Sal dropped his paper on Russell's desk. "Don't worry, I wrote the paper last night."

"Great, so did I." Russell handed him his own paper.

Of course Russell would've written his own paper. "Which one do we turn in?" Sal asked, mentally adding this incident to his "Reasons to Hate Russell" list.

"Mine, of course." Russell turned his body around to face him. "I have a better grade."

"And what makes you think that?"

"Because all you ever do in class is doodle while obsessively clicking your pen."

"First off, it is impossible to doodle and click your pen at the same time. Secondly, I only do that because I am too good for this class." Sal raised his head high. "I'm college-level good. Thirdly-"

"Alright, I get it. Let's see how great your work is." Russell picked up Sal's paper, eyes widening. "No way."

"See, I told you." Sal fanned his fingers across his chest. "I am a literary genius."

"Is this Comic Sans?" Russell asked.

"Of course." Sal smiled. Comic Sans was so underrated. The world would be a happier place if more people used it.

Russell groaned, putting his hand over his face, then running his fingers through his hair. "You can't write a paper in Comic Sans."

"Let me guess, font snob. You wrote yours in Helvetica." Disgust filled Sal's voice. If there ever was a font he hated, it was Helvetica. So overused.

"No, I wrote it in Times New Roman, 12 point font, double-spaced, with 1 inch margins. Like good students would. Like the teacher said to."

"Who cares," Sal said. "Times New Roman is boring. Comic Sans is fun and friendly."

"Unlike you."

"Excuse me?" Sal picked up his pen just so he could slam it down on the desk. "I am the definition of fun and friendly. You're boring like Times New Roman. That's why you used it."

"No, I used it because that was the requirement. We have to turn in my paper now." Russell tossed Sal's paper aside and snatched his own back. "We can't use yours."

"So just because I used a different font-"

A loud groan interrupted him. "Just bone already!" said a blond-haired boy sitting behind Sal.

"Brad, that's disgusting!" Russell made a retching noise. "I'd probably catch something from him."

Every inch of Sal's body grew warm. He opened his notebook and pretended to be riveted by his notes, only to notice his notes were only doodles. Maybe Russell was right about him only ever doodling in class.

"All you two do is argue. You sound like a married couple," Brad said. "Seriously, shut up."

"I would if he would," Russell said, jerking his head towards Sal, who had his face hidden in his notebook, concentrating on a sketch of Mouser while wishing he was with Mouser.

"Are you red?" Brad laughed. "Aw, somebody has a crush on-"

"Shut up!" Sal tore himself away from his notes and pointed a finger at Brad. "I am sick and tired of you harassing me all the time. I swear-"

Brad raised his hands defensively. "This is the first time we've ever talked!"

Sal turned back around and pretended to doodle as Mrs. Norandi walked in the room. Class commenced.

I can't stand Russell. Or Brad. Who does he think he is, accusing me of liking that... Sal clicked his pen with a clenched jaw, scowling at Russell's back, the knot in his stomach tightening. His eyes strayed to Russell's broad shoulders, running down his muscular arms. He had to admit, the boy was pleasant to look at. Especially that hair. Sal studied the long waves cascading past his shoulders. Such beautiful hair. The thought of running his fingers through it made him feel nauseous. But in a good way. What a strange feeling. Sal found himself wondering what Russell smelled like, so he leaned forward and sniffed. Apples! With a hint of musk. And those sapphire eyes. How could he forget those eyes that made his heart race? He tried, but failed, to hold back a smile.

An actual, genuine smile that caused his unused mouth muscles to ache. He couldn't remember the last time he smiled such a joyful smile. And over some boy?

Boy. His mouth dropped open. His pen dropped along with it, clattering onto the thinly-carpeted floor.

Russell stared down at the pen as Sal leaned over to pick it up. He gave Russell a friendly smile. Russell shot him a dirty look, then turned his attention back to the teacher.

And his eyebrows are perfect! They weren't too thick, nor too thin. Just right. Sal nibbled the top of his pen, questioning his sexual orientation. He'd never been interested in girls. His father had pointed it out enough, and thought he was gay. He couldn't have been gay though. He didn't like boys either. But... Russell?

No, Brad's comment is messing with me. His mind wandered. How he only ever picked on Russell. How he was so interested- no, riveted, by Russell's lunchtime mystery. I stalked him. He couldn't deny that much. I was curious. But why? Sal went back to admiring Russell's gorgeous locks and daydreamed about him and Russell, hand in hand. His thoughts drifted to Brad's comment about boning. The thought alone made him want to puke. He agreed with Russell's response to that. Maybe he didn't like him. He flipped to his "Reasons to Hate Russell" list. Snitch. Takes notes in an English class. Has long hair. Uses insults worthy of 10 year olds. Muscular, but won't fight back. Wipes muddy hands on face. Mispronounces GIF. Has too many office supplies. The list went on and on.

Sal tore the page out in a dramatic fashion, the sound causing nearby students to glance in his direction. He crumpled it up and shoved it into his backpack. Nonsense. The whole list was nonsense. If anything, those were reasons to love Russell.

