CHAPTER TEN

“Wow!” Mariah says when I greet her the next morning. “Who messed up and gave you coffee?”

One of my parents’ few rules is that we don’t drink coffee. That doesn’t stop me from getting the occasional Frappuccino, but I always regret the crash afterward way more than I enjoy the boost. I think caffeine just doesn’t work with my brain. But I am feeling pretty peppy this morning.

I grin. “No coffee.”

“OK . . .” Mariah squints, grabbing a ball and following me to a nearby basket to warm up. She banks a shot off the backboard through the net, runs forward, and snags the rebound. On the landing, she whips around, shoes squeaking, and points at me. “Wait a fucking minute. I know that grin. You have a new crush.”

I blush and shoot a three from the top of the key. Nothing but net.

“Hayley! You better tell me.”

I head over to my bag and fish out my phone. When I show her Mel’s account, she nods appreciatively. “She’s cute.”

“Thanks.” I blush, putting the phone back in my bag. “She’s really cool. We had our first date yesterday.”

“Nice! You gonna see her again?”

I toss Mariah the ball and run ahead of her back to the court. “That’s the plan!”

She drives up behind me, pulls up for a shot, and I jump to block her, but I’m too late. She sinks it and we high-five. I’m feeling good.

Warm-up winds down, and once everyone’s circled up, we go over the plan for the day. Sherika hangs back as I take the lead, which feels good. At first, she was running things and I assisted. But now that I’m feeling more confident, it’s like she sees that and is giving me the opportunity to step up, and because of her help—her mentorship—the varsity girls are listening to me, too.

Halfway through practice, I look up and see Coach on the sidelines. She’s watching us run drills, and when she sees me looking at her, she gives me a thumbs-up and a big grin. I wave back. I don’t know how long she’s been standing there, but I know I’ve been doing a good job keeping the other girls focused today.

“What did I tell you?” Mariah says as she jogs to the back of the line behind me. “You’re making varsity next year for sure.”

“Who’s making varsity?” Trinity lines up behind Mariah.

“Hayley,” Mariah says.

“You don’t know that!” I say. I want it to be true, but I don’t want to get too ahead of myself.

“Oh yeah, for sure,” Trinity says. “That or JV captain.”

“That’s what I’m saying!” Mariah says.

“Only if y’all come with me.” I hold out a hand.

“Deal,” Mariah says, and we do our handshake.

When the drill wraps up, I look around, but Coach is gone. The rest of practice goes fast; we divide into four teams for a mini-tournament, and my team wins.

I’m gathering my stuff together, chatting with Anh and Trinity, when I hear it: a chorus of oohs echoing across the gym. I look up. Some of the varsity girls are catcalling Sherika. Trey’s standing in the doorway, and he’s got a massive grin on his face. Sherika waves off her friends and trots over to him, and they kiss.

I wait for the pang, but nothing comes.

They kiss longer, and then disappear out the door together. Her friends follow behind, talking among themselves.

My phone buzzes. I pull it out, but it’s just Jacob texting the group chat about some show he wants us to watch. I haven’t heard from Mel yet, but my chest gets warm just thinking about her.

Wait.

I think I’m over Sherika.

My stomach swoops at the thought. Holy shit. I did it.

Anh and Trinity say their goodbyes, and then the gym is empty. I lock up the gear closet, scan once for anything left behind, and then head outside, locking the door behind me.

I’m over Sherika. Completely.

I smile up at the blue sky. I can’t wait for my next date with Mel.

I pull my phone out of my bag, half-hoping she’s DM’d me in the last ten minutes since I checked. I’ve been glued to my phone lately, waiting for messages from her. She hasn’t, but there’s a text from Talia: GUESS WHO HAS A DATE!!!

I FaceTime her immediately. “YOU HAVE A DATE?” I scream when she picks up. She flinches and bursts out laughing.

“Me and Rose just made plans,” she says, grinning.

“Oh my god,” I say, almost tripping over part of the sidewalk where a tree root is busting through the concrete. “What did they say? What are you gonna do? How are you feeling?”

“They said, ‘I’m free Friday, how about noon?’ And I said, ‘That sounds great.’ We’re going to get ice cream. I’m feeling . . .” She waves her free hand wildly.

“ICE CREAM!” I shriek. “That’s so cute!”

Her cheeks turn pink. “I know. Plus, it’s low-key. So I can just get to know them better.”

“Now we have to do a double date! You and Rose with me and Mel!” I’d called Talia as soon as I got home from seeing Mel yesterday and told her all the details.

“We should probably go on more than one date with them before we do that,” Talia says.

“Taliaaaaaaa!”

“Whaaaaat?”

“I know you are the queen of planning, and I love you for it, but just fantasize with me for a second. Wouldn’t it be so cute if that happened?”

