Ceasar found the note posted up on the student bulletin board, next to a notice from the cafeteria about Taco Surprise Tuesdays. “SWM ISO True Love,” it said, scrawled in messy handwriting on a scrap of notebook paper. “Must enjoy pina coladas and/or getting caught in the rain.” There was a cell phone number printed below, barely legible. Ceasar read it a dozen times walking to and from the cafeteria. In a few days he has the message and the number memorized.
One night, about a week after he first saw the note, Ceasar lay in his bed and stared at his cell phone. He glanced carefully around the room, half expecting Fleance or his creepy gecko to be lurking behind Pebble’s tank, but there was no one. He flipped open his phone.
“This is True Love,” he typed painstakingly into the text message window. “Love pina coladas and the rain is okay.” He paused for a moment, then added “What is your opinion on health food and/or champagne?”
When he was done, Ceasar took a deep breath and hit send.
The reply didn’t come until late the next afternoon, in the middle of biology class. Ceasar had forgot to turn off his phone and Funky Town blasted out across the room in all its midi glory, much to Ceasar’s embarrassment. His aunt got cross and made him read the message out to the class. “Let me answer with another question,” Ceasar mumbled, turning red, “How does champagne on the beach at midnight sound to you? No tofu.”
“Well you better answer,” Rose said as Ceasar sat back down, “wouldn’t want to keep your hot date waiting. Go on.”
Ceasar glared and waited until after class to reply. “Sounds like the best thing ever,” he said, “When?”
“It’s a date,” Ceasar sent, and flipped his cell phone shut with a most triumphant flourish.
As the two had failed to set an exact meeting place, Ceasar was not entirely sure where on the beach to start searching for his SWM. He thought maybe it would be a good idea to follow the sound of Rupert Holmes’ most famous song wafting down from the north end, though. I was tired of my lady the one-hit wonder crooned on repeat, we’d been together too long.
It didn’t take long for Ceasar to reach the source of the music, a battered old stereo holding down the corner of a beach blanket. There was a bottle of cheap champagne stuck unceremoniously in the sand beside it.
“Hey,” Ice said, “so I got a new cell phone.”
Ceasar, relatively unsurprised, shook his head and lay down next to him. “This is like the gayest thing you’ve ever done.”
“Probably.” Ice hefted the champagne bottle. “Gonna help me drink this or not?”
Ceasar nodded and picked up a glass.
Ceasar frowned and shut the stereo off. He hated that stupid song.