I had no idea what to text Jethro, and I kept going back and forth on whether I should even do it at all. On the one hand he seemed to actually want me to, which was weird, but on the other, like, what was I even after here? I wanted to talk to him again because I wanted him to touch my dick, but that wasn’t exactly what was on offer.

But when it came down to it, I was past actually being able to resist that lure. He was hot and he was nice and he’d given me attention. My self control was miles short of being able to resist that.

The problem remained, though: what to say? All I really knew about this guy was that he liked making jewelry. What did straight guys even talk about with each other? Girls, maybe?

Well, there was only one girl in my life I wanted to talk about. I was going to send him a picture of my dog, Pippi. I had nothing better to offer in this world than a picture of her and, as a bonus, if he dissed my dog I could stop having a crush on him.

She was small and mostly white and a good, good girl. My parents got her for me soon after I started high school because I wasn’t coping so well. Life had only been getting harder and I hadn’t been getting any better at dealing with it. It was like one of those old arcade games where there was no real win state — just a slowly ramping difficulty until you ultimately lost.

And then there was therapy and diagnosis and more therapy. Don’t get me wrong, I still felt like I was slowly spiraling towards ultimate doom, but keeping myself afloat right now was too much work to worry about the future.

It didn’t take me long to get a good picture of Pippi because she was a good good girl, the best girl, and also she really wanted the dog biscuit I was holding. I pressed send.

I flopped down on my bed and Pippi started digging at the blankets next to me, making herself a cozy nest. My life was now on hold until he replied. I was absolutely not going to be getting anything else done. Fortunately, he only kept me waiting a couple of minutes.

Cute <3, was his first message.

Who’s this?, was his second.

Whelp, I spent two weeks trying to figure out what to say to this guy and turns out I screwed it up anyway. Who the fuck you are would have been a great and very easy place to start, Casper. This was probably what not being able to see the forest for the trees meant. Exactly this thing.

Casper, I sent back, because at least that communication path was crystal fucking clear. The future was a dangerous mystery, but this one next step in the conversation was easy.

And then he didn’t reply for ten. Fucking. Minutes.

I was debating which was more likely — that he’d decided he hated me or he’d forgotten who I was entirely — when my phone finally pinged again. He’d sent a picture back.

He was in the picture because I guess if you’re that attractive you make sure you’re in every picture. There was a black and white rat on his shoulder — presumably his own pet — and he was scratching its ears with fingernails he’d painted turquoise.

What was I even supposed to say to that? Like, thanks for the picture, dude. Really helps to make my fantasies about touching your soft, soft hair all the more vivid.

I like your nails, I sent back, then cringed at myself. That was barely less gay than that other thing. The rat’s cool too. 

Thx! Have to save it for the weekend because not allowed at school :(

This guy seemed to have a new look for every day. I barely had a look at all. I just had clothes that were tolerably comfortable. The closest thing to fashion I had was the necklace he’d given me.

And then, while I was trying to figure out what to say back, he fucking called me.

Who does that? Who just calls someone? Well okay probably most people and it’s totally normal but come on!

I didn’t want to answer. I fucking hated talking to people on the phone. But I had to answer, right? If I didn’t I’d either have to explain why or give up on this whole thing, and I didn’t want to do either of those. So I answered.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Cas!”

Cas. He’d called me Cas. That was what my mum called me sometimes, but it sure didn’t make me feel like this coming from her lips.

“Hey…”

“What are you up to?”

Dying, currently. “Not much.”

“I was starting to think I wasn’t going to hear from you.”

“I’ve been busy,” I said, and then immediately regretted it because no I fucking hadn’t been. I just had the almost supernatural ability to do absolutely nothing and still feel like I had too much on my plate.

“What have you been up to?”

And there it was. This is why lying is bad, kids. It took me five seconds to get tangled in this web of deceit I’d spun. There were several seconds of awkward silence before I finally came up with a response. “Just… school stuff.”

“Ah, yeah, I’m missing the summer holidays already. They seem to go faster every year.”

“Yeah.” Fuck, fuck, fuck, I couldn’t hold a conversation to save my life. “Uh… have you been up to anything?”

“Nothing too exciting. I just got back from my friend’s birthday party so I have a tummy full of fairy bread.”

“They still serve fairy bread at birthday parties when you’re sixteen?”

Jethro laughed. “Listen, the great thing about fairy bread is you can have it no matter how old you are. You can even have it when you’re not at a birthday party. I could just go whip myself up a plate of it right now, but I won’t because I am so full. I swear I ate like half of what was there and I have no regrets.”

“Did someone at the party do your nails?”

“Nah, I did my nails.”

“Oh,” I said, because I thought telling him I liked them would be weird but turns out that just saying ‘oh’ is like ten times fucking weirder. But hey, I’d probably jumped on the weird train the second I’d brought it up. The second I’d answered the phone.

“Have you ever painted yours?”

“No. I bet I’d just end up getting annoyed at the feel of it. I mean I have a hard enough time keeping myself from picking at my nails when I don’t have shit on them.”

Jethro laughed again. “Yeah, that’s fair. It’s definitely not for everyone.”

“It wouldn’t look good on me anyway.”

