what we do best

part four

On January twenty second at 12:01 AM, my phone buzzes and glows.

happy birthday. look outside

I peer out my window. Tristan is standing in the dim light of the streetlamp holding a small bag. Even in the poor lighting, I can see his large grin smiling up at me. I throw on a sweatshirt and creep downstairs. The door creaks shut, and I wait for Dad to come barreling at me, or Zoey to ask me where I'm going. But the house stays silent, and I meet Tris on the sidewalk.

"Happy birthday, Ollie," Tristan wraps me in a hug and hands me the bag he'd been holding. His eyes scale me up and down. "Cute."

I'm suddenly aware of the bareness of the situation. My sweatshirt comes just below my waist, leaving my bottom half exposed except for my underwear. I didn't even think to put on shoes. I sit on the curb and pull my sweatshirt over my knees.

"Open it!" Tris sits down next to me and watches my face for reaction as I reach inside the bag. My hands trace something soft, and I pull out a small stuffed bear with sweet button eyes. I smile at Tris and place the bear in my lap. The bag rattles with more items, and a bottle of lavender nail polish appears in my hand. The cool glass rolls in my hand and I lean my head on Tristan's shoulder.

"Thank you. I love it," I inhale the scent of his jacket before turning to look him in the eyes.

"There's a card, too. But read that when I'm gone, okay?" Tris stands up and brings me up next to him. He holds my hands and bites his lip. He turns his head to look across the street, and I almost think I see tears brimming at his eyes.

"Are you okay?" I squeeze his hands that hold mine and he looks back at me. His eyes dart around my face, like he's trying to figure out something he hadn't seen before.

I watch him take a deep breath and release one of his hands from my hold. His hand now cups my chin, and he tilts my head up so that I can look right at him. It's funny, I almost don't notice his lips are on mine until they aren't anymore.

Tris begins to apologize, stammering until he turns to go. I tug his arm before he can. Without thinking, I'm on my tiptoes, kissing a boy in the middle of the night under a streetlamp. Happy birthday to me.

We break away, his taste lingering on my lips. I wonder if he can tell I'm blushing.

"Happy birthday, Ollie," Tris whispers. He kisses me once more, quick and soft, just before he disappears into the night.

+++

I don't sleep for the rest of the night. If thinking of someone was an addiction, I should be in rehab.

I only remember about Tristan's card when I trip over the bag in the morning. A small letter with my name written in cursive holds the thoughts of a boy who kissed me last night. And I kissed him back.

Hi Ollie, the card starts.

You're seventeen! That's pretty crazy. Young and sweet, only seventeen: as ABBA would say. Ollie, sometimes I look at you and I wonder how I got such an amazing best friend. And then I get confused, because I'm not supposed to have a crush on my best friend. My best friend who probably doesn't like boys, much less like me back. I'm saying this at a full risk of losing you, because hiding my feelings would hurt more. If you don't like me back, please ignore this heartfelt message. But if you do, wow! That's never happened before! I'm kind of regretting writing this, but I'm going to show up at your house in half an hour and I can't start over again. I was considering not writing this at all, and just confessing in person. Who knows, maybe I'll do that too. See you in school.

Tristan

+++

I don't see Tris until lunch. He slides into his usual seat across from me, a glimmer in his eyes. He pulls a tinfoil wrapped object from his bag and slides it towards me.

I unwrap it to find a singular slice of cake decorated with a pink frosting smiley face. Tristan produces two forks from his bag and hands one to me.

He clears his throat. "So, about the card I wrote- "

I shut him up with a mouthful of cake. "Don't. I have my own note for you."

I pass him a sticky note under the table that reads, "Skip gym with me. East wing boy's bathroom."

Before he can respond, I've picked up my backpack and thanked him for the cake. I leave the cafeteria, enjoying the air of mystery I've set.

+++

Twenty minutes into sixth period gym, I'm near certain Tris isn't coming. I slump down next to the sinks and count down the minutes until the final bell rings.

"Hi, sorry," Tristan sits next to me and takes my hand. "I had to stay after for chem. Are you good?"

I nod and hand him the bottle of nail polish he had given me approximately 13 hours earlier. "Can you paint my nails?"

Out of sight of the door, Tris and I sit on the ground of an empty public school bathroom. My head rests on his shoulder as his hands delicately apply the smooth polish. We sit with our legs straight out so that I occasionally bump his knee, and he takes a sharp inhale of concentration, but still smiles at me.

"You're done. But you have to let them dry, okay?" Tris blows lightly on my freshly painted nails and sits upright to face me. "Can we talk now? About the card?"

I nod, letting him continue.

"I know we haven't known each other for that long, but I think you're great," He laughs and shakes his head. "I'm sorry I kissed you out of nowhere last night. It was uncalled for and I totally understand if you don't want anything to do with me, not romantically anyways."

My lack of response causes Tristan to collect his things and stand up. "Tris."

"What?" He turns around before I can see a tear work its way down his cheek.

"Do you think I would've kissed you back if I didn't like you?" I reach out and grab his hand, pulling him back down on the ground, not caring that my nail polish has probably smudged.

Tris gives a slight shrug. I take his hand and kiss it lightly. He squeezes my fingers before inspecting my nails. "It smudged."

"We can always repaint them. Tristan," I force him to look at me. "I like you. I really do. But only you had the balls to say something."

"Ollie?"

"Yes?"

"Can I kiss you?"