WarrenandTasin’s friendship doesn’t make much sense. Initially, people don’t say, “Oh, there’s Warren, I’m sure Tasin’s around here somewhere.”

In fact, the two do completely different things at recess. It’s just that Tasin likes to play basketball with the older boys, and Warren likes to play make-believe games with other friends. Warren couldn’t say for sure what Tasin’s favorite color is, and Tasin would have to guesstimate if someone ever asked him what music Warren likes. 

But any kid on that playground would tell you that they are best friends. WarrenandTasin. 

9

They have decided they need nicknames. Their given names are too stuffy, and they’re cool now, which means they shouldn’t say two syllables when they could say one. 

Warren is henceforth Ren. This new name has many meanings, including a cool bird (excuse the homophone), a Confucian value of goodness (the irony is not lost), the kid from Footloose (if you please), and either the soul in Egyptian mythology or a single kidney (according to Dictionary.com). 

Tasin is henceforth Tas. This means nothing, since it’s so obscure. But as an acronym, it can refer to a Tool-assisted Speedrun (perfect video game playthrough), the Taxpayer Advocate Service (not cool), and some others that are also not remotely cool. They decide that Tas is only functional as an abbreviation of Tasmanian Devil, which is much better, although it gives an entirely backwards impression.

10

“Hey, dude.”

“Tas. Wake up.”

It is 11:34 p.m. Both boys are sprawled on a blowup mattress heaped with blankets in the study at Tasin’s house. The room is lit by the TV, still playing the movie that Warren can’t believe Tasin fell asleep in the middle of. Except he can, because Tasin is just like that.

“What?”
“The TV’s still on.”
“And?”
“If we’re going to sleep, we should turn it off.”
“Okay?”
“It’s not my TV. I don’t know how to turn it off.”
“Press the off button.”
“It’s dark, I can’t tell which one it is.”

Warren seems to think Tasin will be able to flawlessly locate the off button in the dark, simply because this is his TV remote, and therefore he must know everything about it.

Tasin grabs the remote and presses the off button. (It’s in the top right corner—it’s uniquely square and set apart from the others—and it lights up when pressed.) Then he goes back to sleep. Sitting awake, Warren realizes he was right, which feels good but unfamiliar because he isn’t right very often. 

11

Their moms know each other, but they aren’t friends. They drop their sons off at each other’s houses without coming inside. They’ll greet each other politely whenever necessary, make small talk when the only other option is silence, and smile in sync when their sons do something cute. No more, no less.

Once, Mrs. Teramoto found herself in the unfortunate position of having to continue a dying conversation for propriety’s sake. She glanced at Warren’s mom, adjusted her purse, and hoped it didn’t come off so transparent.

“I read an interesting article the other day—about the subconscious mind. Scientists used to think that most important decisions were made with the conscious mind, but now they found evidence that it might be the subconscious.” Warren’s mom blinked. “You know, I find that very interesting, because the conscious mind is where we use rational thinking, but it can only support that rational thinking with the memories and knowledge it has immediate access to. The subconscious mind isn’t limited; it has access to all our memories, knowledge, and experience because it’s deeper. So they say the subconscious mind is always working on something even when your conscious mind has forgotten about it, and it’ll give you a better decision because of it.”

She adjusted her purse again and looked right at Warren’s mom. “I just thought it was interesting, you know, how the deeper part of you doesn’t forget. It’s always thinking.”

12

“Wait, wait. So you’re telling me someone found scientific proof that deadlines are bullshit?”

Tasin flinches a little. “My mom said I shouldn’t say that word.”

“Tas, you’re twelve, and she’s not here. You can say bullshit.” Warren smiles then, pretty wickedly. “But if the subconscious thing is true, that means whatever decisions you make are better if you take longer, because your subconscious is working on it, right?” 

He waits patiently for Tasin’s reluctant nod and looks so excited about how mature this makes him that he might actually steeple his fingers. He plows on when he receives the proper amount of enthusiasm in response.

“And they’re not really rational, so you can’t explain them! So now I can tell Mr. Simmons that’s why I don’t turn in homework on time!”

13

Tasin notices that Warren draws a lot. It’s usually sketches of things Tasin can’t really follow, things only Warren knows about as he’s thinking of them. 

