Page 10

Wes

“Have you ever been to a Star Wars symphony?” Honor messages me—that is, WhiteKnight—a week later. “A symphony featuring the music from the movies, I mean?”

I lie on my bed, staring at the light of my phone screen in my hand. I’ve worked a long day dealing with other people’s issues and at the end of it, nothing makes me happier than logging into the app and seeing a message waiting for me from Honor.

We have been messaging each other for weeks now. Communicating with her in the app is as routine as texting her as her best friend. I just have to keep my messages straight.

Never mind that she doesn’t know it’s me, that she thinks that she’s messaging a stranger.

Truthfully, the deception bothers me, but at the same time, I crave reading each message.

I can picture her lying on her bed, in her apartment, staring at her phone just like I am.

The connection tugs between us despite the distance.

“No,” I respond, feeling the rip of guilt in my belly at lying to her. “Let me guess, was it out of this world?”

“Ha ha ha,” she responds. “Cue slow clap. I bet you’ve been waiting ages to make that joke.”

“Only since the Clone Wars,” I quip.

Honor responds with the rolling eye emoji.

We’ve moved from emails to the app’s version of direct messaging.

I tried to hold back since she told me my alter ego was sounding desperate from my rapid-fire responses, but I can’t help myself.

It’s Honor . She’s chatting with me not as her best friend, but as a potential romantic partner.

Her messages are fun and flirty with zero awkwardness between us. I want it to continue forever.

“So, what about the symphony?” I prompt. “Did you go?” I of course already know that she did. I wonder what she’s going to tell me about it. Her date? Her crazy best friend who crashed it?

“Yes. Apparently, it’s not the kind of place you dress up in costume to go to.”

“Learned that the hard way, did you?” I quip, then freeze. Will that give me away? Will she wonder how I know that or just assume it’s a lucky guess? I want to unsend it, but that would be just as suspicious.

“Yes,” she responds, with no sign of suspicion. “Me and my best friend. I showed up as Princess Leia. He showed up as a stormtrooper. Super embarrassing.”

I chuckle. Indeed, it was. “Easy mistake,” I say. “I’ve done the same.”

“You have? When? What happened?”

My heart lurches in my chest. Oops, maybe I shouldn't have said that. It’s so hard to think of what I can and can’t say. I struggle to think of a story that might sound plausible. My heartrate ratchets higher with every minute that passes.

“Hello? I want to hear your story,” Honor messages after several minutes pass. “C’mon, I told you mine. It can’t be as bad.”

“Even worse,” I respond to buy myself time while I come up with a plausible story.

“Tell me! You can trust me. You can’t even imagine the type of embarrassing situations I’ve gotten myself into.”

Oh, but I can. I either directly participated in each one or heard about it afterward. “Kind of a troublemaker, are you?”

“Only the best people are,” she says, adding a winky face emoji. “How about you?”

“I’m a little more cautious, but I can be talked into some fun.” By you. It’s no secret that Honor comes up with the ideas and then I tag along, mostly to make sure she doesn’t get hurt or in too much trouble.

“Sounds like you need someone like me to liven up your life.”

I chuckle. “Maybe I do. Interested in the position?”

“Depends.”

“On what?”

“On whether you play your cards right.”

My eyebrows fly up. Challenge accepted. “I’ll warn you that I’m a very good card player.”

“You know what they say about those who are lucky at cards…”

I chuckle under my breath as I type a fast response. “Yeah, yeah, unlucky at love. That’s what I’m trying to change.”

“Well, quit stalling and tell me your story already.”

“You won’t judge me?” I ask, still furiously brainstorming what story I could make up.

“Only a little.”

“Hey! You said I could trust you.”

“I’m just joking. I’m totally trustworthy, Random Internet Stranger. Spill the beans!”

“Thank you for reassuring me. I’ve always trusted the kindness of random internet strangers.”

