Pre-written story today because I should not be allowed around video games. Btw, shoutout to narutokid16! Thank you for your review 3
Malcolm had been writing in code lately.
Of course, Malcolm didn't want anyone to KNOW that he was writing in code. He thought, being the genius that he was, that nobody would ever be able to find out that he, the only other brother currently in the Wilkerson house, was writing messages to Reese. Not that Reese would be ever able to come to that conclusion.
Because every single day, Reese would find coded messages in EVERYTHING: his locker, his bookbag- even taped to his shoes, once. And every single time Reese would discover one of them, Malcolm would ask if he was going to find out what it said, and Reese would squint at it and mutter, "sounds complicated", throwing it away. Each and every time this happened, Malcolm would get angrier and redder in the face. So much so that a couple of times, he legitimately thought Malcolm was going to explode.
So because Dewey had a functioning brain that could make logical connections (unlike Reese, apparently), he knew that Malcolm was behind it all.
Still, the question remained as to why. Why would he keep doing it if only to get blown off every single time? What could POSSIBLY be so important it was necessary to tell REESE?
He decided the best way to answer these questions was to ask the source directly.
That was a very bad idea.
"NO, Dewey, I am NOT writing Reese 'secret' coded messages." Malcolm answered, putting his pencil down, and closing his notebook to try and avoid suspicion. "I have NO idea why those keep showing up everywhere. Or why he doesn't just translate them despite the fact that the code gets progressively easier EVERY TIME and if he stared at it for FIVE SECONDS he would understand what the sender was trying to say WITHOUT them having to reveal themselves." He pushed the notebook off the desk. "OBVIOUSLY it's important if it keeps happening over and OVER and OVER-"
"Wait," Dewey interrupted him, furrowing his eyebrows, "I thought you said you didn't read them."
"I haven't. They're Reese's notes. That I didn't write."
"Then how come you know the code would be easy to crack? And that the code gets easier with every time?"
Malcolm's eye twitched. Shit.
"What are you trying to say? That I'm sending Reese love notes? Is THAT what you're saying? Please, Dewey, that's GROSS-"
"...I never said... anything... about love notes..."
His brother stammered for a few seconds, before finally shouting, "GET OUT OF MY ROOM!"
"This is our room. That we share with Reese. Remember? If you have something to say to him, you should probably just say it in person. He's kind of dense."
Malcolm glared at him with the hatred of a thousand of their neighbors and left, slamming the door behind him.
He had apparently forgotten all about that notebook.
Grinning, Dewey grabbed the notebook Malcolm had pushed and flipped through it's pages. Most of them were torn out, and the rest were marked with incomprehensible scribbles or blank.
Except one.
One just had a string of numbers separated by spaces when they were supposed to form words. From the looks of it, Malcolm had just kind of given up all hope of Reese figuring it out on his own, so there were little hints on the side of the page as to what number corresponded with which letter, and in no time at all, just like Malcolm had said, the whole thing was translated.
One thing was for sure: Dewey could finally understand Malcom's frustrations.
The code, as written in English, were ten simple words:
"Dear Reese: I love you so much, sometimes it hurts."
He squinted.
That explained many, many things.