Page 59 of Crease Collision

No, he said he’d text me.

Trust him. It’s really hard, but do it for ten minutes.

Ten minutes pass slowly.

Then another ten.

I’m back by the window, thinking about throwing my phone into Jersey. Pressure builds in my chest. He’s not going to text, and I have no idea what that means. I go to the bedroom and lie down, hoping I can let this go enough to sleep. Maybe in the morning I’ll⁠—

The phone beeps, and I grab for it. Then I cover my eyes, wait, and peek through two fingers.

Yesssssss!

OSKAR: Hey. How’s it going?

OSKAR: I am starting to sound like my teammates. It is your fault.

I’m so happy to hear from him, I cackle like a lunatic and fumble the text I send back.

KAI: Great. Give it another hour, and you’ll be chirping me and calling me an idiot.

OSKAR: I would never call you that.

OSKAR: Not right away.

I laugh again. He’s made me laugh more since that first day than I have in years.

KAI: Later then?

OSKAR: We’ll see how it goes, bruh.

KAI: Never say “bruh” again. I told you to watch what you pick up from those Fury morons.

OSKAR: Guess we don’t always get what we want.

KAI: Ass.

OSKAR: Dweeb. (Lewis taught me that.)

KAI: Goober.

OSKAR: Idiot.

What? He called me… Oh.

KAI: See, it didn’t take long for you to get there.

OSKAR:

OSKAR: What does goober mean?

I think about telling him. But fuck that.

KAI: Ask Lewis.

OSKAR: He is not as funny as you. I will look it up instead.

Fifteen seconds.