I stare at my phone again for a long second. That assessment is scarily accurate. But that’s not the reason my heart has banged its way up into my throat. Is . . . is Eliot Hoffman chatting with me right now? I have a good nighted him at two in the morning, yet here he is, continuing to text me. I nearly take my thumbnail off in one nervous bite.

I thought the name of the game was going to be how to get out of this conversation with my pride still intact. But no. The name of the game is now chatting with a cute guy in the middle of the night without being the one to accidentally end the conversation first.

Let’s see . . . how to explain my overthinking. Ah. Okay. I’m not exactly known for my gentle touch with anything, but especially with guys. I’m one of those girls who punches the guy she likes too hard in the shoulder. If I think someone is cute, I don’t blush or bite my lip. I roll my eyes and mildly insult him.

But chatting with Eliot Hoffman right now is like realizing there’s some mythical creature standing in my kitchen next to me. If I freak out and rush him, he’s going to skitter away, gone for ever, no one would even believe he’d been there in the first place. This is a delicate dance. I clear my throat and think of how to reply.

“Ding ding ding. You get ten points,” I send.

He replies immediately, and my blood pressure skyrockets. I probably look like a weightlifter right now. Veins bulging, eyeballs bugging.

“I get points for this? I can’t believe you haven’t subtracted a million points for not knowing who you are. You’re a generous and forgiving soul.”

“Good point,” I message. “Minus ten points for not knowing who I am. You’re back to zero.”

He messages back right away. “Ha! I shouldn’t have said anything. Shot myself in the foot. How many points do I get if I outright guess who you are?”

“How many of these fictional points that mean nothing and literally exist only in our brains?” I respond.

“Yes, exactly. Those points.”

“Umm. Two hundred.”

“Okay, deal. If I guess who you are outright, I get two hundred points. But also, if I build up to two hundred points with good guesses, then you just have to tell me.”

“Considering the fact that you’re currently at zero, I’m not concerned. So, deal.”

“Fair warning, though. I’m very competitive.”

“So let’s hear a guess, then.”

“Laura Hepburn?”

I am instantly and completely consumed with hatred for Laura Hepburn. Whoever she is, I hope that she, um . . . what are the worst things that could happen to a person? Ah! I hope she has a lifetime of sneeze tickles that never actually turn into a sneeze.

“Minus twenty,” I message.