Me: So technically, you don't know who I am, only what school I go to?
I was tucked into my locker, phone hidden inside, when he appeared. A jock, naturally. He was retrieving something, glanced at me, and smiled.
I rarely return smiles – not even my mother’s, father’s, or even my sister’s (she’s…a lot). But this one felt different. Then, his phone lit up. A text, or a notification. He shut it off, walked away, and my own phone buzzed. A reply from @artificial.intelligent13.
@a.i.13: Technically yes. You are right. If you want a little background, I can tell you what I am, what I do, and what I like.
Perfect. A chance to gather information. To peel back layers. I wanted to know everything. A thrill, a little unsettling, pulsed through me. I replied:
Me: I would love to know. By the way, thank you for reaching out.
Okay, that felt…strange. Like admitting I was a fan, or something. A little awkward. I slammed the locker shut, headed to my car, started the engine, and drove home.
*
@a.i.13: So I’m labeled a jock because I play football…
Specific. Too specific. Like he was almost revealing himself.
…also I’m great at biology because Mr. Bradley always motivates me…
Woah. We have the same biology class. This is getting stranger. I didn’t want to be obvious, didn’t want anyone to notice.
…I love movies, plays, and poetry…
I enjoy those things too, but I don’t *live* for them. The most shocking part, the thing I’d never seen in a jock before, was this:
…I’m also gay.
I’d never seen a gay jock at Wildredfort, never heard anyone talk about it.
@a.i.13: Oh, the "gay" part… No one really knows about it yet. But if you want to look for me, that information makes it hard.
He’s analyzing *me*. Is he a psychologist? This is escalating from weird to ridiculous. An absurd conversation.
Me: Oh, I understand. I’m gay too, actually. I’m happy we have something in common. I wish to meet you soon.
I pressed send, then froze. What have I done? Is it okay to tell him? Did he already know, from my Instagram bio? I’m being too obvious.
@a.i.13: I’m looking forward to seeing you soon.
The message appeared instantly. I didn’t know what to say. I’m an introvert, prone to panic attacks when forced into conversation. I’m panicking now. What if I see him? What if I figure out who he is? We meet, then what? Overthinking again, ugh!
I hadn’t mentioned where I was: our backyard, still in the same clothes, hands buried in the overgrown grass—grass that needed mowing, three inches tall, maybe.
Even with the sky blazing with stars, I considered taking a picture. I’d edit it later.
I decided to go inside. It was late—22:47—and I’d been out too long, captivated by the sky. I should look for others posting photos on Instagram later. First, I need to edit this picture.