SOULMATE(s) - 5. Saturday Problems

By the middle of the fourth week, Nick had developed a dangerous amount of confidence in his ability to survive school.

It was not genuine confidence. Genuine confidence probably involved walking into classrooms without checking who was already inside, speaking without reviewing every sentence beforehand, and accepting compliments without assuming they had been issued by mistake.

Nick’s version was more modest.

He had stopped pausing outside Algebra Two before entering. He could now sit beside Luke without immediately becoming aware of every inch of space between them. He had even learned to answer Luke’s teasing without spending the next ten minutes wondering whether the conversation had contained hidden meaning.

Mostly.

Luke was not making that last part easy.

After the second tutoring session, the jokes between them had changed slightly. They still argued about equations, Luke’s handwriting, and whether chocolate milk counted as a legitimate breakfast, but now Luke occasionally looked at Nick with the same quiet amusement he had worn in his bedroom.

The wall misses you already.

Nick had never answered that message.

He had stared at it for nearly five minutes, typed three responses, deleted all of them, and finally placed his phone facedown on the mattress as though denying it visibility might erase the conversation.

The following Monday, Luke had greeted him with a completely innocent expression.

“How was your weekend?”

Nick sat down beside him. “Educational.”

“See any interesting walls?”

Nick had opened his notebook and refused to look at him.

Luke’s laughter followed him through half the lesson.

Fortunately, chemistry remained simpler.

Kit did not smirk at Nick as though he knew every thought passing through his head. He did not create private jokes out of accidental glances or send messages designed to make Nick bury himself beneath a pillow.

Kit smiled, brightened up the whole room, said hello, and treated him with an easy kindness that did not require interpretation.

That should have made being around him less dangerous.

It did not.

On Thursday afternoon, Nick arrived in chemistry to find Kit already sitting at their laboratory table. He had placed both notebooks side by side and was looking at his phone with a small smile.

Nick had seen that expression several times before. It usually appeared when Kit was reading messages from Kent or Ken, who seemed to consider their group chat a permanent stage for embarrassing one another.

“Hey,” Nick said as he placed his backpack beneath the table.

Kit looked up.

“Hey.”

He turned the phone facedown, though the smile remained.

Nick sat beside him and began taking out his supplies. Mrs. Abrams had written ATOMIC STRUCTURE REVIEW across the board in large blue letters, followed by a list of page numbers long enough to suggest she had mistaken forty-five minutes for an entire weekend.

Around them, students moved between tables, complaining about the worksheet before receiving it. Someone near the storage cabinets asked whether atoms could become angry, and Mrs. Abrams replied that she was beginning to believe several of hers had.

Nick opened his notebook.

“What were you smiling at?”

The question escaped before he decided whether it was too personal.

Kit looked at the phone.

“My cat.”

Nick paused.

“Your cat?”

“Yeah. Sunny.”

The name was familiar. Nick had seen it beneath several Instagram photographs, though admitting that would require explaining how far he had scrolled through Kit’s account.

He chose caution.

“Sunny?”

“My mom named him. She said the yellow patch above his eye looked like a little ray of sunshine.”

“That’s not a bad name.”

“He’s mostly gray.”

Nick looked at him.

“That seems less sunny.”

Kit smiled and turned the phone over.

“My mom sent me a picture.”

He held the screen toward Nick.

Sunny lay on his back across the middle of a couch, all four paws folded loosely above his stomach. He was a large gray cat with pale green eyes and a patch of golden fur near his left ear. His expression suggested he had been deeply inconvenienced by the photograph.

Nick leaned closer.

“He looks angry.”

“He always looks angry.”

“Is he?”

“No. He likes everyone.”

“He doesn’t look like he likes the person taking that picture.”

“That’s because my mom stopped rubbing his stomach.”

Nick glanced at Kit.

“He lets people rub his stomach?”

“He demands it.”

“That’s unusual.”

“Sunny is unusual.”

Kit swiped to the next photograph. The cat was standing at the bottom of a staircase with a small red ball in his mouth.

Nick frowned.

“Is he carrying that?”

“He plays fetch.”

“No, he doesn’t.”

Kit’s eyebrows lifted.

“You think I’m lying?”

“I think you own a dog shaped like a cat.”

“He brings the ball back every time.”

“Cats don’t do that.”

“Mine does. I think he came with the wrong firmware installed or something.”

Nick leaned closer to examine the photograph as though it might reveal hidden evidence of digital manipulation. Kit’s shoulder brushed his, but Nick was too distracted by the absurdity of the cat to react immediately.

“You throw it, and he actually returns it?”

“Usually. Sometimes he drops it halfway and makes you go get it.”

“So he understands fetch. He just refuses to perform the labor.”

“Exactly.”

“That sounds more like a cat.”

Kit laughed.

