That next morning, I end up sleeping in - which makes sense, considering I was talking to Secret Guy till about two in the morning. He asked me if I wanted to go to Sirina's party with him tonight, to which I said, Hell yes, and meant it very, very much.

I'm antsy as I hop out of the shower and try to comb through my hair. If I do anything with it once it's dried, it'll go crazy, so my only choice is to get it when it's wet. (This is why I have a perpetual bed head.) I want to look nice for him, for Secret Guy.

Am I going to have a boyfriend after today?

I haven't dated anyone since Edward - or before him, for that matter. And I never really had any interest in anything romantic before, but Secret Guy has me so excited. I wish I could teleport to my locker like Night Crawler or something. (Though that would still take a while. Why can't I just disapparate?)

It's so crazy to me. The thought of having a boyfriend. But, here is this guy who's apparently really into me, and he seems to be really sincere, and I seriously just can't take it. I want him. Again: Am I a Wanter now?

I have to drop Ben off at school (we have to turn around so he can grab his freaking Ninjago box), and by the time I'm finally able to transcend the parking lot traffic, it's 7:54. I have less than twenty minutes to meet Secret Guy and get to class.

With my car parked stupidly far from the doors, I burst into the school and speed-walk towards my locker as quickly as possible.

And there he is.

Josiah. Josiah Richmond is standing at my locker.

I think I might be shaking as I walk over to my locker. Over to him.

Secret Guy. Josiah Richmond . . . is Secret Guy.

"Nick," he says to me, smiling uneasily as I stop, "I--"

"It's you," I say, eyes wide.

An all-too-familiar frame comes into view, and Josiah moves so that David, carrying a plastic bag and a poster board, can get to his locker. His eyes dart between the two of us. "Hey, Nick," he says.

"Hey, David," I say, turning my shoulder to him. He's always butting into my business. He acts like he gets it, when he can't possibly. No one understands everything.

"So, about your secret Cupid—"

"I got it, David," I snap, finally fed up with him always trying to be the centre of everything. "I don't need you to be here right now." Or ever.

He shrugs, his eyes sad. I think of when I thanked him yesterday. I've never told him off like this, either – not in the twelve-plus years I've known him. He just turns around and leaves, and I feel like I can finally focus on what's important.

I fix my eyes on Josiah, heart thudding. "I'm so sorry for not realizing it sooner. Seriously, I feel like an idiot."

"What?" Josiah says, confused. "What do you mean?"

My laugh sounds more uneasy than I'd like it to. "Um, aren't you my secret admirer?" It's the most upfront thing I've ever said in my life, and I'm terrified.

"I'm really sorry, Nick." He looks so sincere, and I just can't. "I'm not."

I nod, then open my locker and shove all my things in. I don't even take out what I need - my phone is in my pocket, and I have homeroom anyway.

I can't believe it. I really can't.

"Did you—"

"I have to go," I tell him quietly. "Sorry, Josiah."

Edward finds me on my way to homeroom, and I want to not talk to him - but I'm at least nice enough to still do so. "Hey," I say stiffly.

"Hey," he says back. Then, he holds something out. A slip of paper. I take it.

A coupon. For a free ice cream cone from Zestos.

"Edward," I say immediately, staring at it, "you're not my secret admirer, are you?" There's this sudden rage that's bubbling up inside me, and I find myself daring him to say yes. I feel about ready to hit someone as is.

"What?" he asks. Behind his glasses, his eyes are wide and confused. His freckles are hidden as he scrunches up his nose. "No. Seriously? Dude. No. We're wingmen."

Edward gets both an exasperated sigh as well as a hug. "But then," I straight-up whine, "who is?"

"Have you thought about David Marquez?"

"David Marquez likes me," I say, deadpan, to him.

He looks me dead in the eye. "Well, duh."

"What?"

Edward sighs. "Seriously - him lingering by his locker with his phone every morning, then leaving as soon as you leave? Him staring at you all the time? Him always asking you questions? Always trying to be your partner in class? Dude - he goes to every musical, and the only person he ever really greets in the lineup is you. Are you blind?"

Is he right? He's right?

Oh, God. I think he's right.

My eyes are wild. "Do you know what class he has next?"

He shakes his head. "No idea. We have lunch and English together, though."

I hug him again, because he's great when he's not awful, and this is definitely one of those moments.

"Thank you," I tell him.

"Whatever." But, I can hear he's smiling. Wingmen. It makes perfect (also weird) sense.

I whip out my phone as I walk down the hall. Hey, I text Secret Guy. David. I'm sorry about what happened just now. I'm an idiot.

Please talk to me. I'm sorry.

He responds relatively quickly: I need some time to myself. Just... don't talk to me for a while. 'Kay?

How long? I want to ask, want to scream. How long?

But I don't. Because he asked me to.

I try to make eye contact with David at lunch, but he doesn't look at me once. And, when I start to walk over to him, whichever friend he has with him - guarding him, almost - casts me this threatening glare and shakes their head slightly.

His eyes look betrayed. I did that. I suck.

In English, he's completely silent, which is out of character for him.

In biology, he won't even talk to me. We're a table apart. I brush up against him while going to get supplies – purposefully – and he flinches. "Please don't," he mutters.

He's at his locker when I get there, though.

He's got that same plastic bag and poster from earlier in his hands. He shoves them into my arms, looking up at me with these wounded, dark brown eyes. "Here," he says. "These were for you."

Were. "David, I--"

"Space," he says again. "Space."

Then he leaves.

He leaves me.

I stare down at all he shoved into my arms. In the bag, there's a full carton of ice cream, though the poster definitely hurts more. It's a drawing of a pony with a glittery, red ribbon around its neck. It's got a giant speech bubble that says, "NOT A PRANK", with dorky little hearts drawn around it.

And that's when I remember that day in fourth grade he was talking about.

Edward came up to me once all the cars had left – he lived right by the school at the time – and began insulting me. He even jumped on me, fists swinging, plowing me into a tiny a pile of snow and ice. I cut my lip, and Edward gave me a few bruises before David – tiny, tiny David, the size of a four-year-old – grabbed him by the collar of his worn jacket and sat on him.

"Don't," he said. "You should go home."

Edward didn't look angry. I think his parents were considering splitting at that time or something – he cried about it to me once last year. How he remembers the fighting. He just picked himself up, said, "Sorry," to me once, then walked home.

"It's because he likes you," David had muttered, using all his strength to help me up. I was sore for a few days after, and I avoided him like the plague. Probably because of that – him wrapping his arms around me scared me so much then. I didn't know what to do.

"What?" was my response.

"He likes you," David says again. "That's why boys bully." Then he smiles softly. "Though I wouldn't bully you."

I tried to smile, which was pretty hard with a nearly-split lip. "I wouldn't, either."

All the days that he was waiting by his locker, doing nothing. All the days that he ended up parking right next to me and walked with me into the school, trying to talk to me. All the times he tried to befriend me.

Edward was right – I am blind.

And I've just paid the price for it.