Page 92 of Pick Me Up On Tuesdays

His eyes scanned the message. His pupils narrowed, like he’d spotted something he'd hoped never to see.

Then, without a word, he locked the screen and dropped the phone back onto the blanket.

No sigh. No curse. No visible reaction at all.

As if whatever he'd just read had never existed.

I waited. Maybe he’d scoff, say something about scam texts or cryptic messages from his dad. Maybe he’d shrug it off like everything else.

But he didn’t.

He just turned, walked over to his backpack near the rocks, grabbed a fresh shirt, and slipped away behind the reeds to change.

And that was it.

It was an act. I knew it, and he probably knew that I knew it, but neither of us said a word. Whatever was on that screen, Ethan wasn’t going to talk about it.

And if he wasn’t talking, I wasn’t asking.

Not yet.

We went back to the bus and raved off the woods, heading towards something that vaguely resembled civilization.

The ride (after a swift breakfast meal in a shitty hotel) was loud, chaotic, and—thanks to Joy—filled with whatever off-key nightmare she decided to call singing. Max, as usual, joined in enthusiastically, leading a rusty chorus. Mia recorded everything with her phone, while Shun kept her nose buried in Her’s, liking memes between half-hearted hums.

Meanwhile, I buried myself in research—anything that could keep me busy in the next few hours of travel before our next stop—pretending to be too busy to engage with any of it.

Ethan?

He was fine.

At least, that’s what he wanted everyone to think.

He played his usual role with ease—stealing snacks, charming people into giving him extra food, stretching out across multiple seats like he owned them. If anyone else had read that message over his shoulder, they would’ve believed he hadn’t even noticed it.

But I wasn’t anyone else.

I caught the pauses. The moments where his gaze lingered on the passing scenery a little too long. The way his fingers drummed against his knee, restless. The way his laugh came a fraction of a second late, like he was running on autopilot.

Something was on his mind.

Something he wasn’t willing to share.

And, of all days, it had to be today.

His birthday.

I wasn’t sure how many people actually knew. Maybe Joy—she was the type to keep track of everyone’s birthdays.

But Ethan himself?

Not a word.

No mentions of it. No subtle hints. No smug, self-satisfied comments like, “Wow, can you believe

I have to suffer through this bus ride on my birthday?”

If anything, it didn't seem like he could even remember it.

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