Sal spent the rest of the day, evening, and night thinking about his Rusty Russell. He thought about his beautiful, wavy black hair. His dazzling, blue eyes. Blue like the waters of Hawaii. Skin as pale as a pale person. He fantasized about going on dates with him. Long walks on the beach. Specifically, the beach that had a Taco Bell. They could eat burritos while watching the sunset.

For shits and giggles, Sal thought about Russell riding a white horse through a field of dandelions. Because, no fantasy is complete without a long-haired beauty on a white horse. But why is it always a white horse? he wondered. Why not black? Or chestnut? So to spice things up, Sal imagined Russell riding a gray, Shetland Pony. He could not stop chuckling. He longed to drink Slurpees and play Zoo Simulator 5 with him again. But I don't like him, Sal thought. I hate him. Yet I can't get him out of my head. He wished he could ask his mother for advice. She'd have answers. His throat tightened, and he went back to thinking about Russell.

"The internet!" Sal said to Mouser out loud. "Yeah, the internet will know."

"Meow," Mouser meowed from the top of the dresser as he pulled up a search engine on his computer. He typed in, "Am I in love?" All of the results were quizzes and articles about the differences between a crush and true love. Sal rested his chin in his palm. "Well that's unhelpful. I don't even know if I like him much less love him." He tried "Do I like him or hate him?" Every result involved couples in unhealthy relationships.

Sal put his forehead in his hand, then slapped the desk. "Why doesn't any of this apply to my current situation?"

"Meow," meowed Mouser.

"I doubt that will help, but I'll try." Sal typed in "Meow." Various pictures, videos, and websites about cats came up. "Yeah, this isn't... wait." He leaned towards his monitor, squinting at a thumbnail image. "Is that cat eating a cheeseburger?"

He clicked on the thumbnail to see if the cat was, in fact, eating a cheeseburger. His observation was correct. The picture had a caption pasted on the bottom of it, which he read aloud. "I can haz cheezburger." He frowned. "What the hell?"

Curious, he went back to the search bar and typed in "i can haz cheezburger." Many cat pictures came up, most of which had the phrase "i can haz cheezburger: emblazoned on the bottom. Some had different phrases, but were still written in the same, grammatically-incorrect format.

"Riveting," he said breathlessly, clicking on a picture of an abnormally long cat.

Sal spent the rest of the night discovering the beauty of memes. If only his father had granted him internet access, instead of denying him anything that would bring him joy. It wasn't long before he stumbled across a Flash video about badgers, snakes, and mushrooms. The animation was from 2003, and this was his first time seeing it. He felt so behind on memes.

And social media sites, he thought, scrolling through a BeFriend group page about a socially awkward penguin.

"I wonder if Russell has a BeFriend," Sal wondered aloud. He typed "Russell Rondello" into the BeFriend search bar. Nothing came up. He tried "Russell Smith." A bunch of Russells who were not his Russell came up. He tried "Russell Russell," and then, "Rusty Russell." No luck on either.

Sal pounded his fist on his desk. "What the hell is Russell's last name?"

"Meow," meowed Mouser.

"Ah, good eye." He hadn't seen the "advanced search" options. He typed "Santa Cruz, CA" in the location field, and selected 16-18 from an age drop-down menu. He hit return.

Only one result came up. Russell Cox.

Sal's face broke into a huge grin, and he let out a guffaw. "Cox! No way is his last name Cox."

But it looked like him in the thumbnail. Sal clicked it. The profile picture, taken at a beach, depicted a tall, muscular, long-haired boy. Terry stood next to him, their wide smile matching Russell's.

"Russell Cox. What a terrible, unfortunate name." Sal let out another laugh. "I can't wait to make fun of him for it."

After recovering from this newfound information, he clicked "view more pictures." The link directed him to a BeFriend sign-up page.

"I don't want to sign up for this crap-ass website just to look at more pictures of that loser." Sal slapped at the desk, startling Mouser. "That gorgeous loser..."

Sal gave into BeFriend's demands. He filled out the sign-up information, uploaded a picture of himself, agreed to the terms and conditions without reading the terms and conditions, and sold his soul to BeFriend.

Russell only had three other pictures. A selfie taken in a bathroom, a group photo taken at a restaurant, and a picture of a velocity red, 2013 Mazda3. He saved the bathroom selfie to his computer, and made it his desktop picture. Just for shits and giggles, he reassured himself.

"That was worth selling my soul over." Sal closed his browser and turned off his computer monitor. The black, digital clock on his nightstand displayed 1:08 A.M.

Tonight was unproductive, Sal thought. I still don't know how I feel about Russell. I don't like him. I can't. But all he could think about was how nice it felt when his hand brushed against Russell's during that round of Turbo Pug. He would give anything to hold his hand. To hug him. To take him to bed and cuddle him throughout the night. The thought filled his body with warmth. Who am I kidding? I don't like him. I'm hopelessly in love with him.