“Yeah.” She smiles. “It would be really cute.”

“Thank you.” I’m at the bus stop, and I look up from the phone to see the bus coming. “I gotta go, I don’t wanna be that person on the bus, but I’m so excited for you and I want to hear all about it when you get home tomorrow, OK?”

She gives me a thumbs-up, I blow her a kiss, and we hang up.

Friday morning, I get a response from Mel: a heart reaction on a meme I sent her after my other message, but no answer to when she wants to see me again.

Maybe she’s busy or something.

I distract myself by texting Talia to hype her up for her date.

At the end of practice, Mel still hasn’t said anything else, and Talia’s on her date, so I can’t text her for advice on what to do. Not that I need it. Everything’s fine. Not everyone is a constant texter. I just need to chill. Mel will get in touch soon.

My phone pings, and I yank it out of my bag so fast I almost drop it. But it’s just a text from the group chat. I almost put away my phone, but then I do a double take.

Karina just broke up with me :(

I stare at the message from Bri. I almost don’t understand it, like it’s written in another language.

How is this possible? They seemed—oh.

The pool. I guess I wasn’t just projecting. The energy between them was off.

OMG WHAT? Noooooo! Kev texts.

Jacob sends a bunch of sad emojis. What do you need??

Idk, Bri says. She just texted me.

SHE BROKE UP WITH YOU OVER TEXT? I say.

Yup.

I can come over, practice just got done. I turn around and start walking in the direction of Bri’s house.

That would be good. Bri’s a pretty flat texter in general, but usually they throw in a random emoji or two. Not now. It’s just text, and the vibe is totally different. I can tell they’re really upset.

Everyone else is busy, except Jacob, who says he’ll be over soon, too. I walk fast, and it only takes me fifteen minutes to get to Bri’s house, a huge, sunset-orange old house sitting in the neighborhood near Ravenna Park. As I arrive at the bottom of their front steps, Jacob rounds the corner.

“I can’t believe this is happening,” he says when he gets to me. “I thought they were solid.”

“I know.” We head up the concrete steps, painted a teal that contrasts beautifully with the color of the house. At the top, I grab the hidden key from under the flowerpot and let us in.

The inside of Bri’s house is as brightly colored as the outside; every wall is a gallery of paintings and photographs. One of Bri’s moms is an artist, and she’s always collaborating with local arts initiatives or exhibiting paintings in museums around the country. She does huge paintings, mostly of Black women, in this maximalist rainbow palette. Bri’s other mom is a tenured professor at the university. Neither of them are home right now, though; the house is quiet when we walk in. If Artist Mom was here, music would be blasting from the back of the house where her studio space is. If Professor Mom was here, she’d be grading papers on the couch.

We head up the stairs to the second floor. I call Bri’s name so they aren’t startled, and tap gently on their bedroom door.

They open it. I can tell they’ve been crying, and as soon as they see us, the tears well up all over again.

“Do you want a hug?” I ask.

They nod, and I wrap my arms around them while Jacob squeezes their arm and makes sympathetic noises. After a moment, Bri sighs. “Can you squeeze tighter?”

I do. When Bri wants touch, pressure helps them regulate. Once I feel them start to shift, I let go and then we settle in our usual spots—them on their bed, me in the beanbag chair, Jacob sprawled on the floor.

“I’m so sorry,” I say.

“What happened?” Jacob asks. “If you want to talk about it. It’s OK if you don’t.”

“No, I do.” Bri wipes a hand over their cheek. “Um . . . well . . . we had this whole, uh, talk like a week ago. She said she wanted me to be more romantic. The thing is, I thought I was. I bring her little things that remind me of her all the time, like cool rocks I find at the park, or the candy she likes when I’m at the corner store.” They pick at the bedspread, a tear rolling down their face. “And I made her an entire playlist of all the songs I was listening to when we first started getting to know each other. She liked some of the songs, but didn’t understand why I put others on there, and I tried explaining that they all remind me of her because I was listening to them at the time, but she didn’t really get it . . . So I’ve been trying to think of ways to be more romantic, but I don’t know how and she didn’t tell me. And I know I should just know. But I don’t.”

“But she understands that planning stuff isn’t really your thing, right?” I think back to what Bri told us at the lake, how Karina had orchestrated a special day full of all their favorite things.

“I thought so.” Bri shrugged. “I told her early on I tend to get stuck on doing the same things. And that I haven’t had a girlfriend before, and I don’t really understand the purpose of all that stereotypical romantic stuff. But in our talk . . .” They choke up. “She said she thought it would change once we were together for a while.”

“Wow,” Jacob says. “And she didn’t really even give you a chance to try.”

