stuffed chairs at Starbucks, Ethan directly across from me. I’m having trouble forming words, because I’m too busy trying to sort this all out. I feel stupid for assuming SN was Caleb. I don’t want to make the same mistake twice.
“What-what? I didn’t say anything.”
“You’re looking at me funny. Do I have something on my face?” Ethan begins to swat at his lips, which do have a tiny crumb stuck to them from his blueberry muffin, but that’s not why I’m staring.
“Sorry. Just a little out of it today.” I hold on tight to my cup, both hands cradling it like it’s something fragile: an injured baby bird. “I guess I’m tired from the weekend.”
“How was it?” Ethan asks, and smiles, as if he really wants to know. Which makes me think he’s SN, because SN always wants to know everything. And which, of course, also makes me think he’s definitely not SN, because SN already knows how my weekend was.
But most of all, I think he can’t be SN because I want him to be SN, and that’s the quickest way for it to not happen: for me to want it badly.
“Great. I mean, a little rocky at first. Long story. But then it was great. It was hard to leave,” I say, which is true and untrue. It was hard to leave and it would have been hard to stay. Not feeling like I belong anywhere has made me crave constant motion; standing still feels risky, like asking to be a target. Maybe that’s why Ethan doesn’t sleep, come to think of it. Eight hours in one place is dangerous.
“Yeah, I bet. Is that sticker new?” Ethan points to my ninja, and I realize that though I’ve had it on my computer all day at school, he’s the first to notice. Even Gem didn’t see it, because her only jab today was to call me “sweaty.” Not that creative, considering it’s ninety degrees in November.
“Yeah. My best friend from home, Scarlett, made it for me. They’re supposed to be like tattoos. I’m kind of in love with them.”
“They’re all really cool. She should sell them, like on Etsy or something.”
“That’s what I said!” I look up, and then, when I catch his eye, I look down again. This is all too much. I just need to fast-forward to Wednesday, meet SN, move on. If he’s not Ethan, I will let go of this silly crush. Theo is right and wrong: this is playing with fire. I like being around him too much.
He too is cradling his coffee cup now. I’ve read somewhere that when someone mirrors your body language, it means they like you. Then again, if that were true, I’d be sitting cross-legged, and I’d have long ago caught Ethan’s nervous habit of rubbing his hair. Instead of mirroring him, I want to crawl into his lap. Rest my head on his chest.
“Great minds, man.”
“Great minds.”
Are you SN?
Why do you wear a Batman T-shirt every day?
Why don’t you sleep?
“Why don’t you sleep?” I ask, because it seems the easiest of my questions. The least invasive, although maybe we’re past all that now. I wish conversations came with traffic lights: a clear signal whether you need to stop or go or proceed with caution.
“I don’t know. I’ve never been particularly good at it, but this past year it’s like sleep is this fast-moving train and it only comes by, like, twice a night or something, and if I don’t run really fast to catch it, I miss it altogether. I know. I’m a weirdo.” He looks out the window, that “weirdo” dropped so casually it could be a reference to our messages, or it could just be that he uses the word “weirdo” too. It’s a common noun. It means nothing.
“That’s very poetic. A train metaphor. Maybe you should take something. I mean, to sleep.”
Ethan looks at me, a question in his eyes, or an answer. Maybe both. “Nah. I don’t like to take anything.”
“Did you really memorize the whole poem?”
“The first section, yeah. I like how it speaks in so many different voices. It’s sort of loud, you know?” I picture Ethan practicing with Oville, strumming his guitar and singing his heart out. Noise as balm. I listen to them on repeat on my headphones after school every day. Try to parse out Ethan’s voice, like a middle schooler obsessed with a boy band. He sounds stronger, rougher than Liam. Gravelly. Equal parts angry and resigned.