Liam

The boring algebra lesson dragged on endlessly. It was drizzling outside, the teacher was monotonously rattling off formulas, and you hid your phone under your notebook and texted Liam—he'd been sick for three days, and without his messages, the school routine seemed even more dreary.

• Liam, hi.

The answer came instantly.

• Hello, princess.

— Are you busy?

• No, why not?

• I have a plan.

• Fuck, I don't like it anymore.

You snorted and rolled your eyes. He always did that: first he grumbles, then he agrees. But today you decided to play it safe.

• Anyway, I'm going to leave class now and we'll go eat sushi.

He chuckled—you could practically hear that hoarse laugh through the screen.

• Oh, silly girl, no, I don’t like it.

• Hey, why?

"Because your plan is to run out in the middle of algebra, get soaked in the rain, and drag me, sick, to a sushi bar. Sounds terrible."

• But the sushi is delicious!

• They're delicious, but I've come up with something better.

• I have a more interesting plan.

• It's very funny, it's not interesting.

"My idea is better. Now you're going to get beat up for your ideas and sit in class. And then, at six o'clock in the evening, when I'm well and out of the house, I want you to look like a princess. Because I'm taking you to the place with the best sushi. I've reserved a table. Sit and study."