He’s clearly talented, but always shrugs it off when anyone comments. He’s practiced at shrugging things off—like when people ask unanswerable questions about his father or make fun of him for having a poor single mother. He feels more like just Warren in those moments than half of WarrenandTasin.

Sometimes he wishes Tasin were his brother, so that he wouldn’t be alone.

Warren notices that Tasin thinks a lot. He’s always planning or writing or talking about something. He applies himself to everything and usually succeeds—if not by particular skill, then mostly by conversation, because he’s good at saying the right thing. And he somehow always ends up with the last word.

When he goes home and tells his parents, they say nothing, and the silence sounds like: be better, try harder, win more. Sometimes he wishes Warren were his brother, so that he wouldn’t be alone.

14

Warren has to do summer school because of his dyslexia. He’s on a modified academic track because of it, but his teachers say he just isn’t engaging. That accusation isn’t entirely untrue.

He spends all his time drawing, and he has a no-joke epiphany, right in the middle of class. He feels like drawing solves his problems, if only for a second. Putting a creative representation of them out there, on a page or a patch of skin, is his short-lived solution. Even if no one else actually sees it.

He doesn’t tell anyone this. Teenagers aren’t supposed to have philosophical thoughts.

15

No one can tell that the boys are the same height (to the inch!) because Warren slouches. 

Tasin runs for class president and wins. Warren graduates from doodling in his notebook to sketching right on his skin with a marker he keeps on his person at all times. Teachers know Tasin’s name; he does everything, he smiles at everyone, and he talks like an attorney. Teachers know Warren’s name; he cracks jokes, slacks off, and sketches a lot. 

According to them, being a teenager is simultaneously the most glorious and agonizing experience ever, and it gives them the right to be dramatic about it. Obviously.

Doors are slammed. Anger gets the better of both at times. There isn’t recess any more, but they still have opportunities to prove that they don’t need to be around each other at every moment. 

Tasin gets his first girlfriend and, shortly after, his first breakup. Warren draws something obscene on his hand and flashes it at Tasin in the middle of class to make him laugh. He has to hide his hand in his shirtsleeve when he goes home so his mom doesn’t see it before he gets a chance to wash it off.

17

The perfect parents have a truly nasty divorce. Warren’s cramped apartment looks good compared to the warzone Tasin’s house has become, so that’s where they run.

Expensive things get broken. Yelling replaces talking. Warren’s mother, typically warm and welcoming, is also upset for unknown reasons. WarrenandTasin mold together out of instinct. They make more sense than ever before.

One day, the boys’ mothers are tired of the screaming and lying, and they finally tell their sons the truth. WarrenandTasin have their wish. Half-way.

17

“What did you do, Tasin?”

“Nothing, Mom.”
“Not nothing! Your father lost his job!”
“He had it coming.”

“I don’t understand how you could do that to him.”
“I didn’t do anything to him. I called to inform his boss that he’s been overbilling clients for years, which I happen to know because he’s my father and he likes to brag. It’s not my fault that’s illegal and got him fired.”
“But you knew what you were doing!”
“Yes.”
“You knew it was wrong!”
“What’s wrong is him cheating on you, having a kid with someone else, and then ditching that kid and smothering me for seventeen years. And lying to everyone. You know what, I wish he’d been arrested.”

“Is this really the child I raised?”
“This is the child the two of you raised. Are you really surprised?”
“Unbelievable. Oh, wait until Ren finds out—”
“Don’t talk to me about Ren.”

17

“Ren.”

Warren considers not responding. He considers getting up, leaving, and letting whatever’s left of WarrenandTasin erode into dust. He looks at Tasin across from him and tries to hate him. He tries to turn the jealousy he’s always felt for his friend into something worse, but realizes that this is wrong—and more than that, it’s gone.
“What?” Warren says.
“Are you mad?”
“Yeah.”

“But not at you.”
It’s difficult for Warren to say that, it really is, but they’re both better for it.

Tasin wants to tell him that he’s angry at his father, too, both for himself and Warren. He wants to tell him that half the reason he made that phone call was the look on Warren’s face when they found out. 

Instead, he says something simpler but no less true: “You know you were always my brother, no matter what he did, right? I don’t care. You already were.”

Warren nods.

17

Tasin says:

“Hey, dude.”
“What.”
“Ephemeron. It’s this thing in computer science. If you Google it, literally the same definition shows up on every website—same sentence.”
“What.”
“It solves two related problems.”

They burst out laughing.