The sound was warm and quiet, and Nick became aware of how close they were sitting. Their arms rested only a few inches apart on the black laboratory surface. Kit still held the phone between them, his thumb poised near the bottom of the screen.

Nick shifted back before the proximity could become a separate problem.

Mrs. Abrams began passing worksheets down each row.

Kit placed the phone beside his notebook.

“Are you a dog person or a cat person?”

Nick accepted two worksheets from the student ahead of them and handed one to Kit.

“I like animals in general.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“It is technically an answer.”

Kit gave him a look.

Nick smiled.

“Fine. Cats.”

“I knew it.”

“You did not.”

“You seem like a cat person.”

“What does that mean?”

Kit appeared to consider the question.

“You’re quiet.”

“So are you.”

“I’m not that quiet.”

“You spent the first week of chemistry saying approximately six words to me.”

“I was concentrating.”

“On the safety contract?”

“It was important.”

Nick looked at him.

Kit’s expression remained serious for another second before the smile returned.

“Cats are quiet too,” he said. “But they’re still paying attention to everything.”

Nick glanced toward the front of the room to hide how much he liked that description.

Mrs. Abrams called for everyone’s attention, and their conversation ended as she began reviewing the parts of an atom. Nick tried to focus on protons and electrons, but the image of Sunny lying upside down on the couch remained in his mind.

More inconveniently, so did Kit saying that Nick seemed like a cat person because he was always paying attention.

It was probably the first time anyone at school had described his quietness without making it sound like a flaw.

During freshman year, teachers had encouraged him to participate more. Students had assumed he was unfriendly, nervous, or weak. Even his parents sometimes asked why he could not be more outgoing, as though conversation were a door Nick refused to open out of stubbornness.

Kit had made it sound almost complimentary.

Quiet, but still paying attention.

Nick copied the diagram from the board and told himself not to attach meaning to a comment about cats.

That was precisely the kind of behavior Leah warned him about.

The lesson moved into a partner activity. Mrs. Abrams instructed them to identify the numbers of protons, neutrons, and electrons in several examples, then compare their answers with the person beside them.

Nick and Kit worked easily together.

Kit understood most of the material, though he occasionally became distracted by the way the worksheet was worded. Nick corrected one calculation, and Kit caught a mistake Nick had made in another. Their answers matched often enough that Mrs. Abrams barely paused when checking their table.

“You two work well together,” she said.

Nick looked down at the worksheet.

Kit answered first.

“He keeps me organized.”

Nick glanced at him.

“You’re doing fine on your own.”

“See?” Kit told Mrs. Abrams. “Encouraging too.”

Mrs. Abrams smiled and continued to the next table.

Nick felt his face warming.

“You didn’t need to say that.”

“Say what?”

“That I keep you organized.”

“You do.”

“We’ve done three worksheets.”

“And all three have been organized.”

“That is not enough data.”

Kit leaned slightly toward him.

“You really do like math.”

“I like accurate statements.”

“Then I accurately stated that you keep me organized.”

Nick tried to construct an argument against this and failed.

Kit’s smile widened. The whole room seemed to brighten another notch.

For the remaining fifteen minutes, they worked through the questions and argued quietly about whether Mrs. Abrams’s diagram of an electron cloud looked more like smoke or a badly drawn potato.

When the final bell rang, students began gathering their belongings with the usual urgency. Nick slid the worksheet into his binder while Kit remained seated, looking at his phone again.

“Another Sunny update?” Nick asked.

Kit nodded.

“He knocked over a plant.”

“Was he playing fetch?”

“No. That was unrelated criminal activity.”

Nick laughed and lifted his backpack onto one shoulder.

Kit watched him for a moment, then tapped the edge of his phone against the table.

“You should come meet him.”

Nick’s hand stopped on the backpack strap.

“Your cat?”

“No, the plant.”

Nick stared at him.

Kit smiled. “Yes, my cat.”

The invitation seemed casual, but Nick’s heartbeat responded as though Kit had just asked him to leave the country.

“When?”

“This weekend?”

Nick’s mind immediately supplied Luke’s address, Luke’s bedroom, and the worksheet already waiting inside his Algebra Two folder.

“I’m busy Saturday morning.”

Kit’s expression changed.

It lasted barely a second. The smile faded, and something disappointed passed through his eyes before he looked down at the phone. Had Nick not been watching so carefully, he might have missed it.

“Oh.”

Nick felt an unexpected drop in his stomach.

“I already promised someone I’d help with something.”

Kit nodded.

“Luke?”

The question was gentle rather than accusing.

Nick hesitated, then answered honestly.

“Yeah. Tutoring.”

“Academic assistance,” Kit corrected.

Nick smiled.

“Right.”

Kit’s own smile returned, though for a moment it seemed more deliberate than before.

“That’s fine.”

