That’s right, I actually know her name now! Her full name, which feels like a huge leap in the right direction.

“Emily Rodriguez,” she said, smiling, and I almost started to feel dizzy again just at that. We’d just been standing there, kind of staring at each other, before Madison legit cleared her throat like a bad romcom sidekick and threw us back into actual human being “we should probably introduce ourselves” mode.

Look, meeting new people, getting to know them … it’s not what I’d call my strong suit. Unless they rollerblade or have strong opinions about sous-vide-ing, I usually don’t have much to say to other people. And other people my age? Terrifying. The only reason I feel remotely secure in talking to Madison is because I’ve known her for six months and also she’s the Energizer Bunny of good feelings and smiles, so she makes it pretty easy.

But standing there in front of Emily, seeing her cheeks dimple as she smiled, her brown eyes lighting up, I went a bit jelly-legged. So I opted for the safe choice: ignoring Emily completely and talking only to Madison like an asshat.

“I’m just here to pick up my paycheck,” I said, looking over Emily’s shoulder at Madison’s bright, blond-haired head.

“Oh, right,” she said, her eyes darting between me and Emily. I could feel a blush rising on my cheeks and everything in my body was screaming for it to stop. I don’t usually blush in front of girls, I am not, in my nature, a blusher, but there’s something about Emily. Something about how warm her smile is, how she asked me what I was writing, the small giggle she gave when we locked eyes and gestured to our shared wrist injuries. It drew me in in a way that no one ever has. For once, I actually want to listen to my irritating mother and turn my focus onto a person, not one of my obsessive hobbies.

“I’ll just go back and grab it for you,” Madison chirped. “I’ve got to grab Emily’s soup anyway.”

“Oh no, you really don’t—” I started, but it was too late. Her long, blond hair whipping behind her, Madison zipped through the dining room and disappeared through the kitchen doors, leaving me staring at the back of her head, the only sound the steady drip-drip-drip of water falling off the edge of my raincoat.

Don’t take an umbrella. My mother’s visions have a sick sense of humor. There had to have been a way to get the same result without me being soaking wet the entire time.