For the past twenty minutes Oliver has been even more glued to his phone than he was before, and I wonder for a second why I’ve created the hashtag. It was nice talking to him, but now he’s silent on his side of the room, scrolling down and refreshing the Twitter post.

I can’t help it, but I’m on Twitter now too, looking at my hashtag. Our hashtag. This is for Oliver, I remind myself.

I see Kelsey’s reaction before he does. OMG. Can I be ur nurse??

I wince. How creative. But I also know Oliver is going to love it. I look at him out of the corner of my eye, notice a blush spreading across his face, a little smile following. Though it isn’t the full-blown ecstatic reaction I was expecting. Have I misjudged the power of my hashtag? It seemed so perfect. Girls love getting called out on social media like that. Not that I would know … but so I’ve heard.

Oliver is still silent. I keep refreshing the post, waiting to see what he will say back to Kelsey, but he doesn’t post anything. I look at him out of the corner of my eye again and his eyebrows are furrowed.

“Is everything okay? I think Kelsey said something back to you.” I try to play dumb.

“You’re checking the post?” He seems surprised.

“Well, the hashtag was my idea, wasn’t it?” I mean to say it teasingly but even I hear the defensive tone to my voice.

Oliver studies my face for a second before looking down at his phone again. I wait for him to speak but he keeps his head down.

“You should say something back!” I say encouragingly.

“Hmm?” He’s distracted. “Oh, right, yeah, I should.”

I try: “I think she said something about being a nurse? That’s pretty …” I trail off, searching for the right word.

“Repetitive,” he offers, his head still down.

I’m confused. Did she post something twice? “I’m not following.”

“Nothing. It’s fine!” Oliver smiles, but it looks forced.

And then we’re back to not talking to each other again, and I wonder how this is any better. Great.

I keep refreshing the post, but Oliver doesn’t say anything back. I go on Instagram and look at pictures of Jenna and Becca. They’ve been texting me a little here and there. I start a text to them about kissing Oliver, but I don’t actually send the message. Because then they’ll know why he’s in quarantine, and then maybe they’ll wonder why I’m in quarantine, and they’ll figure it out about the faked fever. Maybe. I don’t know. Maybe I’m just making excuses.

Goldy has posted a bunch of dumb “inspirational” quotes on Facebook about smiling when things are hard and all her dumb friends are asking if she’s okay. I’m fine. Just worried about someone close to me.

I hope she isn’t talking about me and I hope she doesn’t think she’s close to me.

Oliver yelps and jumps out of his bed. His hair is still sticking up in the bedhead I styled for him, and I resist the urge to run my fingers through his hair again.

He wiggles the phone in front of me, trying to show me the screen, but in his excitement he accidentally turns the phone off. He’s flustered, and I try not to laugh. We both stare at the logo of the home screen as it turns on again.

He finally pulls up Twitter, refreshes the post one more time, and triumphantly flips the phone to face me. “We’re trending!”

I look at his screen but my eyes glaze at all the #quaranteens.

“What are people saying?” I try to act nonchalant, try to hide my surprise.

“This is crazy!” Oliver says. “I don’t even know who these people are.” He’s still got his phone in front of me, and I force my eyes to focus.

I touch his hand to make him stop scrolling. “Wait, let me read some of this stuff.”

He looks at my hand on his, and I quickly pull away.

He clears his throat. “Um, okay, so some people are saying we must be the same teenagers from the news. Some people are freaking out and are worried they’re going to get sick. But, ha, look, this girl is telling her girlfriend she wants to go to quarantine with her.”

I lean closer to him again to look at his phone. “Ha, that girl says she wants to go to quarantine with you! Oh, look, another one says the same thing!”

Oliver’s blush is spreading to his neck. “Why would anyone want to go to quarantine with me?” he says.

I look at his cool-breeze eyes, think about running my hands through his hair, think about his soft lips when I kissed him.

I can think of a few reasons why.

He keeps reading me more but my brain can’t keep up. I knew my hashtag was a good idea, but I didn’t think it was that good of an idea. I must be on a roll: two impulsive, split-second decisions in one week.