Sophia
Friday evening.
My twin sister, Stacy, was already bundled up in her pink bed sheets, sound asleep.
I, on the other hand, am still wide awake despite the moonlight streaming through our bedroom window, illuminating part of the plain floor in a radiant beauty.
When I had lent Lucas The Little Prince two days ago, I was worried he would find it childish. But as he flicked through it slowly and looked at the illustrations, he smiled and said that it was the most charming book he had ever seen.
To my surprise, the night after I gave him the book, he called my phone and invited me to watch the stars with him. (I had slid closed the room divider so my sleeping twin wouldn't see me).
My eyelids had been heavy, but my mind wouldn't let me sleep yet, so I pulled up a chair and looked through my window. The only light in the room was the rich glow of the moon, and even though we were far away from each other, I could imagine him sitting on the windowsill of his room and looking up at the sky, too.
We had talked about the stars and the comforting feeling they gave us. We talked about what kept us awake at night. I was reluctant to tell him about it, but once I had given in, I would go on about them for hours.
Weird as it may sound, I had developed a crush on his mind. Yes, a massive crush on his mind.
I soon learned that I love late-night talks--when both of you are still up while the rest of the world is asleep and you start getting super weird and personal; when you have to stifle your laughter because you're afraid to wake up other people in the house; when you can only muster enough energy to keep one eye open because you're sleepy, but you keep talking, because you just can't seem to stop.
The kind of conversations that make you fall asleep with a smile on your face.
When Stacy had called me out for acting like a lovesick teenager last week, I had been bested by my fear and denial. The truth is, I think I do have feelings for someone. But I wasn't certain yet.
Now, as the night wore on, I knew it was past midnight, because we've been talking for hours.
"Are you serious? You have me saved under 'Lucas the Doughnut' in your contacts?"
I rolled over on my bed and lay on my stomach, smiling sleepily into my pillow.
"Oh, come on, like you don't have a moniker for me in your phone," I languidly replied.
"Do you want to sleep now? I know you're tired from school." His worry was audible from the other end of my phone. My groggy smile widened.
"No, no. It's Saturday tomorrow, right? I can-" I yawned "-I can stay up a little longer."
I heard Lucas give a boyish laugh. "Yeah, I can tell. So my contact pic is a glazed doughnut?"
"It's the reason I was laughing so hard in the cafeteria days ago," I told him.
His chuckle was husky, making my cheeks turn pink in the darkness of the bedroom. So this was what those fictional books meant by 'bedroom' voice.
"I admit I do have a nickname for you in my contacts,too. But most people call you Sop, right?"
"Right."
"I have your number saved under 'Ya.'"
"Ya?"
"Yeah." He dissolved into snickers.
"You know what I meant!"
I pressed my phone closer to my ear in time to hear him say: "Ya. Short for Sophia."
"Hmm." I reflected on the shortened endearment. "I like it."
"I have a feeling you'll like your picture even better."
My brown eyes grew big. "You don't have a photo of me."
"Don't I?"
"Lucas!" I whispered loudly.
I heard him laugh again. I loved how melodious his laughter sounded. Like a child playing outside with his friends. Light and carefree. His laugh never failed to make me smile.
"Guess what," he challenged me.
"What?"
"I got rid of all my snow."
He remembered? I was deeply touched, but then I mumbled: "That's great, but don't change the subject! Where did you get my picture?"
"Aren't you going to praise me some more? It was a tall stack of homework, you know."
"You big baby," I giggled. "Okay. I am purely ecstatic that you, good sir, have shoveled aside all of your snow and erased your dreary winter." I trembled with merriment. "Happy?"
"I could have done without the sarcasm, but I'll take it."
"Lucas," I said, and he understood.
"I.. drew you."
"What? How?"
"Pencil and paper. For crying out loud, Ya. You're an editor. You should at least know."
Smiling, I rolled my eyes, nuzzling my cheek against my soft pillow. "You're funny."
"And you're easy to draw."
I muffled my next yawn. "Are you really a self-proclaimed artist?"
"Tell you what," he propositioned. "If I show you my works, will you show me your poems?"
"How did you know I write poetry?" I asked through my phone.
"I didn't. I was bluffing." More snickering.
After a beat of reluctance, I said: "Okay."
"No take backs, alright?"
"What are you, six?" I laughed sleepily.
"Eighteen. Promises are promises no matter how old you are."
"Again, I won't argue." I flipped over so I was facing the ceiling.
"Hey, Ya."
"Yeah? I mean, yes?"
"You're sure you won't come along to the mall's event tomorrow?"
I chewed on my bottom lip, fully aware of what he was referring to.
"No, Lucas. I can't go." Oh God, I was a horrible liar but I agreed to this.
"Why not?" he asked for the nth time. He sounded like a sulking toddler.
"I just.."
"It starts at 10am. I can fetch you at 9 or 9:30," he offered.
He was really sweet, but I had to remind myself that 1. He was only a friend and 2. I had something else up my sleeve.
"It's still a no, Lucas," I stubbornly told him over the phone.
"But you liked the books, didn't you?"
I smiled to myself. "You're super persistent, you know that?"
"You have no idea." His voice turned intense, making me shiver.
"Goodnight, Lucas," I said to him.
"Ya..."
"Hmm?" My eyes were fluttering closed as I put my phone on my pillow.
"Goodnight."
And then I let slumber cradle me in its arms, my last thought being:
How would he react when he finds out I was S. Green tomorrow?