Nick disliked how quickly the conversation appeared to be ending. Kit had invited him over. Kit O’Connell had invited him to his house to meet a cat who played fetch, and Nick had responded by announcing that his Saturday belonged to another attractive football player.

There were problems normal people never had to face.

“I could come another day,” Nick said.

Kit looked at him again. “Or Saturday afternoon.”

Nick’s pulse lifted.

Kit sat a little straighter.

“You could come after you finish with Luke. My parents are away for the day, but they won’t care. We can order pizza.”

Nick tried not to react too visibly to the sentence my parents are away. There was no reason to. Kit was inviting him to play with a cat and eat lunch, not reenact one of Nick’s increasingly unhelpful fantasies.

“What time?”

“Whenever you’re done. Half past twelve?”

Nick considered the distance between Luke’s neighborhood and Kit’s house. He did not yet know exactly where Kit lived, though apparently it was near his own.

“I could probably make it around one.”

“That works.”

Kit’s smile brightened, and the disappointment Nick had glimpsed disappeared so completely that he almost wondered whether he had imagined it.

Almost.

“I’ll send you the address,” Kit said.

“Okay.”

“And Sunny likes cheese, but you can’t give him any.”

“Why are you telling me that?”

“Because he’ll pretend no one feeds him.”

“I’m not going to be manipulated by a cat.”

Kit laughed as he stood.

“You say that now.”

They left the classroom together and entered the crowded corridor. For once, Nick did not immediately search for Leah, Will, or Tobey. He walked beside Kit while students moved around them, carrying the knowledge that they had made plans for Saturday.

Actual plans.

Not a classroom assignment.

Not an accidental car ride.

Kit had invited him.

The thought felt warm enough that Nick barely noticed when they reached the corner where they had to separate.

Kit pointed toward the staircase.

“I have practice.”

“I have to go to the library to study with my friend.”

“Which sounds worse.”

“It usually isn’t.”

Kit began backing away.

“I’ll message you.”

Nick raised one hand.

“Okay.”

Kit turned and disappeared into the crowd.

Nick remained still for a second before someone nearly walked into him. He moved toward the library, trying to control the smile spreading across his face.

It did not work.

Tobey noticed the moment he saw Nick’s face. He sat near the windows with his textbook open in front of him, though his attention shifted immediately to Nick’s expression.

“What happened?”

Nick placed his bag beside the desk.

“Nothing.”

Tobey watched him sit down.

“That’s the same nothing you said after Luke asked you for tutoring.”

“This is a different nothing.”

“That sounds worse.”

Nick opened his notebook.

Tobey waited.

His patience was one of his most dangerous qualities. Leah would demand answers until Nick surrendered out of exhaustion. Will would invent increasingly ridiculous possibilities. Tobey simply remained quiet until Nick became unable to tolerate the silence.

Nick lasted twelve seconds.

“Kit invited me to his house.”

Tobey blinked.

“Kit O’Connell? The quarterback?”

“Yes”

“What for?”

“To meet his cat”

“His cat?”

“Yes.”

“Cat as in a cat, not a pussy.”

“Tobey!”

“I have all the rights to ask.”

“He said it plays fetch.”

Tobey considered this.

“When?”

“Saturday afternoon.”

“After Luke?”

Nick looked at him.

“How do you know I’m seeing Luke?”

“You see him every Saturday.”

“It’s happened twice.”

“And now it’s happening a third time.”

Nick disliked the accuracy.

“It’s tutoring.”

“Of course.”

“There’s nothing happening with Luke.”

“I didn’t say there was.”

“You said ‘of course’ in a way that implied several things.”

Tobey’s mouth moved slightly.

“Are you going to tell Leah?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Then you should stop smiling before she sees it.”

Nick lifted one hand to his face as though he could physically remove the expression.

“I’m not smiling.”

“You are.”

“Oh Jesus, is it that obvious?”

“Yes.”

Nick groaned and lowered his forehead to the desk.

Tobey waited a moment.

“You’re having lunch with Kit?”

“He said he’ll order pizza.”

“At his house?”

“Yes.”

“Just the two of you?”

“Yes, his parents are away for the day.”

“Uh-huh…”

Nick raised his head. “It’s not like that.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You were thinking it.”

“I was thinking his cat might not really play fetch.”

Nick stared at him.

Tobey opened his history book.

“That seems more likely than whatever you’re thinking.”

Nick should have felt insulted. Instead, a laugh escaped him, and the librarian shushed them before he could answer.

Next day, at lunch, Nick made a serious effort to behave normally.

This became difficult when Kit passed their table and smiled at him.

“Hi, Nick.”

“Hi, Kit.”

Kit continued toward the football players’ table.

Leah’s eyes followed him, then returned to Nick.

“What was that?”

“A greeting.”

“He smiled.”

“He does that sometimes. It’s called a facial expression.”

Will leaned around Nick to look toward Kit.

