‘Oh—yikes. Her breath stinks. Really bad.’

I reeled my head back and stared at my childhood best friend, William “Billy” Perkins, in shock. Here we were—sprawled on the couch, harboring unsaid feelings and leaning close, about to share our first kiss, when his voice suddenly echoed in my mind, buzzing in my skull and leaving a dull headache in its wake.

I wasn’t sure if he spoke, given that I was watching his lips and didn’t see them move—but his voice in my head was so painstakingly clear that I immediately demanded, “What did you say?”

Billy stared at me, his mouth hanging open. He was searching my face, probably trying to figure out whether or not I was joking. A spark of panic danced behind his hazel eyes, and the creases by his eyes scrunched up as he let out a forced chuckle. “What do you mean? I didn’t say anything.”

Then, suddenly, his voice came again: ‘Is she having a psychotic episode?’

I jumped from the couch and shoved him, nearly toppling him onto the floor. “I’m not having a psychotic episode, Billy!” I shouted at him. “You can’t take anything seriously, can you?”

Billy stumbled from the couch and backed up against the wall, his eyes stretched wide in surprise. “How are you reading my mind?” Once again, his internal voice crept into my head: ‘Maybe if I just slowly make my way towards the door, I can make a run for it. She won’t see it coming.’

I snatched a pillow from the couch and chucked it at him. I missed. “You know what? If you want to leave, then leave.”

I took a seat on the couch and watched, seething, as William “Billy” Perkins bolted to the door, swung it open, and disappeared from view.

‘Well, that was awkward.’

Billy’s uneasy voice echoed in my mind as I listened to his frantic footsteps racing down the stairs and out into the frigid December night.

Yes, Billy. That was, indeed, very awkward.