Dear Estella,

29. what, you like 'em?

I fiddle with the frame of my glasses, pushing them down and then back up on the bridge of my nose as I stare at my bright computer screen, which displays a blank document where my personal statement is supposed to be written.

Sighing, I close my laptop. I haven't been able to find an exceptional topic to write about. At least not one that'll stand out from every other application sent in.

After changing into a plain white shirt and a pair of black sweatpants, I collapse onto my bed in defeat. My mind churns with ideas, all ultimately too boring to be written about.

As I stand up to turn my desk lamp off, I hear rustling from outside of my window. I slowly make my way over, pulling the blinds up. I jump back at the figure lifting himself up onto the roof with ease.

"Asher!" I yell as I pull my window open. He lifts his head, giving me a smile before he wedges himself through the window. "What are you doing?"

"Standing in the middle of your room," he replies smartly. "You?"

I glare at him. "You can't just show up out of nowhere! What if my mom was here, Asher? She would— she would kill you and then kill me after."

He shrugs. "But she's not here. The white beemer isn't out front. I made sure— I'm not stupid, Estella."

I cross my arms, furrowing my eyebrows. "How'd you know this was my room?"

He walks across the room to my desk, taking a seat on the grey chair before spinning around to face me again. "Lucky guess?"

"Lucky guess?"

"Fine," he huffs. "Just wanted to you think I was like— super smart. But, I knew it was your room cause it's the only light I saw in the house that was on. All of the others are off so I jumped up that little thing and sure enough..." He lifts his arm. "I was right."

I'm sure my face is still full of shock as I stare at Asher's casual state. He tilts his head, looking around my room with interest— the two-toned blank lavender walls my parents painted for me when we moved into this house, the mess I currently have on the nightstand to the right of my bed, the small futon near my closet.

"I can go," he says as he stands from the grey chair. "Sorry, I- I shouldn't have just shown up. I'll see you tomorrow, yeah?"

I watch as he walks back to the window. A part of me wants to let him go, save me the trouble of having to explain to my mother why she saw a random boy sneaking into the house through my window. But at the same time, I'm not sure she checks the security system. And if she does, I guess I'm already screwed as it is.

My mouth opens before I even think about what I'm about to say.

"No, Asher— stay. It's okay."

He turns around, hope in his eyes. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah. I'm sure."

A small smile grows onto his face as he walks toward me again. "Thank you."

I nod slowly. "So... why'd you decide to come over, anyway?" I ask as he sits back down on my desk chair. I still stand in the middle of my room, not knowing where to sit down or how to seem as casual as Asher does.

I've never had a boy in my room.

Swiveling around it, he replies with, "I don't know. Boredom, I guess." I see a flash of an emotion I can't figure out before his demeanor changes again. "Hey, so don't get me wrong. I like this chair and all, but I think I'm gonna migrate over to your bed instead. Looks comfier."

Before I can respond, he's out of the desk chair and instead lying on top of my bed. He shifts until he's in a comfortable position.

With his shoes on.