Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
NICK
Jade and I are on our salvaged-from-the-curb couch, having just finished a two-dollar slice of pizza we’re pretending counts as dinner, when my phone beeps.
Jade groans. “Please tell me you’re not messaging that guy again.”
“I could tell you that, but I’d be lying,” I reply.
“This is turning into an addiction almost as bad as your one to that ShareYourGlow forum.”
“Hey, ShareYourGlow is essential self-care, not addiction. I’m rebuilding my faith in humanity one wholesome story at a time, thank you very much.”
Jade rolls her eyes because she might have heard that defense from me a few times before.
“Seriously, Nick, you’ve been messaging this guy almost constantly for two weeks now. Haven’t you run out of things to say to a random stranger who’s pretending he’s a pop star?”
“Not yet.”
As if on cue, my phone beeps with another message. I unlock my phone to inspect the message chain.
Jade looks over my shoulder, and her forehead crinkles.
“Baby Yoda? You’re sending each other Baby Yoda memes? You’re not even sexting him?”
“Nope.” I pop the last part of the word in satisfaction.
This is what I love about my conversations with AntD. In all my other chats with random guys from apps, they usually quickly descend into flirting and dirty talk.
But not AntD.
My chat with AntD is where I go to discuss elaborate theories about which reality TV shows are actually sophisticated social experiments, where I rant about the fact that I got a B+ on my essay on consumer decision-making, when it definitely should have been A- territory.
It’s also where I go for my most fantastical musings, like if you could only communicate through Taylor Swift lyrics for a month, which album would be most useful—we agreed on Folklore for emotional range, but 1989 for everyday situations.
After our first marathon messaging session, when we messaged back and forth until two a.m., I didn’t expect to hear from him again.
That’s how these things normally go, right?
Two strangers have a random, fleeting connection that burns bright for a few hours, then reality sets in, and you remember why you don’t talk to strangers on the internet.
But the next day, he messaged me. Said he couldn’t stop thinking about our hot dog debate, and he’d found seventeen sources that proved me wrong. He hadn’t. I remain correct. Hot dogs are not sandwiches.
And then we were off again, messaging back and forth about everything and anything.
I’ve never had someone who gets my brain like this—who can match my weird sense of humor and volley it back even weirder.
Plus, he’s obviously a huge Anthony Devine fan, so he clearly has excellent taste all around.
AntD keeps weird hours. I get a feeling he might be a shift worker. Of course, when I ask him, he claims it’s because he really is Anthony Devine, and since Anthony Devine has just gone on tour to Australia and New Zealand, that explains the strange hours. Which. Okay. Sure, buddy.
Although if he’s faking the time zones just to maintain the illusion, you’ve got to admire his devotion.
I laugh at the Baby Yoda meme he’s just sent me.
When I glance up, Jade is giving me one of her stares. “Nick.”
“What?”
“You’re spending hours every night messaging the guy. Maybe you could use that time more productively? Like, you know, actually get a life and meet some real people?”
“He makes me laugh,” I say defensively.
“So would a comedian at a stand-up show. And there you’d have the extra bonus of interacting with real, live people, not just a screen.”
“It’s bold of you to assume I could afford comedy show tickets.”
Jade’s frown doesn’t budge. “I’m worried you’re in retreat-from-the-world mode because of what happened with Cheating Chad McCheaterson.”
Yeech.
Even the mention of Chad’s name makes me want to bleach my entire dating history. And possibly my apartment.
Definitely my sheets.
“You think it’s strange that I prefer to spend my time talking to someone who’s physically incapable of giving me an STI? I call that learning from experience.”
Jade leans back on the couch, causing the springs to groan ominously. “I mean it, Nick. Chad isn’t worth giving up an actual human connection. Not all guys are walking petri dishes with commitment issues and a suspicious number of ‘just friends’ on Instagram.”
My chest tightens because, fuck, she’s right.
I really do need to get back out there. But that thought feels about as appealing as doing my taxes while getting a root canal. In Times Square. During tourist season.
“I’ll make an effort to get out more after midterms,” I say. “But tonight, I have a very important discussion about Baby Yoda to attend to.”
Jade rolls her eyes as she stands. But she doesn’t say anything else as she leaves me to it.
NickKnackPaddyWhack
Question: If Baby Yoda and regular Yoda got in a fight, who would win?
AntD
Baby Yoda. He’s got that chaotic toddler energy. Plus, he’d fight dirty
NickKnackPaddyWhack
Finally, someone who understands. My friend Teddie claimed today that regular Yoda would win because of “wisdom” and “experience.”
