Someone has been leaving plain white envelopes in their mailbox. Nini isn't sure who, because there's nothing written on the envelopes, but they're pretty damn persistent. The envelopes come once a week, every week, always on a Sunday. Nini manages to tamp down her inquisitive nature for about two months of this before she snaps and decides to open one.
"I'm going to do it," she declares. It's a Sunday morning, and her and Ricky are sitting in their apartment, doing the crossword like always. Ever since they were kids and could read, they'd do crosswords together every Sunday. They've only ever missed a Sunday for family emergencies, absolutely non-negotiable events, and that one time Ricky skateboarded into a tree and had to get three stitches. Significant others came and went, but the sanctity of Sunday crossword puzzles was never broken.
"Okay," Ricky agrees absentmindedly, crossing out a hint and filling in the corresponding boxes.
"I'm serious, Ricky, I'm going to open one." Nini points to the stack of envelopes that had been accumulating on their little kitchen island for months. "I've respected their privacy, right? I waited two months for someone to knock on our door and collect these!"
Ricky finally looks up from the crossword, his glasses slipping down his nose as he peers owlishly at her. "Yeah, Neens, you're a regular Mother Theresa," he replies dryly, immediately returning to the crossword puzzle.
She swats at his shoulder and he ducks away easily without even looking. It's second-nature, the rhythm between them- they've known each other since kindergarten, after all, and they've been best friends for just as long. Even Ricky's move to Chicago after his parents got divorced in their junior year of high school couldn't keep them apart for long; as soon as they found out they'd be going to the same college, they had gotten an off-campus apartment together.
"I'm doing it!" Nini warns him.
Ricky sighs, taking his glasses off. He only wears them to read or write things up close, and Nini always makes fun of him for having what she calls old man vision. "Okay, okay, I'm paying attention. Go ahead, open it."
Nini delicately peels back the most recent envelope and extracts a small piece of paper from it. The piece of paper looks like it's been torn off from a postcard, and Nini frowns at it. "This is kinda creepy," she says.
Ricky tries not to look offended. "What? Why?"
"I mean, tearing a piece off of a postcard and mailing it seems a little serial killer-y." Nini squints at the words. "Their penmanship is horrible," she declares. "Hope you're into that," she adds, tossing the postcard piece and the envelope at him.
He fumbles as he tries to catch the items. "Why are you giving this to me?"
Nini smirks. "Well, it's for you, isn't it? It says, I love the way your smile makes the whole world go away. You've obviously got a secret admirer, Ricky."
"How are you so sure it's my secret admirer and not yours?" he counters.
Nini laughs. "Oh c'mon, don't act humble with me, Mr. Campus Hotshot. Half of this school is in love with you and your voice." It's true; Ricky is well known for his role as the president of the college's premier male acapella group. Nini's the president of the college's premier female acapella group, not that anyone's counting, but there's no justice in this world, and her group doesn't get nearly the same amount of attention as the boys do. Nini can understand it, though; her best friend is a skinny white boy with curly brown hair and big doe eyes, and when he smiles really hard, a dimple peeks out under his left cheekbone. On top of that, he's friendly and kind to everyone he meets, and he's just goofy enough in an endearing way that he's impossible to dislike.