“You should. I’m waiting…”

“Fine. I’ll tell you,” I finally type. “I went to a fancy party once. My friend messaged me and told me to ‘wear a penguin suit.’”

“Oh dear. I think I see where this is going…”

“Indeed. It turned out that I shouldn’t have taken him so literally. I was the lone penguin in a sea of black-tie tuxedos.” I add a sad face emoji.

Honor sends me shocked face and crying face emojis. “Oh noooooooo!!! How awful!”

“Let’s just say that I waddled out of there as fast as my tail feathers allowed.”

“I want to both laugh and cry at that at the same time.”

“It’s okay, you can laugh at it. I do.”

“Thank goodness, because I’m laughing my butt off picturing you showing up in a penguin costume while everyone else is in a tux!”

“Pretty much.” The guilt of lying to her is only marginally assuaged by making her laugh.

“Too funny. Sounds like something my best friend would do, actually.”

My heart leaps right into my throat to see her mention me. It’s as though she can see me right through the phone line. “I can’t see a girl doing that,” I say, feigning ignorance.

“Not a girl. A guy. My best friend is a guy.”

“A guy, huh?”

“Why? Are you jealous?”

“I don’t know. Have you two ever dated?”

“No, never.”

“Why not?”

She doesn’t respond for ten minutes–the longest ten minutes of my life. I watch the bubble of words appear then disappear, appear then disappear. “It never was the right time.”

“When would be the right time? You’re on an online dating site now. Maybe now is the time.” My breath catches in my throat as I stare at the screen, waiting desperately for the bubbles to appear. What if she says I’m right?

A thousand years seem to pass before she answers.

“I don’t see him like that. He’s like a brother to me.”

My heart, racing at a million beats a minute, falls dead to the ground.

This is the rub. What am I doing here, flirting with her, when she probably will never see the real me as anything more than a friend?

One day, sooner than I want to think, I’ll have to reveal myself to her.

And what do I really think is going to happen?

Is she going to be happy about it? Or, more likely, she’ll get a disappointed look on her face and say, “Oh, it’s you. ”

I don’t think my heart will be able to take that. I’d rather never have done this at all than to have experienced the hope of an actual romantic relationship with Honor, only to have that hope destroyed.

I barely notice that she’s sent another message. My eyes refocus on it. “Besides,” she adds, “aren’t you supposed to be convincing me to date you ?”

I’m trying. More than you know. “Just scoping out the competition.”

“No competition there,” she says.

Depression weighs me down on the bed. I can’t keep up the charade for tonight any longer. I message Honor that I have to sign off for the night, then toss the phone to the side and throw an arm over my eyes, contemplating the mess I’ve gotten myself into.

A buzzing interrupts my self-pity party. I pick up the phone and check the screen. It’s Honor again, but this time messaging the real me, Wes. Ugh. This is getting so messy.

“What are you up to?” she asks.

Oh, nothing. Just pretending to be a stranger so I can catfish my best friend and make her fall in love with me. Ho hum. “Working on the Play It Forward Day.” At least, that’s what I should be doing.

“What’s that?”

“Every state’s Play It Forward organization hosts a Play It Forward Day featuring one of the involved sports. They’ve chosen Buhurt for some reason, and I got tasked with putting together the event.”

“Sounds major. What are you going to do?”

“We already have the Midsommer Festival coming up, so I’m going to see if they want to use that day. I’ll set up an event for youth to try out the sport with foam, just like Zeke does.”

“That sounds like fun! Can I come?”

“Of course. I’ll need all the help I can get.”

“Then I’ll be there! Whatever you need, you know you can depend on me!”

I stare at her message, while “No competition there” echoes in my head. I thumbs-up like her message. “Hey, I’m really tired, I need to catch some zzs. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah, just tired from training with Zeke.” The guilt at lying twists my guts again. I hate this. I don’t know how long I can keep doing it. I feel like a fraud.

“Okay, have a good night!”

I turn off my phone and send a prayer to whomever is listening above that I find a way to a happy ending with Honor.