Here the Whole Time - Vitor Martins Page 0,29

but Caio still seems confused. I don’t know how to make the rules clearer because I’ve never had to say them out loud. It’s a game I usually play by myself.

“You’ll start to get it as we play. We can start with easy categories, and then make it harder.”

“Okay, can I go first?” Caio says, a little disinterested. I say yes, and he gives me the first category: “Movies with aliens.”

“Easy peasy,” I say. “The best in the world is E.T., because it has aliens, friendship, and adventure. The worst in the world is The Invasion, because it features Nicole Kidman in one of the worst roles of her entire career, the poor woman.”

Caio laughs a little at my answer.

“Nice ones,” he says. “But I think I’d pick Space Jam as the worst in the world, because it has aliens playing basketball against Bugs Bunny. Who thought that would be a good idea?”

“Basically everybody?!” I say, aggravated, because Space Jam is wonderful, and I feel an unreasonable need to defend it as a cinematic masterpiece. But seeing as I rarely get into arguments, I move on and change the subject by giving Caio a new category. “Girl bands with four members or fewer.”

“Impossible!” He answers almost immediately. “Because the best in the world has five members, and the worst has two hundred. The Spice Girls and the Pussycat Dolls, if you were wondering.”

“Doesn’t matter. I want girl bands with four members or fewer. Figure it out!”

“Can I choose the Cheetah Girls? After Luciana left, there were only four,” Caio says.

“The Cheetah Girls being the best or the worst?”

“Worst” is his determined answer.

“So, no, you can’t choose them,” I say, because I love the Cheetah Girls and also feel an unreasonable need to defend them.

“Fine. Girl bands with four members or fewer. Best in the world is Destiny’s Child. Worst in the world is Little Mix.”

I let out a guffaw when I’m reminded that SNZ was once a thing.

As we take turns, the categories become more complicated, but in the process I get to learn more about what Caio likes. He loves Lady Gaga, too (the category was pop divas who have starred in bad movies), and the scene in 13 Going on 30 where everyone dances to Michael Jackson’s “Thriller” (the category was musical scene in movies that are not musicals).

We’re both very sleepy, but we don’t want to go to bed yet. The game has now reached bizarre levels, since Caio suggested the category unexpected male butts in movies. I laughed out loud, but then, surprisingly, I had my answers ready.

“Okay, here goes. Unexpected male butts in movies. Best in the world is Hugh Jackman’s butt in X-Men: Days of Future Past. Worst in the world is Matt Damon’s lanky ass in The Martian.”

Caio lets out a sleepy laugh, but he seems surprised.

“I thought this category would have stumped you, but you answered right away!”

“Don’t underestimate me, I’m an asspecialist.” And with that, both of us go silent, taking in what I just said.

I start thinking of a way to change the subject when Caio suddenly starts laughing harder than ever. He keeps repeating asspecialist as if it is the funniest thing in the universe, and I start laughing as well because it seems like the right thing to do.

“You’re funny, Lipé,” Caio says, catching his breath.

I freeze, because no one has called me that since my grandma died. What’s strange is that I thought I’d get mad if someone else, at any point in my life, called me that, but I’m not mad. I feel … comfortable. It feels like coming back home after traveling for weeks and realizing how much you missed your own bed.

Caio notices my silence.

“Is it okay if I call you that? Lipé, I mean. Because if you think it’s too much, just tell me, and I’ll—”

“It’s okay,” I interrupt. “I like being called Lipé.”

And then I fall asleep. With a smile on my face.

I WAKE FROM A FUNNY DREAM. Caio and I were living in our own musical, singing one song after the other. And for no apparent reason, we were wearing Power Ranger costumes. The songs were about stupid things, like breakfast. While I was dreaming, the lyrics seemed amazing, but now that I’m awake, I realize that they were actually really bad (“Hot buns, cold milk, this is what makes me thrilled! Thri-illed!” See what I mean?).

When I open my eyes, I still have that silly smile on my face. I