25. Kai
KAI
“If you text her one more time, I’m throwing your phone off the balcony.”
I don’t look up from my screen. “We don’t have a balcony.”
Weston pauses the game. “Then I’ll open a window and improvise.”
Asher leans back in the armchair, controller loose in one hand. “That sounds like a lot of effort on your part, Wes.”
“For love, I’m willing to suffer.”
Grayson snorts from the other end of the couch. “Whose love?”
Weston points at me. “His. He’s embarrassing us.”
“I’m texting,” I say.
“You’re smiling at your phone while we’re under attack and not paying attention to jack shit!”
When I finally lift my eyes back to the TV, my character stands motionless in the middle of a street and gets eliminated.
“Goddamn it, Kai!” Weston flops back dramatically.
Asher looks at the screen, then at me. “He’s right. That was painful.”
My phone buzzes with another text from Wren before I can answer.
Grayson reaches for his water bottle, mouth twitching. “Wren?”
I glance up.
I could dodge it. A few weeks ago, I would have. I would’ve locked my phone, said nothing, let them draw their own conclusions while I pretended I didn’t care what anyone thought.
But I do care.
I care too much, probably.
About Wren. About doing this right. About not making her feel like something I’m hiding.
So I say, “Yeah.”
Grayson just watches me, quiet in a way that makes me want to throw something at him.
Weston sits forward. “Wait. Are we allowed to talk about it now?”
“No.”
“Because it feels like we’re allowed to talk about it.”
“We’re not.”
“But there is an it that can’t be talked about?”
I look at him. “Cooper.”
He lifts both hands in defense. “I’m being supportive.”
“You’re being nosy.”
“Both can be true.”
Grayson looks at me over his water bottle. “So you two are back together?”
I nod, and Weston lets out a low whistle. “Finally.”
I glare at him.
“What?” He shrugs. “I like Wren. She’s pretty, funny, makes you nervous, and is a great verbal jousting partner. That’s rare.”
Asher says, “It’s not rare. Everyone insults you.”
“Not with her ferociousness.”
Grayson’s gaze stays on me. “Harlow knows?”
“Yeah.”
“And you’re alive?”
“So far.”
“Then she’s okay with it.”
“My balls have probably been threatened without my knowledge, but yes.”
Weston picks up his controller, turning his attention back to the TV. “If she ever threatens me, I’ll know I’ve been accepted.”
“She already threatened you last semester,” Grayson says.
“That was different. I deserved that.”
“You almost set the microwave on fire trying to make popcorn.”
“Almost is an important distinction.”
The game restarts, but my attention is gone in under a minute.
Wren texts again.
Wrenley Mae: Do you want to come over?
Kai: want to? yes. but the guys are over right now and i’m supposed to be playing a video game with them yet somehow i keep getting distracted.
Wrenley Mae: I’m sure we could come up with a much more entertaining game.
I smile before I can stop it.
“Mercer,” Weston says.
I lock my phone again. “What?”
“You are making me uncomfortable with your happiness.”
Grayson laughs under his breath, but when Weston and Asher start another round, he leans closer. “If you’re trying to play it cool, you’re not. You’re checking your phone every fifteen seconds.”
I rub a hand over my jaw and lean back against the couch. There’s no point pretending with him. Grayson has been around for too many years and seen too many versions of me: quiet, pissed off, locked down, worried sick about my sister, who now owns a large piece of him.
He also saw what I was like without Wren, and now sees what I’m like with her back in the picture.
“I don’t want to mess this up,” I say.
He nods like that makes sense. “Then don’t.”
I give him a flat look.
His mouth quirks. “You want something more helpful?”
“Yes.”
“Fine. Don’t make helping her into something else that you have to control.”
I stare at him. “You call that helpful?”
He chuckles. Across the room, Weston yells at Asher, calling him a coward, and Asher tells him walking into enemy fire isn’t bravery; it’s stupidity.
My phone lights up again.
Wrenley Mae: Justin wants to know if you can explain slope-intercept form in a way that doesn’t make him want to put his head through a window.
Kai: sure.
Wrenley Mae: You seem overly confident.
Kai: I’m good at math.
Wrenley Mae: I remember.
My chest twinges at that because I remember everything to do with her. In my mind, I’m fifteen again.
I’m sitting with Wren at my parents’ kitchen table with her knee pressed against mine, pretending she doesn’t understand an equation so I’ll lean closer. I’m pretending I don’t know exactly what she’s doing because I want the excuse.
