Luhvmria

Third, lunch. I spilled spaghetti down the front of my brand new white shirt. White! Why did I even risk wearing white to school? RIP shirt. You were too young.

And fourth… the homework. Piles of it. I swear every teacher got together in a secret meeting and decided to ruin my life.

So, yeah. Today was trash.

By the time I got home, I was basically a human thundercloud. I stomped upstairs, dropped my bag onto the floor with a loud thunk, and sat down at my desk like a prisoner sentenced to homework jail.

I cracked open my history book, glared at the first question, and groaned so loud my mom yelled up the stairs:

“You sound like a dying walrus, Maysilee!”

“BECAUSE I AM ONE,” I shouted back.

I shoved my pencil at the paper and scribbled something halfheartedly. My black eye throbbed, my shirt stain mocked me from the laundry basket, and I was just about ready to fake my own death to avoid school tomorrow—

When my door creaked open.

And in walked Wyatt Callow.

My boyfriend. My personal golden retriever in human form. And the only person alive who could make me smile when I was this grumpy.

He came in holding three things: a bouquet of my favorite flowers, my favorite candy balanced precariously on top of the bouquet, and a speaker blasting Lana Del Rey. (Yes, spelled exactly like that. I checked.)

“Surprise!” he said, grinning so wide his dimples practically had their own zip code.

I blinked at him, half-annoyed, half-ready to cry. “Wyatt. What… what is this?”

“It’s called Operation Fix Maysilee’s Bad Day,” he said, plopping the flowers into my lap. “Step one: flowers. Step two: candy. Step three: Lana. Step four: profit.”

I burst out laughing despite myself. “Profit? This isn’t a business scheme!”

“Everything’s a business scheme if you believe,” he said, dead serious.

I groaned, hiding my face in the flowers so he wouldn’t see me smiling. “Ugh, you’re ridiculous.”

“Correction: I’m ridiculously amazing.”

He leaned down and kissed my cheek, right next to my black eye, and for some reason, that simple kiss made my whole chest feel warm.

“Okay,” I said, giving in. “You win. Homework can wait. What’s the plan, Callow?”

⸻

The plan, apparently, was concert outfit planning. We sprawled across my bed, laptop open, Pinterest boards up, Lana’s voice filling the room like the soundtrack of our teenage dreams.

“I’m thinking sparkles,” I said, scrolling through sequined tops. “Lots of sparkles.”

Wyatt frowned. “What about cargo shorts?”

I snapped my head toward him so fast I almost gave myself whiplash. “Excuse me?”

“Cargo shorts,” he repeated, leaning back with a smug smile. “Practical. Pockets. Stylish.”

“Wyatt. If you show up to a Lana Del Rey concert in cargo shorts, I will pretend I don’t know you.”

“You’d abandon me?” he gasped, clutching his chest dramatically.

“Yes. And I’d do it proudly.”

He grinned. “Fine, no cargo shorts. But I’m wearing my Hawaiian shirt.”

“Wyatt!”

“What? It screams summertime sadness.”

I threw a pillow at his face, and he laughed so hard he almost rolled off the bed.

⸻

After an hour of arguing about sequins versus Hawaiian shirts, we switched gears to Roblox. Specifically, Dress to Impress.

The second Wyatt logged in, I knew it was over.

“Why are you… why are you literally dressed as a hot dog?” I asked, staring at his avatar in horror.

“It’s called commitment,” he said proudly. “And I’m about to win this.”

The theme was “Red Carpet.”

Wyatt strutted out on the runway in his hot dog suit like he owned the place. Meanwhile, my avatar was rocking a long red gown, heels, and diamond earrings.

“Wyatt,” I whispered, tears of laughter in my eyes, “you look like a concession stand snack.”

“This is haute couture,” he argued, doing the little runway spin. “The judges just don’t understand me.”

The judges did not, in fact, understand him. He lost. Badly. To a sparkly fairy.

I laughed so hard I nearly fell out of my chair. “You’re actually terrible at this game.”

“I’m an artist ahead of my time,” he said solemnly.

“You’re a hot dog.”

“And yet, you still love me.”

Unfortunately, he was right.

⸻

When Roblox finally destroyed my stomach from laughing too hard, Wyatt suggested baking blondies.

Correction: I suggested baking blondies, and Wyatt insisted on “helping.”

“Wyatt, stop eating the batter!” I smacked his hand with the spatula.

“I’m taste-testing!” he said defensively, licking his finger. “You can’t rush perfection.”

“You’re going to get salmonella!”

“Worth it.”

At one point, he tried to dramatically sprinkle flour over the counter like some weird baking ritual. The result? A coughing fit and a kitchen that looked like it had been hit by a snowstorm.

“These blondies are raw!” he yelled in his best Gordon Ramsay impression, even though they weren’t even in the oven yet.

“You’re raw,” I muttered, shoving the pan in.

Somehow, despite Wyatt’s chaos, the blondies came out perfect. We ate them straight out of the pan at the counter, crumbs everywhere, Lana still crooning faintly in the background.

⸻

Eventually, it got late. Wyatt stood by the door, holding the empty candy wrapper like a trophy.

“Thanks for letting me save your day,” he said softly.

“You didn’t just save it,” I admitted. “You… made it amazing.”

He smiled, leaned down, and kissed me. It was soft, sweet, and just long enough to make my heart flip.

When he finally pulled away, I whispered, “I’m so lucky, you know that?”

“I do,” he said with a wink. “I’m awesome.”

I shoved him out the door, laughing.

⸻

After he left, I went back upstairs to my room. The flowers sat on my desk, bright and alive. The candy wrappers were scattered, and the blondie crumbs still dusted my fingers.

And I couldn’t stop smiling.

Today had started as one of the worst days of my life. But it ended as one of the best. All because of Wyatt Callow—my ridiculous, sweet, bad-at-Roblox, perfect boyfriend.

And honestly? I was so, so thankful.