HAVING A CONVERSATION WITH CAIO is the hardest thing in the world!

I don’t know why, but when he looks at me, I can barely talk. I suddenly forget how to organize my words and form complete sentences. I feel silly most of the time.

We woke up today to the sound of rain. Caio started talking about the weather, and I mumbled something back and stared at the ceiling.

Then this afternoon, I tried twice to approach him and start talking. The first time, I made a comment about the rain, then noticed we’d already covered that subject. Caio laughed and tried to continue our small talk, but I pretended I had to go to the bathroom and stayed in there for a while. The second time, I thought about asking how things were going at his school, but then I saw that he was focused on reading the book I lent him, so I gave up.

Before she left to deliver some paintings to a gallery downtown, my mom asked if we really planned on spending the whole day locked inside the apartment. Caio and I looked out the window at the same time and nodded without saying a word.

And now here we are, alone at home, sitting in the living room. Caio is still reading, more focused than ever, and I decide to do the same. I grab the book I bought yesterday after therapy and pick up reading where I left off.

It’s a fantasy novel about a girl who was raised like any other person until, on her seventeenth birthday, she discovers she has special powers and a mysterious past. Now shit’s hitting the fan all throughout the kingdom, and everyone’s future lies in the hands of this girl who doesn’t know how to control her powers and doesn’t even try to learn how to. Have you ever read a book like this? Because I’ve read about fifteen.

I can’t focus on the story and spend more time leafing through the pages than actually reading.

“Is your book any good?” Caio asks.

He’s lying on the couch, and I’m propped against the pillows on the floor near the carpet. I take a deep breath before answering.

“One of the worst I’ve ever read in my life,” I say. Caio laughs and contorts his body to get a peek at the cover.

We go back to sitting in silence, but suddenly Caio stands up and positions himself right in front of me.

“I need to ask you something, but don’t answer unless you want to,” he says, and I feel my body go cold.

I hug the pillow that I was using to hide my belly, and only after a few seconds have passed do I realize that Caio is waiting on me for a response. I nod, and that’s enough for him.

“Why have you been so quiet all day? Is it something I’ve done?”

I don’t know what to say, and I need some time to think. I expected he might question me about it sooner or later, but I wasn’t smart enough to have an answer waiting for him.

“It’s not you; it’s me,” I say in a very low and ashamed voice, because honestly, what a crappy answer!

“Just last night we had this long conversation, but when we woke up this morning you were all quiet, and now you’re only nodding and shaking your head at me. It’s so weird,” Caio says, then immediately starts to apologize. “I don’t mean you’re weird, okay? I’m talking about the situation and the way you change, like night and day. That’s weird, not you.”

I laugh a little, because it’s funny to see Caio so concerned and apologizing so much when, in fact, I am actually pretty weird. That’s when I get an idea that might work out great, or it might be terrible. I look at the open book in my hand, and my eyes find a sentence in which the protagonist says, “That’s enough! I shall take the reins of my destiny, change my life, and finally find my love.”

I roll my eyes at how cliché that is, and then keep rolling them, because that’s exactly what I’m about to do: I will take the reins of my destiny and … you get the picture.

“I can try to explain,” I say, getting up from the floor, not looking at Caio directly. “But you’ll probably think I’ve lost my mind.”

Caio seems confused but excited at the same time. I signal for him to follow me and head to the bedroom. The curtain is thin and the room is too bright. So I grab a blanket from the closet, clip two ends to the top of the window, and close the door—and in two minutes, I have a completely dark room, just as it would be if it were nighttime.

“You can lie down, if you want to,” I tell Caio, and then realize that it must seem like the strangest proposition of all time.

Caio doesn’t say anything. He lies down in his bed, and I lie down in mine, and we remain quiet.

I need some time to gather all the courage inside me (which is usually about zero) and think about how to approach the subject. I decide to start with the truth.

“I can’t talk to you during the day because I don’t like being observed. I’m embarrassed by how you might see me, and that’s why I can only open up in the dark. You see? I am officially weird,” I say all at once, with a little laugh at the end.

But Caio doesn’t laugh.

He takes some time to process this information, and he looks ready to get up and leave the room at any moment. I don’t want him to go. I want him to be here with me.

But then he asks, “Why are you embarrassed?”

And since I have nothing else to lose, I give the truth another go.

“Because I’m fat.”

It’s done. The word is out. The same way things changed when Caio said, “I’m gay,” things change when I say, “I’m fat.” Because fat is the kind of word people try to hide, no matter the cost. Everyone says “chubby” or “big boned,” but never “FAT.” Fat is a word you can never take back. When you declare something, even if it’s obvious to everyone already, it becomes real.