Her freckles are darker from summer, scattered across her nose and cheeks like she’s spent every day outside. Her hair keeps falling into her face, and there’s a pencil tucked behind one ear, even though she already has another one in her hand.
“I still don’t get it,” she says.
“You did the last three correctly.”
“Those were easier.”
“They were the exact same problem with different numbers.”
I point to the equation. “You subtract four from both sides.”
“Why?”
“Because you need to isolate the variable.”
“Maybe the variable likes company.”
“It doesn’t.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I know how math works.”
Wren turns slightly in her chair, and her knee presses more firmly against mine.
My brain forgets what comes after subtraction.
She watches me for a second, blue eyes bright. “You okay?”
“Fine.”
“You went quiet.”
“I’m thinking.” I look back at the worksheet because looking at her feels right in a way I don’t understand.
“Subtract four,” I tell her.
She does, slowly, making a show of concentrating. Her handwriting tilts across the page messily, and when she finishes, she taps the pencil against the answer.
“Then divide by three?”
“Yeah.”
She writes the final number and circles it with a flourish. “Look at that. A genius.”
“You’ve known how to do this the whole time.”
Her eyes widen, and she puts both of her hands over her heart like I’ve offended her. “That’s a serious accusation.”
“You keep getting them right before I explain them.”
She shrugs. “Maybe you’re just a really good teacher.”
“That’s not how it works.”
Her knee shifts against mine again.
My heart beats so hard I’m sure she can hear it.
I don’t know when Wren became different from every other girl back in middle school.
Maybe she always was. She’s Harlow’s loud best friend who steals food from our kitchen and leaves hair ties everywhere.
She argues with adults when she thinks they’re wrong, talks through movies, and knows every embarrassing story about me because Harlow has more loyalty to her than me.
But lately, I notice things I didn’t before.
The way she bites the inside of her cheek when she’s trying not to laugh. How she always gives Harlow the better half of whatever they’re sharing. How she remembers when my games are, even though she claims hockey is “just aggressive figure skating.”
I notice when she walks into a room.
I notice when she leaves.
She leans over the worksheet, her shoulder touching mine. “One more?”
I should tell her to finish the page herself.
Instead, I move closer.
“Fine. But only one.”
She smiles down at the paper.
I start explaining the next equation, but I barely hear my own voice. All I can think about is her knee against mine, and the fact that I want to sit at this table long after her homework is finished.
I don’t know what this feeling I have for her is called.
I only know that when Wren looks at me and asks me to show her again, I’d explain the same equation a hundred times if it means she keeps leaning closer.
Someone clears their throat, pulling me back to the present.
I look up, and all three of them are staring at me again, not even trying to hide their grins this time.
“What?”
Asher says, “He froze.”
Weston nods solemnly. “Textual cardiac event.”
“I’m leaving.”
“You live here.”
“Then you’re leaving.”
Grayson’s mouth twitches again.
I ignore them and text Justin through Wren’s phone for the next few minutes. He sends a photo of the homework, terrible lighting with a shadow over half the page. I send back the steps. Wren replies a minute later.
Wrenley Mae: Thank you. I really appreciate you saving me from having to pretend that I knew what I was doing there.
I don’t have time to reply before Weston throws a balled-up napkin at me.
“Bro, come on,” he says. “Ask her on a real date before I die of second-hand yearning.”
“Shut up, asshole.” I catch the napkin and throw it back. “I already planned to.”
“No, you planned to overthink it for three to five business days and then ask her.”
Asher nods. “Coop’s right on that one.”
Grayson says nothing, which means he agrees.
I hate all of them.
I also unlock my phone.
Kai: let me take you out saturday after the game?
Wren answers almost immediately.
Wrenley Mae: Out where?
Kai: dinner.
Wrenley Mae: Like in public?
Kai: usually where dinner happens.
Then:
Wrenley Mae: Are you asking me on a date, Mercer?
My thumb stills.
Kai: yeah.
Her response takes long enough that Weston whispers, “What’s happening?”
I don’t answer.
Finally, my phone buzzes.
Wrenley Mae: Then yes. I’ll go on a date with you.
My whole body loosens in a way I don’t expect. It’s not like I thought she’d say no, but it still makes me smile like an idiot.
Weston points at my face. “Oh, he’s gone, gone.”
“Shut up.”
“Our boy’s heart has left the premises,” Weston says, fake dabbing at his eyes. “They just grow up so fast.”