Here the Whole Time - Vitor Martins Page 0,30

probably had it while I was sleeping, and if Caio saw me with it, I hope he found it funny instead of disturbing. I want to tell him about my dream—sing him the song, even. But there’s a knot in my throat.

The blanket I hung on the window yesterday fell to the floor during the night, and the bedroom is flooded with light. I can see dust particles floating in the sunlight, and they mesmerize me for a few seconds. It’s funny how dust is always there, but we only really see it when there’s a beam of light. It’s kind of like me, but the other way around. Because I only show myself in the dark, you know? And also because I never go unnoticed.

Okay, that was the worst metaphor of all time. Let’s move on, shall we?

When I look over, Caio is already awake, reading The Two Towers. He seems focused on the story, but he can see that I’m up. Without peeling his eyes away from the book, he utters the first words of the day.

“Good morning, Lipé.”

“Good morning, Caio.”

I only now realize how hard it is to come up with a nickname for a name like his.

Here we go again. I don’t know what to say, and I feel like wrapping myself in my blanket and pretending I’m not here. I hear Olivia’s voice in my head repeating itself a thousand times, reminding me that this week’s challenge is to talk to this guy. I consider possible interesting subjects to start the day—“Sleep well?” “How do you like the book?” “Is it just me, or is it chilly?”—but I don’t say any of that. Because I’m tired of not knowing what to say, and of feeling a ton of words stuck in my throat. I’m tired of being a speck of dust dancing in the air without ever being noticed. (All right, all right. No more dust metaphors, I promise.)

And so, to break the silence, I tell the truth. Because those who tell the truth open the path for good things to happen. I think my mom said that once. Or maybe it was Dumbledore.

“My therapist gives me challenges sometimes—you know, tasks that I need to accomplish between sessions. And I know you didn’t ask to be a part of it, but—surprise!—my challenge this week is to talk to you during the daytime, in the light. A normal conversation. No blanket hanging on the window. And I don’t want it to seem as if I’m begging, like ‘Caio, for god’s sake, please talk to meee!’ ” I say all at once, and he starts laughing because I said that last part in a funny voice. “But, well … I basically am,” I add, staring intently at the ceiling and hoping he won’t think this is as ridiculous as I think it is.

“That’s cool. Does she always give you a challenge? Do you get some kind of reward?” he asks, and he seems genuinely interested.

“I don’t get rewards,” I say, intrigued, because it has never occurred to me. I’ll suggest that in our next session. “But if you can help me, I’ll give you one.”

A steamy, passionate kiss, I think.

“Okay, I’ll help. What do I have to do?” He closes the book and sits on his bed to get a better look at me.

His gaze makes me feel anxious.

“I don’t know. The conversation needs to be relevant. And last at least ten minutes. Or however long normal conversations last. And it has to be during the day. In daylight. Those are the rules,” I say, still looking at the ceiling, because if my eyes see Caio in his pajamas, I might die.

“Okay. You can start talking.”

I’m suddenly under pressure, and I can’t get my thoughts straight. So I say the first thing that comes to mind. “I dreamed about you.”

Caio muffles a laugh.

It takes me a moment to realize that this sentence can mean a million different things. I start to explain myself, trying to seem as calm as possible. I tell him about my dream—the musical, the lyrics about breakfast, and the Power Ranger costumes. He laughs out loud at that last part.

“Which Power Ranger would you be?” he asks, changing the focus completely.

I’m happy for it, because I wouldn’t have known how to continue the conversation after describing that bizarre dream.

“I’ve never really given it much thought,” I say. “I would definitely never be the red one. The red ones are always boring.”

“I’d be the