Caio takes a deep breath and, once again, seems to be choosing his words carefully. In general, that annoys me. It’s really bad to be the person who always has to wait for an answer because other people are being careful with their words. I feel fragile, and I hate feeling that way.

“You shouldn’t be ashamed of being who you are.”

I take a deep breath so I don’t say, “Easy for you to say when you’re skinny, Caio.” I hold back because I know he’s only trying to help.

Anyone else might have advised me to lose weight. I’m so tired of listening to diet tips I never asked for or exercises I don’t want to try. Caio could have acted like everyone else. But it makes me happy to know that he’s not like that.

We remain quiet for a while. My mind goes back and forth between the relief of putting it all out there and the ridiculousness of needing to hang a blanket over a window in order to tell the guy I like that I’m fat.

Luckily, my mom walks through the front door, calling my name. I run to open the bedroom door and step out of the darkness. Caio is right behind me, and we spend the rest of the afternoon pretending like nothing ever happened.

One thing you need to know about my mom is that she’s totally obsessed with cable TV. She’ll watch anything: cooking shows, documentaries about animals, bizarre reality shows, and shows about hoarders. I don’t complain because I love it, too.

A while ago, she came up with themed nights, like Culinary Mondays (when the two of us would cook together), Stylish Thursdays (basically, laundry day), and Décor Saturdays (when we’d try to put all the decoration tips we’d learned into practice, using only materials that we had at home, and obviously it all turned out hideous). None of the themes lasted very long. Except Musical Wednesdays. Contrary to what the name might suggest, Musical Wednesdays are not for karaoke (which wouldn’t be an awful idea). My mom discovered she loves musicals after she watched Mamma Mia! for the first time, and ever since, we’ve watched one musical every week, always on Wednesdays. Thanks to that, I’ve found a lot of incredible movies, and some not as incredible. (Did The Sound of Music really need to be three hours long?)

If you’re wondering what my favorite musicals are, fear not! I have the list ready:

• The Wizard of Oz (1939): One of the best classics of all time. Besides the really fun songs, it has everything a good story needs: friendship, a strong lesson, and witches.
• Les Misérables (2012): My mom hated it, but I couldn’t care less. This movie is amazing! I cried from the beginning to the end. I fell in love with all the characters who basically sing their every line. Les Misérables serves as proof that Hugh Jackman is the hottest man in the world, even when he’s covered in mud from head to toe.
• Seven Brides for Seven Brothers (1954): This movie tells the story of a woman who marries a guy to escape her hard life as a cook at a bar. The guy is good-looking, and he has a nice beard and a house in the hills. When she gets to said house, she finds out that the handsome man has seven lazy brothers, and they all expect her to cook, do the dishes, and clean the house. But, of course, she doesn’t! She teaches them some basic life skills (such as taking showers).
• Dreamgirls (2006): One word: Beyoncé.
• Footloose (1984; for god’s sake, do not watch the remake!): A super-young Kevin Bacon moves to a city where, believe it or not, it’s forbidden to dance. He breaks all the rules, everyone dances together, and in the end there’s glitter rain.

We’re all in the kitchen when my mom explains the dynamics of Musical Wednesdays to Caio. At first, I can’t tell if he’s excited or desperate.

“Since you are our guest, you get to choose tonight’s movie!” she says.

He flashes a smile. “Are there any rules?”

“It has to be a musical. And it has to have a happy ending, because today I don’t want to cry,” my mom says, and Caio looks to be consulting his mental list of movies with happy endings.

“Can I make brigadeiro?” he asks.

“No need to ask twice!” my mom answers, handing him a pan.

Caio picked Hairspray—the 2007 version with John Travolta as a woman and Michelle Pfeiffer with all that Botox. Of course, I’d watched this one before. It’s fun, the music is amazing, and Zac Efron looks really cute. My mom, who had never heard of Hairspray until tonight, was all excited. She danced in her spot on the couch, but when the last song came on, she pulled me up and we danced to “You Can’t Stop the Beat” together. I was dying of embarrassment, but Caio got up, too, and the three of us danced until the credits rolled up on the screen.

It had been a while since we’d had such fun on Musical Wednesdays. And I can’t believe I just used that name as if the day were something official, and not something my mom made up.

By the time the movie ends, it’s already late, but I need to shower. I turn on the water and start thinking about Caio’s choice of movie and our humiliating conversation in the dark this afternoon. Hairspray is an incredible film about the fight for civil rights during segregation. It’s about conquering prejudice and opening spaces to all. It’s also a film about a fat protagonist who, in the end (spoiler alert!), ends up with Zac Efron!

The part of my brain that loves to come up with unlikely theories starts whirring, and I wonder if this could be a sign. Caio might be sending hints that he wants to be the Zac Efron of my life. Earlier today I told him I’m embarrassed to talk to him during the daytime. Because I’m fat, I said out loud. Then, a few hours later, he picked a movie with a lot of nice morals, one of them being It’s okay to be fat. And that makes me feel a little happy.

