about food! But Caio doesn’t seem to even think about that. He looks excited and promises to make brigadeiro tomorrow.
We spend some more time talking, and I learn a bunch of random facts about him. He’s allergic to honey, he broke the same arm three times when he was a kid, and he didn’t learn how to ride a bike until last year. I tell him random stuff about me, too. I like popcorn with no salt, no butter, no nothing. Just pure popcorn that tastes like Styrofoam. I’ve never broken a bone in my body but always wanted to have a cast so I could pretend to be a cyborg—half boy, half robot. I tried to give myself a haircut once and it was the worst decision I’ve ever made in my entire life.
We stay up late sharing stories and minor facts about ourselves. We take turns, and I never feel like I’m talking too much or too little. When we decide it’s finally time to go to bed, I fall asleep feeling more comfortable than ever and believing that tomorrow will be a great day to win my therapy challenge. Having a conversation with Caio is the easiest thing in the world!
HAVING A CONVERSATION WITH CAIO is the hardest thing in the world!
I don’t know why, but when he looks at me, I can barely talk. I suddenly forget how to organize my words and form complete sentences. I feel silly most of the time.
We woke up today to the sound of rain. Caio started talking about the weather, and I mumbled something back and stared at the ceiling.
Then this afternoon, I tried twice to approach him and start talking. The first time, I made a comment about the rain, then noticed we’d already covered that subject. Caio laughed and tried to continue our small talk, but I pretended I had to go to the bathroom and stayed in there for a while. The second time, I thought about asking how things were