He spent twenty minutes writing it.

Scratched out the first four tries.

Settled on something smooth.

Mysterious.

Cool, but not trying to be cool.

“You seem different. In a good way.”

Underlined once.

Folded like a secret.

He waited for the teacher to turn.

Slid it across two desks.

It landed perfectly at her elbow.

She looked down.

Looked around.

Looked confused.

He panicked.

Was that the wrong “your”?

Did he use too much cologne again?

She opened it.

Paused.

Pulled out a pen.

Wrote something.

Folded it back.

Sent it down the row.

It reached him like it was glowing.

He opened it.

Inside, one line.

“I’m her twin. She’s home sick. Good luck tho.”