“Now, I don’t think that’s true. Take that purple shirt you were wearing when we met, plus the necklace I gave you and some purple nail polish? That’s quite a look right there.”

“I don’t really bother much with that kind of thing, I guess.” Pippi was licking my fingers. I wondered if she could hear how fast my heart was beating. They probably actually just tasted like dog biscuits.

“Don’t worry. I’m not, like, a snob about this stuff. People should wear whatever makes them most comfortable. Trust me, I get enough shit about doing that myself that I’m not going to be a jerk to anyone else about it. I just get a little excited about fashion stuff sometimes.”

“Well, you’re good at it.”

“Thank you!” He sounded genuinely pleased I thought so, too, even though he probably couldn’t leave the house without someone telling him that.

“I bet it makes people notice you. I wouldn’t want people to notice me that much.”

“You’re kinda shy, huh?”

Shy… severe social anxiety… basically the same. “Yeah, I guess.”

“I thought so. You’re kind of hard to read.”

“Good. I suck at reading everyone else so I’ve got to level the playing field somehow.”

That startled another laugh out of him. “Fair enough, I guess. By the way, if there’s anything you want to know about me you can just ask.”

Oh, fuck. What was it about this guy and putting me on the spot? No, wait, that was kind of how every conversation with other humans went, I just generally avoided having them. “What’s your rat’s name?”

“Linda. She stole my bracelet when I was distracted calling you.”

“Stole it?”

“Yup. She has the run of my room when she’s out and basically any small object she can get her cute little paws on goes in her cage.”

“I didn’t realise rats did stuff. We had a guinea pig when I was little and I’m pretty sure all it ever did was eat.”

“Oh, yeah, they’re super smart and curious and friendly. I love her. What’s your dog’s name?”

“Pippi.” Pippi perked up at the sound of her own name and I scratched her ear. “I paid her with a dog biscuit to model for that picture I sent you.”

“That picture was worth at least two dog biscuits.”

“If I gave her as many dog biscuits as she deserved, she’d be very fat.”

“That’s so true. Give her a hug for me instead, then.”

“Okay.” I wrapped my arm around her and squeezed her against me. She tolerated it and then headbutted my hand for more ear scratches.

I could hear someone else talking in the background and Jethro was silent for a moment. “Ugh, my dad wants me to mow the lawn. I’ll talk to you later?”

“Okay. Bye.”

“Bye!”

That had gone… okay? Not great by most reasonable standards, but considering it was me and it was a phone conversation it was about the best I could have expected.

Problem was, I’d gotten there on pure adrenaline, borrowing from stores I didn’t have. I could already feel myself starting to crash. 

I scooped Pippi up and retreated to my closet, passing the list of emergency contact numbers my mum had pinned to the corkboard next to my computer. Another very neurotypical misunderstanding of how I could be helped. 

I wasn’t about to tell her that I’d never call any of those numbers in a mental health emergency, that trying to talk on the phone when shit got bad would only make things worse. I didn’t want her to worry. But, well, come on. She knew I didn’t handle phone calls well.

It was dark in my closet, and quiet and small. I didn’t really know why that helped, but I had a desperate urge to hide whenever I got too overwhelmed so I just rolled with it.

And then I was crying and everything was too much and I hated this. Pippi, my good good girl, stayed in my lap and licked tears off my chin.

I used to think I got upset like this randomly, for no real reason at all. After much introspection I’d come to realise that there always was a reason, they were just usually really dumb. Even I found it difficult to comprehend why certain things completely wrecked me like this.

Still, it was easier now that I understood that there was a direct cause. I was in a closet crying right now because I’d done something stressful, and now my brain was just reacting to the flood of bad hormones it had received. I just had to wait it out.

But fuck, if Jethro kept calling me we were going to have problems. I already overloaded on stress way more than was good for me. Annnd now I was worrying about him calling me again and it was making me even more upset. But I couldn’t stop.

Then, as if to validate my fears, my phone rang again. I waited for it to ring out before crawling out to turn it off and then returning to my closet.

I found most problems were easiest to deal with if you tackled them right away. I also rarely did that. So, basically, it took me three days to turn my phone back on.

I had two missed calls and three texts from Jethro. That could have been worse, right? Oh boy, if there was one thing I was keenly aware of it was how much worse things could be and also become at any moment.

The first text was a picture of him lying on his back on freshly mown grass, smiling up at the camera. The second text said Job complete. The third text, which had arrived after the phone call attempts, said, Everything okay?

He hadn’t attempted to contact me again after that, so I was guessing he knew exactly how much I was avoiding him. Or just got bored. One of those things.

Can we just text instead of doing calls? I sent back, and then immediately regretted it because coming straight out with that after three days of silence made it seem like a big deal. I mean, it absolutely was a big deal, but I didn’t want him to know that.

Yeah, of course, he sent back a few minutes later. Did I say something that upset you?

No, I just don’t like phone calls.

Oh, sorry! I should have asked before calling.

I scoffed quietly to myself. If you expect to be able to predict what I’m going to be weird about, you’re going to have a bad time.

I know I can’t. That’s where the asking comes in.

Right, because that was a practical way to live your life. Even I couldn’t predict what dumb shit was going to knock me out of whack next. But I supposed it was nice that he cared enough to try. Thanks.