What's the most embarrassing thing you've ever done? he asks me, hours after supper.

I don't get embarrassed, I say.

Lies.

Totally. My eyes are tired, and my face hurts, I've been smiling so much. I almost fell in a pile of horse crap when we went to the Laura Ingalls Wilder homestead thing. I wait for his response.

I threw up on Valentine's day last year. At Sirina MacLellan's party.

Did Josiah go to that party? Did Edward? It wouldn't surprise me if Josiah had - Sirina sits with us at lunch. She's got a girlfriend; the both of them are always dressed up in stretch pants and loose, cropped sweatshirts. It looks comfy, for sure, but I couldn't see myself wearing that. I'm loose pants and T-shirts all the way.

I'm absolutely losing myself in conversation to this boy. Seriously - when my dad opens my bedroom door and pokes his head inside to tell me it's time to go to bed, I barely have time to act like I've not been on my phone for the past five hours - I tear open Pride and Prejudice on my bedside table and try to act completely invested.

"Bedtime, kiddo," he says, smiling easily and turning on my fan. I've always - and will probably always be - "kiddo" to him. Just like Ben's my "dude", when I think about it.

"Alright," I say, looking up once before looking back to the page and pretending to finish off one of the familiar paragraphs. "I'll shower tomorrow."

He bites the inside of his cheek. I don't know if I ever do that, and, if I do, is it that obvious? Mom used to say I could never go to Vegas - that I'd definitely get shot. I have too many physical tells - which I think is crazy. I'm an actor. A good one, apparently, at least according to the one-act awards on my wall.

"I don't know if there'll even be school tomorrow," he says, casting a short look to my window. I eye it for just a moment, though it's not like I can really see anything; the curtain is pulled back by one of my surprisingly-cold hands to reveal snow that has drifted up over the hood of the Subaru.

Well, then.

For a second, I'm thinking, Well, that future shower was for nothing. Then, I guess I can stay up all night texting Secret Guy. . . .

Then: Oh. I won't get to meet him tomorrow.

Everything sucks. Sucks, sucks, sucks.

"Welp," I say, "guess it's time to hit the hay, then." Because I'm inconspicuous like that.

He eyes me levelly. My dad is a deadpan master. I wish it were genetic. "Yes. Yes it is."

"Night, Dad." I feel so fake, but he doesn't seem to be able to tell.

"Night, kiddo. Go hug your ma." (Which I do. With no shame - she's my mom.)

Sitting in my bed, with a fresh face and just sweatpants, I'm staring at my phone. Finally, I ask Secret Guy, Do you think that we'll have school tomorrow?

Yes, he says immediately. God I hope so. My whole SURPRISE. I don't want to keep you waiting another day, lol

Honestly, this is probably the first time I've ever hoped for there to be school.

Same here, he admits.

He starts typing. My heart starts thumping.

Can I call you?

I think about it for a moment. About how I'm cold, it's late, I'm shirtless, it's late - seriously - and my family is all in bed. And how jazzed he's been about his big surprise. I think this is probably just an eleven-P.M. moment of weakness on his part.

I'll do him a favour, and not give him anything to possibly regret later.

Besides, a big Valentine's surprise? Ha, yes, please. I'm hearing chocolate; I won't complain.

Your imaginary rules, tho

So, maybe I'm weak. It's not a crime.

Screw my imaginary rules. I seriously want to just . . . be with you. Even if I'm not there to hold you or hug you or do anything else that crosses my mind.

. . . . Tell me more about this "anything else", please

I can picture flushed cheeks, a wide smile, a bitten lip. Josiah's kind smile and messy curls. David's strong hands grasping my own, eyes warm and wide.

Of course, good sir. ;)

I think I like him.

A lot.

Laying on my bed at 2 A.M., tired, and all my stamina completely wasted, I want more. And it scares me. I'm not the type of guy who wants more - I'm fine with what I have. If you give me something else, then, yay, I guess.

I want more. Jesus.

More of not just this - this late night conversation, the sweet and . . . strangely endearing things he's been saying - but more of him. I don't even know who he is, or what he looks like. I just . . . I want.

I want, I want, I want. What is this?

There's something about him - this gravity, this pull. I mean, I had been so sure that he wasn't going to be real, that this would all be a lie. (To be honest, there's still a little part of me that thinks that.) But he's just so sweet.

