Here the Whole Time - Vitor Martins Page 0,6

night. Which … would be awkward.

I wash the dishes, dry them, dry them again, and then put everything away inside the cabinets. I try to waste as much time as I can so I won’t have to face bedtime. I wipe the sweat off my forehead with a dish towel (sorry, Mom) and go back into the living room.

I don’t know how long it took me to wash everything, but it was long enough for Caio to put on his pajamas, find a pillow, and lie down on the couch with a book, his feet on a folded blanket. For a split second, I don’t know what to say. Not that I was planning to say anything, but even still, I don’t react. I try to rationalize the following information in my head:

Caio is probably going to sleep in the living room.

Because he has a pillow and a blanket with him. In the living room.

Caio is already in his pajamas.

Is Caio going to sleep in the living room???

Apparently, he is, as he’s wearing his pajamas. In the living room.

Wow. Caio in pajamas.

I guess I won’t have to worry about night farts and morning wood after all.

And, yet, I don’t want Caio to sleep in the living room.

I want him to sleep next to me.

Especially if he’s wearing those pajamas.

I could go on for hours on the topic of Caio’s pajamas. They’re navy blue and white, with a maritime theme. The top is striped and has a deep V-neck. The bottoms have little anchors and boats. But I can’t focus on the design because, where his shorts end, his legs begin. I could dedicate another two hours to the topic of Caio’s legs. His thighs are thick and have some hair on them, and his tan skin is even shinier under the light of the chandelier in the living room. (Actually, the chandelier is a round paper lantern that my mom decided to make after watching a YouTube tutorial.)

If you look at him from just the right angle, Caio looks like Aladdin. And one second before I start imagining the two of us flying over a whole new world on a magic carpet ride, Caio clears his throat louder than he needs to and looks at me. I don’t know how long I’ve been standing here, gawking at him and embarrassing myself over a pair of thighs.

“I’m sleeping in the living room,” Caio says matter- of-factly, as if I needed to be Sherlock Holmes to deduce as much.

I think about insisting that he sleep in my bedroom. I think about telling him that the couch is too lumpy and will be murder on his back (which is true). But who am I kidding? Of course he won’t agree. Not after seeing me naked, soaking wet, and wrapped in a towel, screaming, GET OUT OF MY ROOM!

I offer him some water, tea, an extra pillow, but he doesn’t accept any of it. When Caio turns his attention back to his book, I realize it’s better if I just go away. I walk into my room and slam the door gently enough so as not to wake my mom but loud enough to sound dramatic.

I decide to sleep in my pajamas tonight. I usually sleep in an old T-shirt and shorts. I pull the pajamas out of the drawer. They don’t have a sexy sailor theme; they’re beige, huge, and hideous. When I look at myself in the mirror, I look like a page straight out of the Guinness Book of World Records, showing the record holder for world’s largest sugar cookie.

I’m such an embarrassment.

I fling myself onto the bed and watch cat videos online until I fall asleep.

TODAY IS A SATURDAY. I usually love Saturdays. I get to sleep in and watch three movies in a row, and my mom always bakes a cake. Every Saturday is like that, and the tradition has never been broken. I like traditions, especially ones that involve cake.

And yet I don’t wake up excited today. I didn’t sleep well and spent the whole night thinking about how much easier it would be if my life were Freaky Friday. My mom and I would swap bodies, and she’d have to deal with Caio. I’d just sit there and watch, smiling and painting. We’d stay in each other’s bodies for fifteen days, and when Caio left, the spell would wear off.

I leave my absurd fantasies behind and decide to get out of bed. It’s early, six in the