Nope. Not even thinking about it. Not today. Not again.

“That’s Mr. Thompson to you, Kid,” Bear says, winking at me.

I laugh, trying to distract myself. I still can’t get over the fact that Bear is an English teacher. Bear. Derrick Thompson. A teacher. It blows my mind daily to think about him standing in front of a classroom and opening his mouth and letting actual words fall into the impressionable young minds of the next generation. The world is so screwed. “You just wish I’d taken your class, Mr. Thompson,” I say. “We could have sparred back and forth on the relevance of Aldous Huxley to this modern age. I would have made it rain up in your classroom, and everyone would have been all like, ‘Oh, that Tyson is so awesome. I wish I could be like him one day because he’s wicked badass and he knows more than the teacher and we all love him more than life itself.’”

Bear huffs at me. “No, they would have been all like, ‘I wish that kid who looks like a faded Xerox copy of the stunningly handsome Mr. Thompson would stop talking so we could actually learn something instead of hearing blah, blah, blah.’”

“No! They would have all been like, ‘I wish Tyson would be our teacher so we didn’t have to listen to Mr. Thompson who sounds like he just started trying to learn the English language twenty minutes ago because he’s all like duh. Duh. Duh.’”

“No! They would all be like—”

“As fun as this conversation is,” Otter says, “and believe me, it’s the most fun I’ve had in at least sixteen minutes, we should probably focus on the party.”

“We’re the most fun you’ve ever had ever,” Bear says, tapping Otter’s hand. “You best remember that.”

Otter smiles at my brother and it hits his eyes. Bear told me once that with Otter, you can tell everything he’s feeling all the time, that he can’t ever hide anything. I didn’t think it was true at the time, because I figured anyone can hide something if they really wanted to. I still don’t know about that.

But he’s not. Not now. Now he’s looking at my brother like he thinks Bear hung the moon and the stars, which, according to Otter, he might have. I’ve never understood how people could be so against them when they look at each other the way they do. All they’ve ever really wanted is each other (whether Bear knew it or not, but do we really need to go through all that again?) and to exist in their own little corner of the world. And they’ve gotten it, for the most part. Or, at least, I hope they have.

“I remember,” Otter says quietly, grasping Bear’s hand. Their wedding rings catch the low light as they scrape against each other. It’s nice, but it’s also getting to the point where if they keep swooning into each other’s eyes, we’re all going to drown in their saccharine sweetness as rainbows fly out their butts. I’ve got things to do today. Trust me when I say this moment, for me, is the equivalent of other kids walking in on their parents. It’s the same exact thing, and it’s really gross.