You've Got This, McCoy

Boy, Am I Glad I Showered Before This

True to her word, I got sent upstairs to my room at nine to get ready for bed, and after a shower, I was in bed trying to warm my feet up, looking out the window. It was a perfect night for someone to keep me warm, and I missed it. It took me so much longer to get to sleep now that we were public and had tabs kept on us. Not to mention right now it was 9:15, so.

I texted: my mom sent me to bed. At nine.

It took a while for him to reply: What? She didn't like the tree?

I snorted : No, she loved it. We decorated it and stuff. I'll send some pics. First final tomorrow, though.

: Ah yeah yea

: I'm cold. Can't sleep.

: Course you cant its nine bro

There was something painful about imagining his hand around mine and his sleep-heavy voice I missed. Something wonderful, too. I was sure as hell I wasn't about to tell him, dancing around what I really wanted to say to him, gnawing on the corner of my pillow in frustration.

Finally, finally, he asked : Can I call?

: Yeah why?

: Am I not allowed?

I could feel the sarcasm through the phone. I insisted: You call first dumbass.

I didn't let the phone even get to properly ring before I picked up and greeted, "Hey."

"Hey, weirdo." I got more comfortable, flipping over on my side, letting my phone rest against my ear, closing my eyes, sighing.

"It'd be easier to sleep if–" my brows creased. "If it was warmer." I cussed myself in my head, trying to let the words flow more easily. "If you were here."

I heard him sigh, the breath making static rustle the speaker in my ear. My fingers curled in on themselves, itching to be touching him– maybe it was selfish. I mean, I'd seen him all today, gotten to sit with him all afternoon, got to walk with him, and I'd see him tomorrow, but there was something that just wasn't sated. "Same." He did that thing, saying my name, "Milo." Saying for saying it, and it tugged the corner of my mouth up. "What about tomorrow? Can we sleepover tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow?" I laughed.

"Well you got me started and now I don't know what I'm going to do, man."

"I feel bad, though. But who knows, maybe I'll be in the neighborhood and you'll have to let me in your window."

"Hang tight."

"Huh?"

"I'm putting the phone down for a sec. You keep talking."

"Uh– Sure." I rubbed at my closed eyes. "I do not want to take Spanish tomorrow. I don't think Senora Jimenez even went over some of that stuff that's on the review." I heard shuffling, rummaging, but kept on going, "Like the Imperfect versus Past. Maybe I was just zoned out, but I know I'm gonna fail that section. If I get a seventy, I'll be happy. As long as I don't fail."

He huffed, "You're not gonna fail, Milo. But, hey, if we all fail, she has to curve it up, right?"

"Our class was this close to making a grade-suicide pact. If we go down, we all go down together. Except Richie. That gooseneck thinks he's the biggest try-hard there is."

A.W. snickered, "Gooseneck?"

A smile broke out on my face. "He's got a longass neck."

"In my class, we did the party, you know. A last hurrah before death. This year it's fine if we fail–"