When I go back to my room, properly dressed in my sleeping shorts and an old Felix the Cat T-shirt (always very sexy), Caio is already in bed. He’s on the phone, talking to his mom. From what I gather, he’s trying to convince her that he wasn’t out in the rain in the last few days and that he doesn’t see how she got the idea that he sounds like he has a cold.

He hangs up and turns off the light, and we both lie there in the dark. I feel that little flutter in my stomach because I know now is our official time to talk. I’m afraid that things between us are going to be weird, or that Caio will start suggesting different ways for me to accept my body or, worse, get thin. So, as if our weird conversation earlier hadn’t happened, or as if Caio hadn’t picked a Musical Wednesdays movie that definitely was intended to be a message for me, I start a conversation in the most casual way I know how.

“Wanna play a game?” I ask.

“What kind of game?”

“It doesn’t have a name, because I made it up. But for now, we can call it The Best and Worst in the World.” I proceed to explain how we play, trying not to make it sound silly. “It works like this: One player names a category, and the other has to give both the best and the worst in the world in the category. But it’s only fun if you pick very specific categories to make the other player really think. You can’t say, like, fruit. Or color. Or things the other player will have a favorite and least favorite of already.”

I did my best to explain, but Caio still seems confused. I don’t know how to make the rules clearer because I’ve never had to say them out loud. It’s a game I usually play by myself.

“You’ll start to get it as we play. We can start with easy categories, and then make it harder.”

“Okay, can I go first?” Caio says, a little disinterested. I say yes, and he gives me the first category: “Movies with aliens.”

“Easy peasy,” I say. “The best in the world is E.T., because it has aliens, friendship, and adventure. The worst in the world is The Invasion, because it features Nicole Kidman in one of the worst roles of her entire career, the poor woman.”

Caio laughs a little at my answer.

“Nice ones,” he says. “But I think I’d pick Space Jam as the worst in the world, because it has aliens playing basketball against Bugs Bunny. Who thought that would be a good idea?”

“Basically everybody?!” I say, aggravated, because Space Jam is wonderful, and I feel an unreasonable need to defend it as a cinematic masterpiece. But seeing as I rarely get into arguments, I move on and change the subject by giving Caio a new category. “Girl bands with four members or fewer.”

“Impossible!” He answers almost immediately. “Because the best in the world has five members, and the worst has two hundred. The Spice Girls and the Pussycat Dolls, if you were wondering.”

“Doesn’t matter. I want girl bands with four members or fewer. Figure it out!”

“Can I choose the Cheetah Girls? After Luciana left, there were only four,” Caio says.

“The Cheetah Girls being the best or the worst?”

“Worst” is his determined answer.

“So, no, you can’t choose them,” I say, because I love the Cheetah Girls and also feel an unreasonable need to defend them.

“Fine. Girl bands with four members or fewer. Best in the world is Destiny’s Child. Worst in the world is Little Mix.”

I let out a guffaw when I’m reminded that SNZ was once a thing.

As we take turns, the categories become more complicated, but in the process I get to learn more about what Caio likes. He loves Lady Gaga, too (the category was pop divas who have starred in bad movies), and the scene in 13 Going on 30 where everyone dances to Michael Jackson’s “Thriller” (the category was musical scene in movies that are not musicals).

We’re both very sleepy, but we don’t want to go to bed yet. The game has now reached bizarre levels, since Caio suggested the category unexpected male butts in movies. I laughed out loud, but then, surprisingly, I had my answers ready.

“Okay, here goes. Unexpected male butts in movies. Best in the world is Hugh Jackman’s butt in X-Men: Days of Future Past. Worst in the world is Matt Damon’s lanky ass in The Martian.”

Caio lets out a sleepy laugh, but he seems surprised.

“I thought this category would have stumped you, but you answered right away!”

“Don’t underestimate me, I’m an asspecialist.” And with that, both of us go silent, taking in what I just said.

I start thinking of a way to change the subject when Caio suddenly starts laughing harder than ever. He keeps repeating asspecialist as if it is the funniest thing in the universe, and I start laughing as well because it seems like the right thing to do.

“You’re funny, Lipé,” Caio says, catching his breath.

I freeze, because no one has called me that since my grandma died. What’s strange is that I thought I’d get mad if someone else, at any point in my life, called me that, but I’m not mad. I feel … comfortable. It feels like coming back home after traveling for weeks and realizing how much you missed your own bed.

Caio notices my silence.

“Is it okay if I call you that? Lipé, I mean. Because if you think it’s too much, just tell me, and I’ll—”

“It’s okay,” I interrupt. “I like being called Lipé.”

And then I fall asleep. With a smile on my face.