“I mean, it’s OK.” Bri sniffles. “She doesn’t have to. I should just get it.”

“No.” I shake my head. “You two have been together for like, what, six months?”

“Four.”

“Still. You’re not some random hookup; you had a whole-ass relationship!”

“Yeah.” Bri straightens up. “We were girlfriends.”

“Exactly!” I throw out my hands. “You deserve a chance to make things right. Or at least an in-person breakup.”

“What did she say?” Jacob asks.

“She just said she felt like things weren’t working and said we should break up,” Bri says.

Jacob and I make a shocked noise at the same time. We all sit together in silence.

Bri plays with one of their fidget toys. “What if I’m . . .” They swallow. We wait. “What if I’m just . . . not good at relationships? If I can’t do basic stuff like romance—”

“Bri, no,” Jacob says. “You can do romance. You just have a different idea of what’s romantic than Karina does, and it’s sad that she can’t see that.”

“Everyone has a different way that they like to be loved though, right?” Bri says. “You have to find out what makes your person feel good and do that. Like the whole love languages thing.”

“OK, first of all, that guy is a homophobic Evangelical Christian with zero therapeutic training,” Jacob says. His special interest is relationships and communication, and I can tell he’s starting to get warmed up talking about this. “But regardless, you also have to appreciate the way the other person naturally shows their love, too.”

“Exactly,” I say. I think of some of the therapists I follow on socials and their videos about healthy relationships. “You showed your feelings in the way that was natural for you, and just because Karina couldn’t see or appreciate that doesn’t mean you’re bad at relationships. Did she ever even tell you what would make her feel good? Beyond just, like, ‘romance’?”

“No.”

“Did you ask?”

“. . . No.”

“Huh.” I rub the back of my hair, thinking. “Well, still. I mean, maybe you could have asked, but she also could have told you what she meant.”

“Ugh.” Bri buries their face in their hands. “I am so bad at communicating!”

I look at Jacob and grimace. Clearly, I’m not helping. He takes the cue.

“You can get better at that,” he says.

“It’s too late now.” Bri says, voice muffled.

“Are you sure?” he asks.

“She said it was over. I don’t want to push her.”

“What did she say—like, word for word?”

Bri hands their phone over, and Jacob reads the text exchange. Then he rereads it, brow furrowing. “Oh man. Bri. She didn’t say you should break up.” He reads the text aloud. “ ‘I feel like things have been weird between us lately. It seems like things aren’t working. I’m not sure what to do. Should we break up?’ ” He puts the phone down and we lock eyes. His gaze shifts to Bri. “She’s not telling you. She’s asking. She wanted to have a conversation.”

I look at Bri. They’re frowning, and I can see the calculations happening behind their eyes. “So . . . I could say I don’t want to break up? And that would be OK?”

“Yeah! She asked you a question. It wasn’t a statement.”

“This is your chance to be honest with her,” I say. “You can explain that you don’t know what romance means to her, and tell her about the ways you show your feelings.”

“I mean, I tried to do that with the playlist, and she didn’t really get it.”

“Bri . . .” I trail off. Something is coming to my mind. “Did you ever tell her you think you’re probably autistic?”

There’s a long silence. Then Bri lets out a heavy sigh. “No.”

“Do you think that might help her understand about the ways you show you like her?” I ask. “I know you said you tried to tell her and she didn’t get it. Maybe she would if she understood more about what it means to be neurodivergent. If you sent her some of those accounts you follow.”

“But I’m not officially diagnosed. What if she doesn’t believe me?”

“Well, you won’t know unless you find out,” Jacob says. “And if she doesn’t believe you, then that says more about her than you.”

Bri groans, smushing their hands against their face. “This is so uncomfortable.”

“Yeah,” I say. “But you like her, and she likes you, and it seems like she wants to talk, so the door is already open. You just have to walk through it. She wouldn’t have asked you if she just wanted to go straight to break up.”

“I guess.”

“Bri.”

“OK, OK.”

“Can I ask you something else?” I watch them, and they nod. “Why didn’t you talk to us earlier? Like when you were first starting to worry?”

They pick at the comforter. “I don’t know . . . everyone just seemed so happy. I didn’t want to bring you all down.”

“Bri.” I smack my forehead. “It doesn’t bring me down when you’re having problems! I don’t want you to be sad, obviously, and it makes me sad to see you sad, but it doesn’t ruin my life or anything.”

“Seriously,” Jacob adds. “Next time, tell us when you’re struggling. We’re your friends. We love you.”

“Thanks.” Bri’s eyes fill with tears again. “Can I have another hug?”

“Absolutely.” I jump up and sit down beside them, wrapping them in my arms. When we pull back from the hug, Jacob is standing there holding out Bri’s phone. They take it from him.

