Finally, after class, I take a few minutes alone in my room to read all the comments. It’s been viewed a dizzying number of times. I know the internet, too, so by now there should’ve at least been someone criticizing the fact that I changed up the song from the original tempo, or my hairstyle, or my posture. But if they have, Molly’s been deleting them. If that’s the case, I figure I’d rather not know, anyway. I’ve officially been perceived, and so far I’m surviving it. Look at me go!

And it’s only now that I notice Molly’s caption:

My best friend is more talented than yours.

With a happy sigh, I pull my knees up to my chest, and close my laptop lid.

TWENTY-THREE ROSE

Alfie has something he desperately wants to say. Even over the video call I can tell that much. He’s changed position no less than eight times in the last few minutes, even while he describes his week in near excruciating detail. I wait patiently for him to finish speaking, then I raise a single eyebrow. “Is everything okay?” I ask. I wasn’t especially surprised when he called me right after classes finished today—we probably video chat every two or three weeks, on top of our regular messaging. But it’s become quite clear to me this particular video chat has an agenda.

“Yeah, how come?”

“You seem restless. Is there something you wanted to talk about?”

He shuffles on his bed and plants a fist under his chin to prop it up. He’s still wearing his school uniform, a pants-and-blazer version of ours, in the same shade of forest green. “Don’t you think there’s something we should talk about?” he hedges.

“Well, you certainly seem to,” I say. “Why don’t you start us off?”

“Fine.” He fluffs his pillow beneath him and sprawls against it. “I think we need to talk about the fact that we kissed. You haven’t forgotten we kissed, right?”

“Oh yes, so we did,” I joke, and he shoots me a death glare. Point taken.

“It’s just that we kissed, and then we both pretended it didn’t happen at all. And I’ve been waiting for you to bring it up, but maybe you’ve been waiting for me to bring it up, so I thought one of us had better do it.”

I think of the last few weeks, and what has held my attention. And how very little time I’ve spent thinking about Alfie kissing me at all, let alone wishing he would talk to me about it. In fact, when I have thought of Alfie, it’s been to hope we simply never address it again and we can pretend it was a fever dream or hallucination. Alas.

“Right,” I say, because what on earth do I say?