Tweet Cute

by Emma Lord

But sometimes even shouting into a void feels better than just staring into it.

It’s probably why I rib her, in particular, more than the other Goody Two-shoes in our class—the nicknames, the teasing, the occasional foot-tapping on the back of her chair. Because I miss that strange, undivided attention. Because I know she wasn’t always like this. Once, she was every bit as out of place here as I feel every day.

It’s the kind of smell that aches, that takes up too much space in your lungs and displaces you in time. It could be last season, or five years ago, or back to a kiddie pool with my floaties on all at once.

Jack is the kind of person who fills silences. The kind of person who doesn’t necessarily command attention, but always seems to sneak it from you anyway.

There’s that little half grin again. I wonder if Jack has ever smiled with his whole mouth. Someday when he’s an old man, he’ll probably just have wrinkles on the one side.

the issue isn’t so much what I want to be, but whether or not I can be it without hurting everyone else in the process.

Well, couldn’t, really—the deli was packed to the gills again, with a line so far out the door that when Grandma Belly saw it from the window of the apartment, she asked if people were waiting to get raptured.

HAHH

“They’re here for your grilled cheese,” I told her. She fixed me with a look, crossing a leg on the massive armchair she spent most of her time in and raising a single eyebrow at me. “Not unless you changed my secret ingredient to cocaine, they’re not.”

LOLLLLL IM CRYING SHES SO ICONIC

“You know, for someone named Pepper, you’re pretty salty about losing.”

Am I gonna wake up tonight with Cookie Monster two inches from my face holding a knife? Bluebird Sleep with one eye open

I once made an app whose sole purpose was to send him a random GIF of someone sneezing every time the pollen count hit a certain threshold, so he’d remember to take his allergy meds before class.

It still helps to hear, even if I’m not sure if it makes it true.

“Five-year-olds jump off this board, Pep.” “Five-year-olds don’t understand mortality.”

How to Suck at Confessing to the Girl You Like that You’ve Secretly Been Messaging Her on a Platform You Created, Then Convince Her It’s Not as Shady as It Sounds: a terrible novel, written by me.

“Jack Campbell, are you on a date?” I freeze in my tracks, hoping lightning will miraculously strike me down where I stand. “Let me guess,” says Pepper, without missing a beat. “You bring all the girls to the deli.” Annie’s grin is merciless. “He woos them with ham slices.” “Hey!” I protest, finally finding my voice. “I’m so clearly a cheese guy! I’m offended.”

Come into the store on date two, and I’ll tell you all the embarrassing stories about baby Jack you want to know.” Pepper laughs, and I’m expecting it to be one of those self-conscious laughs she muffles with her wrist, the kind that ends with, Oh, this isn’t a date. Because it’s not, really. It’s just some pseudo-flirty, post–Twitter war, pre-baking thing I’m not sure how to— “I’ll swap you for the embarrassing dive team ones,” Pepper promises. Annie’s eyebrows shoot up. “Ooh, I like her.”

“If you can dream it, you can make it.”

It’s weird, how you have no idea how far you’ve come until suddenly you can’t find the way back.