“You do you, but I think you should text Karina about this,” he says.

They nod and take a deep breath, opening the message thread. “Tell me what to say, Communication King.”

After dinner that night, I curl up in my nest of blankets to watch some cartoons. Talia promised to FaceTime me once I was free, but she’s still eating with her parents, so I have to wait for the details on her date.

My mind is still on Bri. After they texted Karina, Jacob and I stuck around for a while to distract them. They drew both of us while we played video games, and eventually Karina texted back. She was relieved and wanted to meet up and talk things out with Bri, but I still feel buzzy from their almost-breakup. It’s not my relationship, obviously, but I love them together. It was the first relationship any of my friends have had, and it gave me hope for my own future relationship.

My phone vibrates.

“Finally!” I say when I pick up.

Talia grins. “Were you just wasting away waiting for me?”

I throw a hand to my forehead and pretend to faint back onto my pillow. “I’m weak! I require an infusion of romance immediately.”

“But of course!” She settles back onto her own bed, pulling her weighted blanket over her chest. “So. I know I sent you pics of my outfit before I left.”

I nod. It was a super-cute, classic Talia look: A white T-shirt tucked into high-waisted shorts, with a wrist full of bracelets for a low-key fidget toy. Her hair was up, and she was wearing small gold hoops. “You looked so cute.”

“Thanks!” she says. “Rose looked really cute, too. They were wearing the vest they had on at the salon, and they dyed their hair—wait. Let me start at the beginning.”

I smile. Talia always has to give me as much context as possible. Every detail is important to her. She says it’s because she can’t tell which details need to stay and which should be left out when telling a story, and sometimes she gets self-conscious about talking for too long, but I like the way she notices everything.

She takes me start to finish through the date: her walk down into Capitol Hill and how she was glad she put on extra deodorant because she got so sweaty; the vegan ice cream shop Rose picked and their delicious gluten-free waffle cones; the cute little bench outside where they sat and ate their ice cream as fast as they could but it still melted; how Rose went inside to get them both napkins, and then someone walking a bulldog came along and they got to pet the bulldog—

I can see it like a movie in my head as she talks. Their conversation flowed really well, and Rose told them all about astrology and how it works.

“And then they walked me home, even though it was the opposite direction from their bus,” Talia says. She pauses, and her face flushes.

“Oh my god. Did you kiss?”

She shakes her head. “It kind of seemed like they wanted to, though? We looked at each other for a long time, and they kept giggling, but I didn’t really want to kiss them. I know that sounds weird.”

“I mean, I didn’t kiss Mel,” I remind her.

“But you wanted to.”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah, see . . . I didn’t want to.”

“Huh.” I watch her face. She’s not making eye contact anymore. “Maybe you just need to get to know them more?”

“You’re probably right. They are really cool.” She looks at me again and smiles.

“That’s awesome!” I raise my hand like I’m going to high-five her through the phone, and she mimics me. “We did it! We had our first dates.”

“We did it!” She echoes, grinning, and flaps her free hand.

Then it’s my turn for story time, and I tell her what happened with Bri and Karina. “It just made me think—I mean, it was such a freaky miscommunication. They could have broken up just because of the assumption Bri made about Karina’s text.”

Talia shakes her head. “I’d be so stoked to get the kind of gestures that Bri does for Karina. How is that not romantic enough?”

I shrug. “I don’t know. Everyone’s different, though.”

“It just all seems so effortless from the outside,” Talia says. “I mean, my parents have been married for twenty-five years and they made it work, even when they were having problems. And yours are, like, couple goals.”

“I know.” I throw up my hand. “My parents seem perfect together. And so did Bri and Karina.”

“What do people do when there’s a really big problem? Not that Bri and Karina’s thing is trivial. But you know what I mean.” Talia frowns.

“Couples’ counseling, maybe? Your parents did that.”

“Yeah. What if you can’t afford that, though?”

We both lie in our beds in silence. Have my parents ever had problems like Bri and Karina have? Or something even worse, and I just never knew? I assumed they were just always good together. I assumed all you needed to do was find your person and then things would fall into place. Easy, like in the movies.

I’ve been fantasizing about having someone to date for years, but now it feels like I made up movie scenes for my life without thinking about the characters. I’ve spent so much time thinking about this mystery girl and all the amazing experiences we could have together, and I made that list, but I haven’t even factored myself into the equation.

What would I be like as a girlfriend? What’s it really like to be part of a couple, to have someone to go on dates with, to kiss, to hold hands?

I always assumed it would be great. But that was just my imagination. Bri and Karina are so good together, and they like each other so much, and they still almost broke up. Even with Mel—we had such a good date, and I’ve barely heard from her since.

“I don’t know,” I say finally. “This is more complicated than I thought.”