“He does have teeth.”

“Thank you, Will.”

“I’m confirming the evidence.”

Leah narrowed her eyes.

“You’re acting strange.”

“I’m literally just eating a sandwich.”

“You can do both.”

Nick took a bite to make further questioning temporarily impossible.

Tobey remained focused on his lunch with the suspicious innocence of someone who knew exactly why Nick was acting strange and had decided to observe the consequences.

The subject changed when Will announced that the music teacher wanted him to perform at the autumn assembly. Leah suggested a dramatic entrance involving smoke. Tobey reminded her that the auditorium fire alarms were unusually sensitive. Nick contributed just enough to avoid drawing attention back to himself.

He did not tell them about Saturday.

Not yet.

The invitation felt too new and too fragile to expose to Leah’s investigation. Once she learned that Nick planned to spend Saturday morning at Luke’s house and Saturday afternoon at Kit’s, she would either stage an intervention or insist on following him with binoculars. Will would probably volunteer to provide background music.

Nick preferred to enjoy the possibility privately for a little longer.

After lunch, he passed Kit near the staircase.

Kit was walking with Kent and Ken, both of whom were arguing about whether one twin had stolen the other’s pen.

“It has my initials,” Kent said.

“We have the same initials.”

“That’s not the point.”

“It seems like the entire point.”

Kit noticed Nick and slowed.

“I sent you the address.”

Nick felt his phone vibrate in his pocket at almost the same moment.

“Thanks.”

Kent looked between them.

“Are you coming over?”

Nick stopped.

Kit answered before he could.

“He’s meeting Sunny.”

Ken nodded as though this explained everything.

“Bring a hoodie.”

Nick frowned.

“Why?”

“He claws people he likes.”

Kit looked offended. “He does not.”

“He climbed my back last week.”

“You were holding chicken.”

“That doesn’t justify violence.”

Kent placed one hand on Nick’s shoulder with mock seriousness. “Protect your face.”

Kit pushed his hand away. “Stop frightening him.”

“I’m not frightened,” Nick said.

All three boys looked at him.

Nick reconsidered.

“Okay, fine. I’m moderately intimidated.”

Ken smiled.

“You’ll be fine. Sunny likes quiet people.”

Kit glanced toward Nick.

“I told you.”

The words were simple, but the look accompanying them brought back the conversation in chemistry.

Quiet, but paying attention to everything.

Nick’s face warmed.

The twins resumed their argument and continued down the hallway. Kit lingered for another moment.

“One?”

“I’ll be there.”

His smile brightened.

“Good.”

Then he jogged after the twins.

Nick stood near the staircase until the bell warned him that he was about to be late.

The remainder of the week passed more slowly than it had any right to.

Saturday sat at the edge of every day, divided neatly into two separate problems.

Luke in the morning.

Kit in the afternoon.

The arrangement sounded harmless when Nick listed it that way. He would help one classmate with mathematics, then visit another classmate’s cat and eat pizza.

Ordinary activities. Perfectly normal. Yet each time Nick considered the day as a whole, his stomach filled with nervous energy.

On Friday morning, Luke leaned toward him during math.

“Ten tomorrow?”

Nick nodded.

“Ten.”

Luke smiled.

“Bedroom again. My sister is having people over.”

“Does your family ever use separate rooms?”

“Not successfully.”

Luke’s knee brushed his beneath the desk.

Nick moved his workbook higher as though it required immediate attention.

At chemistry that afternoon, Kit placed his phone between them and showed Nick a video of Sunny chasing the red ball down the hallway. The cat caught it, turned, and carried it back with surprising determination before dropping it directly onto Kit’s foot.

Nick watched the video twice.

“He really does play fetch.”

“You doubted me.”

“I doubted a cat with the wrong firmware.”

“Now you see it.”

Kit replayed the last few seconds, where Sunny sat beside the ball and stared impatiently toward the camera.

“He’ll like you.”

“You don’t know that.”

“He likes everyone.”

“That makes it less special.”

Kit looked at him.

“Not everyone gets invited over.”

Nick forgot what he had intended to say. Kit looked a bit flustered and returned his attention to the worksheet as though the sentence had been completely ordinary.

Perhaps it had been.

Nick was becoming less capable of recognizing ordinary.

When the final bell rang, Kit gathered his things and stood.

“See you tomorrow.”

“See you.”

Kit smiled once more before leaving. Nick watched him cross the classroom and disappear into the hallway. Then he looked down at his phone.

A message from Luke waited on the screen.

don’t be late. the wall has expectations.

A second notification appeared beneath it.

Kit had sent another photograph of Sunny lying across a pizza box.

he’s preparing for you.

Nick stared at both messages.

Saturday had not even begun, and he was already exhausted.

A teenage gay boy could dream, certainly.

No one had warned him that the scheduling would be so difficult.