Oh, screw it. If he doesn’t want to talk to me, I might as well keep working on Wordle. I pull my phone out a little pointedly (not that John will notice) and open the app. I’ve got two guesses left. I can do this.
A, R, F, S.
F, R, A, S.
What about... AFARS. Is that a word?
I type it in slowly and click enter. And—oh, crap, itisa word. But it’s wrong. The first A is gray, the F is yellow, the A and the R are green, and the S is yellow.
I stare at the screen helplessly. I only have one guess left, and I can’t think of a single word to try. My brain is totally, utterly blocked.
“Crap,” I mutter.
John glances at me. He doesn’t ask me what’s wrong—classic John—but his expression looks vaguely curious.
“Are you good with words?” I ask him in desperation.
He shrugs. “I dunno.” He glances at my phone. “Is that Wordle?”
I’m surprised he’s even heard of it. I nod miserably and tilt my phone toward him. “I’m about to lose my streak.”
He leans a little closer to look at my phone screen, and despite my frustration with him, a tiny part of my brain can’t help registering that he smells really nice. Sort of like firewood burning on a crisp fall night.
“You’ve almost got it, though,” he says. “You already know it ends in A, R, F.”
I frown at my phone. Do I know that?
Oh, crap. He’s right. From my earlier guesses, I know that the F isn’t the first or second letter, which means it has to be at the end.
_ _ ARF.
One of those two blank letters is an S.
“QSARF,” I try. “WSARF. YSARF. Those aren’t words.”
John’s mouth turns up slightly. “No,” he agrees.
“SUARF. That sounds like a word. Like... a combination of SUAVE and BARF. That outfit is totally SUARF!”
John looks at me, and something about his flat expression makes me snort.
“Okay, never mind,” I say. “Not SUARF.” I move through the remaining letters. “ASARF. SSARF. FSARF.”
John snorts. “You’re not very good at this.”
My head snaps up indignantly. “I am too! I have a three-hundred-and-two-day streak, I’ll have you know. I’m just totally blanking. It’s been a long day,” I add. “My car’s broken, and I just had the most mediocre first date in the history of time, and I’m broke and destined to die alone—”
“What if the S is the first letter?” John interrupts. “Did you try that?”
“We already ruled out SUARF, and U’s the only vowel left. Unless you think SBARF is a word—”
Hang on.
I swear I hear my brain goclick, like something’s slotted into place. Because you know what rhymes with SBARF?
“SCARF,” I say aloud.
John nods. “There you go.”
