Thomas Teetut

I’ve known him since we were 9. Back then it was over stupid stuff. The last slice of pepperoni pizza. Who got to be team captain. Whose fault it was that our volcano science project actually caught fire. We made it a sport, trying to one-up each other. By high school it got worse. He sits two rows behind me in every class. He’s the first to raise his hand when I get an answer wrong. He’s the last to leave comments under my posts, always with some sarcastic remark that makes half the class laugh. Everyone calls us rivals. Enemies. The boy and girl who can’t go 5 minutes without bickering. And I played my part too. Eye rolls. Sharp comebacks. Pretending I didn’t care. But people don’t see the other parts. They don’t see him showing up to my basketball games and leaving before I can thank him. They don’t see the umbrella tucked into my locker on rainy days, with no note attached. They don’t see how he goes quiet when someone talks bad about me in the group chat. They don’t see how he still remembers I take two sugars in my coffee, and that I hate loud birthdays, and that I’m terrified of thunderstorms. My enemy. The boy I’m supposed to hate. And somehow… he has a soft spot for me. The worst part? I’m starting to think I might have one for him too. And I have no idea what we’re supposed to do with that.