The mysterious boy of my dreams left me.

I’m being dramatic.

What I mean is: yesterday, after he whispered words that had my body bursting into flames, Noah ran upstairs and left me alone, waiting on my laundry and Milky to get her fill. Three times.

Two weeks ago, I was simply longing for company; now I was craving the way a certain blue-eyed boy made me feel. So, when Milky said that Bradley had invited us over for dinner the next night, a Monday, one of the two nights Milky and I are home together, I jumped at the chance for even a glimpse of the boy who’d been invading my every thought. But it’s been two hours, pizza has been had, and now we’re sitting around the coffee table, an epic game of Jenga set up in front of us, and my cravings have yet to be satisfied.

His car’s in the driveway.

He’s home.

In his room.

And he hasn’t come down once.

I’ve tried to come up with subtle ways to ask Bradley about him. I even thought of an excuse to head out and knock on his balcony door so my sister doesn’t clue in on my juvenile-type crush. But alas, I’ve kept my mouth shut, pulling and pushing block after block, hoping the Jenga walls I’ve built don’t come crashing down.

“It’s your turn, Andie,” Milky says, pointing to the tower.

I reach out, pull a random block, and grimace when it wobbles, shifting beneath the weakness I’d just provided. A phone sounds from somewhere in the kitchen, and three heads turn to it, but no one goes to answer.

It stops.

Starts again.

Stops.

Starts.

Bradley sighs, stretching out his once crossed legs to stand. He strides to the bottom of the stairs, looks up and calls out, “Dude, your alarm’s going off!”

My heart picks up pace, my senses on end, like a fat kid eying cake... knowing he’s about to get a taste of his heart’s desire.

Upstairs, a door opens, and I sit up straighter, eye the staircase.

Noah’s denim-covered legs appear on the stairs. His hands are next, and the moment his feet land on the level floor, his gaze snaps to mine, his eyes wide.

I quickly look away, flick a random block in the tower in front of me.

The alarm stops, and then footsteps closer, closer, closer. “Jenga?” he says, sitting down next to me.

“What’s the alarm for?” Bradley asks.

“New Bill Nye show on Netflix.”

“Nerd!” Bradley shouts the same time I say, turning to Noah, “I love Bill Nye!”

“Me too,” he says around a smile so confident, my stomach swarms with butterflies.

I chant, because I’m lame and apparently just as nerdy as he is, “Bill! Bill! Bill! Bill!”

Milky laughs. “How do you two even society?”

“Noah struggles,” Bradley says. “Fuck, tell them about that time I bet you a hundred bucks to use a pick-up line on that girl at the gym.”

“Shut up!”

“Who? Noah?” Milky asks, switching her focus to Noah. “You mean to tell me you actually spoke to a girl without turning red?”

“Pre-comeback,” Bradley says.

“Fuck off with that shit already,” Noah mumbles.

“So, you didn’t speak to her?” I ask.

Bradley: “He did. For a hundred bucks, wouldn’t you? But that’s not the point. Tell them your pick-up line.”

“Fuck. Off.”

“Puh-lease,” Milky says, hands clasped under her chin. “I need to hear it.”

“No.”

“Please?” I ask, and the boy sighs. With his gaze on the table and his cheeks the perfect pink, he murmurs, “Are you made of copper and tellurium? Cause you’re C u, T e.”

I bust out a laugh while Milky’s eyes narrow. “I don’t get it.” She turns to me. “Do you get it?”

I nod, wipe a stray tear from laughing so hard.

“You’re an asshole,” Noah tells Bradley, and then he huffs, swipes all the Jenga blocks with the back of his hand.

“It’s sweet,” I assure, placing my hand on his forearm.

“Great.” Noah rolls his eyes. “A pity touch.”

“What does it mean!?” Milky shouts.

“Something only geeks understand.” Bradley sighs, starts picking up the blocks.

I manage to contain my laughter to a simmering giggle, while Milky asks me, “Would it have worked on you?”

I nod. “For sure.”

Noah pumps his fist. “Bill! Bill! Bill! Bill!”