“T, U…”

Logan thinks it’s cute.

Whenever he says, “V,” her cheeks glow pink, and then there are the crinkles near her blue eyes as she smiles. And she whispers, “Don’t call me that.”

It only makes him do it more.

“V, pass me that pencil.”

“What time is it, V?”

“Hey, V, give me a kiss.”

And she does it all.

“Here.”

“3:14.”

“Where?”

Every now and then, he creeps up to her from behind. Puts his hands on her waist. Lowers his head to her neck.

“Ronnie,” he says.

She pulls away. “Don’t call me that.”

So, he makes it better by pressing his lips to her forehead and sighing his favorite letter in the alphabet.

“V.”

And she asks, “How come you never call me Veronica anymore?”

“I will.” He grins that crooked grin. “Tonight.”