Cold air blows out when I open the panel. An assortment of water and colored cans occupy the shelves. I don’t recognize any of the flavors.

“Mini-fridge,” I say.

“Sweet, what’s it got?”

“Drinks.”

“Good, I’m super thirsty.”

Glacia stretches her hands over the panel. I pick out a soda called Nectar Spice, peek over the panel to make sure she can’t see, and give the can a few shakes. Then I place it in her hands, which disappear again. I hear her crack it open and—

“Eeeeek!”

—fizz sprays everywhere.

Glacia splutters and holds the can away from the bed. I seal the mini-fridge and find her glaring at me. Droplets of soda drip down her face and accumulate under her chin.

“Whyyyyy,” she whines.

“Um…you needed a nice refresher?” I shrug. “You know, from walking around so much.”

She scoffs. “A nice—”

I jab my finger forward and swipe it under her chin to catch some of the soda drops. She looks dumbfounded when I taste it.

“Mmmm,” I moan. “Drink up, Glace.”

She narrows her eyes and slowly takes a sip, then ponders the taste. “Not bad.”

She pats the bed next to her as she takes another swig. I sit next to her, and that light fluttering sensation twists my stomach and tingles in my arms. I take a sip of soda, staring straight ahead, but every part of me wants to look at her. It’s difficult. I have to bite my cheek to resist the urge. It’d be too obvious and awkward. I keep—

“You called me Glace again.”

I wait exactly three seconds, then look at her. I’ve been calling her that on purpose. Still, I act confused.

“Hmm?”

She cups the soda can in both hands and tries to find what to say. “You’ve called me that a couple times.”

“Have I?”

“Yeah.”

“Hmm, weird.”

“Yeah.”

I stare at the window again, but this time I focus my eyes until our reflection comes into view. Me and Glacia, sitting on the bed holding soda cans. Her dark-blonde hair falls over both shoulders, with a shorter strand falling down the side of her forehead, and her bright hazel eyes gleam in the room’s light. Her mouth is set firmly, so that dimples etch her cheeks. She seems distant, lost in thought like me.

I’m trying to remember the first day we talked. I shuffle through my memories. What was our first actual conversation? Until recently, I never talked to Glacia except when it was necessary. That narrows it down to school projects and some choice words during Hologis tournaments. But I come up blank. We never shared stories or ate lunch together. Nothing. She shoved me out of line that one day at Secondary, and that was it.

So how did we end up here?

“Arman?”

Her voice pulls me out of my thoughts.

“What’s up?”