AntD
Your friend obviously hasn’t seen a toddler take down a grown adult with one strategic shin kick.
NickKnackPaddyWhack
Right? They clearly haven’t witnessed the pure chaos of a toddler who’s been denied a second cookie.
AntD
That’s the energy Baby Yoda would definitely bring to a fight
NickKnackPaddyWhack
Although Teddie did bring me my favorite type of cake today, so they’re clearly not totally inept.
AntD
What’s your favorite type of cake?
NickKnackPaddyWhack
Red Velvet.
AntD
Red velvet? Really? That’s just chocolate cake in denial
I shift on the couch, tucking my feet under me and pulling the throw blanket over my legs as I settle in for what might be a long debate.
NickKnackPaddyWhack
How dare you! Red velvet is sophisticated. It has cream cheese frosting.
AntD
So does carrot cake, but you don’t see me advocating for the idea that it’s really just a vegetable pretending to be dessert.
NickKnackPaddyWhack
That feels slightly discriminatory. So what kind of cake is acceptable to you?
AntD
I’m a lemon drizzle man. Citrus. Sophisticated. Not hiding behind food coloring.
NickKnackPaddyWhack
Lemon drizzle is what people eat when they’ve given up on joy.
AntD
We’re going to have to agree to disagree on this
NickKnackPaddyWhack
Never. This is the hill I’ll die on.
AntD
A red velvety hill with cream cheese frosting at the top?
I’m grinning so wide my face actually hurts. This is what I mean when I tell Jade he’s not like other guys I’ve messaged. Who else would have this strong an opinion about cake and be this wrong about it?
NickKnackPaddyWhack
At least debating the best cake flavors makes a nice change from my other messages. I’ve already been sent three dick pics tonight.
AntD
Yeah, my real Anthony Devine fans account messenger is pretty much full of guys sending me dick pics.
NickKnackPaddyWhack
Oops. Sorry about those.
AntD
Don’t worry. My social media manager is responsible for deleting them all, and he thinks he’s got the best job in the world.
NickKnackPaddyWhack
Lol. I can imagine that.
Best job perks: dental, 401k, and an endless stream of unsolicited nudes.
AntD
He made business cards that say “Professional Dick Pic Curator.”
NickKnackPaddyWhack
That’s definitely going on LinkedIn.
AntD
But seriously, back to your terrible cake opinions.
NickKnackPaddyWhack
My EXCELLENT cake opinions.
AntD
Fine. Keep your red velvet. But know that you’re wrong.
NickKnackPaddyWhack
I’ll add it to my list of flaws. Right under “attempts to kill fig trees by overwatering” and “attracted to pretend celebrities.”
Shit.
Attracted. I wrote attracted and sent the message without thinking.
I’ve been so careful to keep everything platonic between us, but now I’ve added a charged word like attracted.
Am I actually attracted to him? Is it possible to be attracted to someone without even knowing what they look like? To simply be attracted to someone’s mind?
The message sits there, mocking me. Three syllables that have completely shifted the energy of this conversation from “two strangers goofing around” to “Nick somehow manages to be attracted to an internet stranger and apparently has no filter.”
I watch the dots appear next to AntD’s name with trepidation. Dot dot dot. The three dots of doom.
AntD
That’s a very specific list.
Oh good. He’s choosing to ignore my accidental confession. Bless this man.
NickKnackPaddyWhack
I’m a very specific disaster.
AntD
Tell me something about you that no one else knows.
Something about the question makes my chest tight. Not in a bad way. In an “oh, this person actually wants to know me” way. Which is dangerous territory when you’re talking to someone whose real identity you don’t know.
But also…when’s the last time someone asked me something like that? Not “What do you do?” or “What’s your major?” or “Top or bottom?”
I could deflect. Make a joke about my irrational fear of mascots—those dead eyes haunt me—or my secret ability to quote the entire opening scene of The Lion King. Safe territory. Funny territory.
But something about AntD makes me want to be honest. Maybe it’s because he can’t see my face right now. Can’t watch me fumble or blush or do that thing where I laugh too loud to cover up the fact that something actually matters to me.
There’s safety in the screen between us, but there’s also something else—this weird feeling that if I give him the rehearsed version of myself, the funny deflection, the safe answer, I’ll have wasted something.
NickKnackPaddyWhack
Uh…what about how I’m slightly addicted to a forum? Actually, that’s not something no one else knows because my roommate is always hassling me about it. But she doesn’t know the reason I’m so addicted to it.
AntD
What’s the reason?
NickKnackPaddyWhack