Page 141 of Pick Me Up On Tuesdays

“You’re serious.”

“As a caffeine addict during finals.”

He stared at me for a moment, then leaned back, running a hand through his already-messy hair. “This is new. Clark—the guy who once emailed a teacher at 2:43 a.m. because he found a formatting error in a rubric—is suggesting we break multiple school rules and upload an unauthorized version of a highly public documentary using a school account.”

“I know the password.”

I guess being a smart student had its perks.

“Of course you do.”

“And I’ll write the report. Tie it all together. Just trust me, okay?”

He tilted his head, eyes narrowing in amusement. “Who are you and what have you done with my Ghost boy?”

I smirked. “He’s evolving. Like a Pokémon. And he’s got a rebellious influence, apparently.”

“Damn right you do.”

We sprang into action like two students who had absolutely no business doing what we were doing.

I wrote like my fingers were on fire—no, like my heart was. Every word was me trying to bottle this hurricane of a trip. The stupidity, the laughter, the quiet moments when I realized I wasn’t just annoyed by Ethan—I was hopelessly, irreversibly into him. I wrote about Joy’s laugh, Mia’s dedication, Shun’s chaos-calm energy. I wrote about sneaking out and falling in love with someone I thought I’d never like. I wrote like the world was going to end and this was my final confession.

Meanwhile, Ethan cursed at the school’s painfully slow upload portal. “Why does the Wi-Fi suck in a mansion?” he grumbled, yanking at his hair. “We literally have a golden staircase but not 5G?”

After twenty excruciating minutes and one minor existential crisis on Ethan’s end, the file loaded. I triple-checked the metadata and report attachment. Everything was ready.

Well, almost everything.

We needed a title.

“Nature: A Symphony of Silence won’t cut it,” I said.

“Nope,” Ethan agreed. “This is less symphony, more… bird squawking over Joy’s singing and Max shouting about his missing snacks.”

We stared at each other.

Then we said it together:

“Survival of the Softest: A Field Guide to Teen Chaos, Love, and Mildly Aggressive Wildlife.”

It was ridiculous. And honest. And so us.

I hovered over the submit button. Ethan’s hand joined mine, warm, grounding. For a fleeting moment, he hesitated—as if not ready to share his edits with the world. He glanced at me briefly and grinned.

And then, we clicked.

Together.

The file disappeared into cyberspace, probably heading toward judgment by underpaid teachers and caffeine-fueled student interns. There was no turning back. If we got caught, the consequences would be ugly. We’d broken at least four school policies. Possibly six.

But I didn’t care.

Because with Ethan by my side, rule-breaking didn’t feel so reckless.

It felt like living.

EPILOGUE

---