VICTOR: I didn’t get a chance to ask you in person, but would you like to go to the party with me tonight? :)

My hands immediately start tingling with nerves, my fingers turning into icicles.

Victor is asking me out?!

No one has ever asked me out. I should say yes. Victor is cute and nice and he makes me smile. But my fingers only hover over the screen. I can’t make myself type an answer just yet.

Every year around this time, our school puts together a big party to gather funds for the graduating class’s ceremony. The theme is usually St. John’s Day, but I’ve seen heart-shaped flyers getting passed around all week, so I’m guessing this year’s theme will be St. Anthony’s—Brazil’s Valentine’s Day equivalent. Somehow it makes a date with Victor feel like it’s an even bigger deal.

I look up from the screen and catch Pedro on his phone, too, texting under his desk. And I can’t look away. For a brief, strange second, I imagine a different scenario. Like Pedro was the one who texted me, instead of Victor.

I nearly fall off my chair.

WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME?!!!!

I curse under my breath, typing a quick answer back to Victor:

LARI: Sure! :)

Pimentel goes on and on in the background about trigonometric functions, but who cares about sine, cosine, and tangent when I can’t calculate how in the world my mind betrayed me with a thought about going on a date with Pedro Molina?!

I rest my forehead on my desk to cool it off.

VICTOR: Awesome. Meet me at the school gate tonight at 6pm?

Pedro’s desk is already littered with cards, his admirers practically hanging off his neck to convince him to go to the party with them. And I can’t help but wonder if he’s asked anyone to go with him.

Maybe, that’s what he’s doing right now...

Like I care!

I straighten my back and give my head a shake to avoid any more unwanted thoughts and continue texting Victor:

LARI: Sounds good.

The bell rings, marking the end of the day.

Pedro gets on his feet to leave, and there’s a tiny nod of acknowledgment from him when our eyes meet, before he joins the stream of students headed out of the classroom.

And I nod back, my heart beating out of my chest.

I must have gone through every single piece of clothing I own before I collapse in defeat on a pile of discarded options.

Mom pokes her head in, immediately making a face at the mess in my bedroom.

“I’ll organize everything before I leave,” I say, breathless.

I’m still surprised that Mom didn’t object to this party, so I don’t want to push her buttons in case she changes her mind.