“I really liked the class, Mom. It was awesome and I’m going back.” I continued walking away from her without making direct eye contact.

“But Adrian —” I shut my door before she could finish her sentence. All I heard was a loud sigh from the other side. I picked up the box without realizing how awkward it was to carry. My best bet to get to Redemption House was to take the bus that dropped me off a few blocks away.

I thought it’d be easy enough until I got to my bus stop. It was way too hot, and I didn’t know why I decided to wear a black hoodie and jeans while carrying an awkward, flimsy box that I had to carry with both hands. I was already sweaty and gross. Everyone on the bus was looking at me. It was horrible. I could feel their eyes linger on me longer than they should have. I hated being the centre of anyone’s attention, so a ten-minute bus ride felt like an eternity. I was relieved to press the stop button and get off.

Once I made it to Redemption House, I walked the box to the front steps of the café and sat down. I felt weird about meeting up with someone I had only met on the Internet. I didn’t know who she was. What if she was just a troll trying to ghost me? It was even weirder thinking that was how some people dated. What if you thought someone was super cool and then you met them in person, and they ended up being totally different? I guess those were the risks people had to take.

I sat there for a few minutes before I heard someone yell, “Hey, dude!”

I looked across the parking lot and saw a girl around my age. Without being cliché — yes, my eyes widened and I could feel my chest tighten. Everything else just kind of disappeared. I saw Mel. She had beautiful deep, dark brown skin and long hair in a ponytail with bangs that came over her forehead. She wore a black button-up shirt that had five skeletons playing the keytar on it. It was super edgy looking.

“Hey,” I managed to say. “You’re Mel, right?”

“Yeah. I kind of look like my display photo, don’t I?” she said sarcastically.

“Yeah,” I replied. Truth be told, I’d been more focused on selling the records and I hadn’t really looked through her profile.

“So . . . these are the records?” She pointed to the box sitting beside me.

“Uhh . . . yeah!” I told her as I came back to Earth. “They’re here. They’re barely used, I think.”

“Oh, shit,” she replied. “I didn’t realize that it might be heavy. My dad was supposed to drive me back to our place, but he got called into work and couldn’t.”

“I could carry them back to your place,” I volunteered.

“You don’t have to, that’s a pretty lame cliché,” she said.