He's a romantic. He's a romantic who's very good at talking, which I very much appreciate.

I'm so tired, he says. I don't have anything more in me to give.

Did I break you? I ask him, smiling into my phone. Who cares if that sounds innuendo-ish? Not me. Not my promiscuous bed. (Well, maybe the bed. But I'm not focused on that right now.)

Not exactly. More like put me temporarily out of commission, lol

New goal: break the secret admirer.

Oh my god, he says at the same time, it's Valentine's day. Jesus. I didn't even see that till now.

I didn't think about it till now, I admit. That's another thing I think I like - admitting things to him. Like, how David Marquez was my Gay Awakening (Secret Guy said I was his, which makes me both nervous and very . . . excited), or how I have an actual, super hero-style weakness for Breyer's ice cream (he's getting me that instead of chocolates now, he says, which I really appreciate). (Also – I was right about the chocolate.)

Oh, yeah? What were you thinking about? ;) ;) ;)

YOU'RE SPENT. SHUT UP.

I want I want I want I want.

I don't know how I'm going to handle this when it all goes down in flames.

I finally fall asleep at about three, too weary to even type straight. We both swore that we'd try and actually sleep instead of thinking of each other. Which is stupid, and cheesy, and cringey, and, Jesus, I kind of love it.

And, even though he told me explicitly not to think about him, I am.

My thoughts are a muddled compilation of memories I don't remember having: Edward smiling into my face happily, his hair a luscious mess; David's strong arms gripping my waist, small body resting against my side; Josiah's warm voice in my ear, telling me that we should do this more, that it's all nice, that there's nothing to worry about.

Honestly, I'm surprised I even manage to sleep.

I wake up at about 6:30 and head off to take a shower. Part of me is again wishing I did last night - but the other part is glad, because I need to wash all the grog off myself.

The water is probably warmer than it should be, but I don't mind it, or the red blotches it sends sprawling across my skin. Hair shampooed, body cleansed, I step out into the cold with a towel wrapped around all the good bits.

Ben's washing his hands; he doesn't even blink at my towel-clad, dripping-wet person. He just pumps more soap into his hands and observes his own reflection.

"What's up, dude?" I ask him, standing awkwardly in the steam.

He looks over at me. His hair is brown-almost-black, like our mom's, while mine is light and sandy. It's gelled back, and I think I might be smelling something like cologne over the smell of myself and my mint shampoo.

"There's no school today," he says stiffly, which basically just means he's not happy about it at all but wants to hide it. (I worry sometimes I gave him that.)

I nod, stepping over to him and holding my towel up. (I don't need to scar him with a slip.) "That sucks, dude. I'm really sorry."

"I was going to get a girlfriend and everything." He pouts.

I poke one of his kiddishly chubby cheeks and force a smile. "Maybe we can go out later and play in the snow or something, yeah?"

"And have hot cocoa?" he asks hopefully, green eyes wide.

"We should have some in the pantry, so yeah."

With an infectious grin, he wipes his hands on my towel and skips out the bathroom like Missy Stevens.

It's only once he's gone do I allow myself to frown deeply into the mirror. There's no school today. I'm running on maybe four hours of sleep. I just promised I'd go outside in cold weather. And, most importantly, I don't get to meet Secret Guy.

"Happy Valentine's." Yeah, sure.

I ignore the slight stickiness of my wet feet on our old hardwood floor as I walk to my room. As soon as I'm in there, the towel is ripped off; I cloak myself with a horrendously gigantic blanket from my bed as I warm up.

My phone has a few missed texts.

Its Valentines day, from Edward. Im cool bcz I know things

Happy snow day, Josiah says. I'm going to die at home with nothing to do, lol. You should swing by the animal shelter later if you can. I have a surprise for you. :D!!!

My stomach tightens. I try not to think about it, though – some things are better ignored than pondered.

I save Secret Guy's texts for last - even though Josiah's is legit freaking me out right now.

He's sent a picture of Alec Baldwin with some comedian I vaguely recognized, with the caption "HAPPY VALEMTIMES". Happy Valentine's, beautiful, he said at about four, when we were supposed to be sleeping and not thinking of each other. Then: I can't believe I have till tomorrow to surprise you. Maybe we'll run into each other... ;)

I can't believe it. Freaking snow ruins everything in this life I have to look forward to.