I knock on Selena’s door, and that familiar voice calls out through the small crack. “Come in, Scarlet.”

  My heart skips a beat. It’s Oliver, and he knows I’m coming. How else could he say my name without even seeing me?

  I had hoped the whole way here that he would be home. I even caught myself praying for it. But now that he actually is, I freeze, and my feet don’t move. It feels like I have forgotten how to walk. I take a deep breath and push the door open.

  He watches me step inside, and just like that, I am aware of everything... how I move, how I smile, where my hands rest, where my eyes go. I wonder if I walk awkwardly. I probably do. Maybe even my breathing is off, coming out louder and faster than it should be. My face flushes immediately, and to make things worse, the warmth spreads.

  “Selena’s in the bath. She’ll be here in a minute,” he says, eyes dropping to the phone in his hand.

  I stay near the door, awkward and unsure what to do. Usually, when I come over, Selena meets me at the door or on the porch, and we head straight upstairs. That seems to be what she wants, though sometimes I wish I could hang around a little longer downstairs to catch a glimpse of her brother. I always glance around, hoping to see him, but he’s rarely home. Now that he is here, finally, I don’t know how to act. All of a sudden, I’m thankful to Selena for sparing me all the possible awkwardness by not letting me hang around anywhere except her room.

  I’ve known Selena for about a year, ever since I moved into the neighbourhood, but we only became close friends a few months ago. I’ve had a quiet crush on her brother since the first time I met him at school. I was carrying a stack of library books when he came rushing around the corner and bumped into me. He said sorry and started backing away from me, his eyes still on me. I couldn’t get over how handsome he was as I took a closer look. That carefree hair falling into his forehead, paired with those deep brown eyes, gives him an effortless charm. I’ve never had a movie-scene moment in my life, the kind you see hundreds of times on screen and think, ‘Why can’t the director come up with something new?’ but this… this was it. I crouched to pick up my books without looking at him.

  He’d only taken a few steps before turning and running off. In an instant, the attraction stirring in me turned into frustration. How on earth does he not help me, unlike in the movies? The more I replayed it that night, the more irritated I felt, a little hurt too. But the next day, he came back to apologize, to make it right. He said he’d been late for baseball practice, so he hadn’t stopped to help me with my books. Even though the apology came late, it revealed everything I needed to know. He’s handsome, sure, but his personality’s equally golden, which says a lot about how he was raised. He even handed me a chocolate to show how sorry he was. As cringe as it sounds, I still have that untouched Lindt Excellence bar in my favourite velvet box, and I take it out every day to stroke it, as if it still carries a trace of him.

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  I glance up the stairs a few times, expecting Selena to come down and rescue me from this silent struggle, but the shower’s still running. My hands rub against each other as I grow more restless.

  I’ve always been quiet and bookish, inclined to keep everything inside rather than spill it out. Selena’s the opposite - outgoing, confident, and always surrounded by people. She has her hands in nearly everything, whether it’s sports, dance, music, fishing, hunting, or any other outdoor activity. We became friends when I started helping her with math, which is why I’m here today. We’ve got a test tomorrow.

  Selena and I both do well in school, though I usually pull just a step ahead. Math, in particular, keeps her in second place, and I know it bothers her. She studies late into the night, her books a mess of scribbled equations, and I secretly admire the effort behind them. She wants to be number one, and I don’t mind at all. If anything, I find myself rooting for her in my own way, quietly impressed by her grit, her fire, her relentless enthusiasm. It isn’t only about grades; it’s the pride she takes in being the best at everything she does, the satisfaction of inching forward, the joy in testing her limits. Who am I to argue with that?

  Oliver doesn’t study much, but he manages fine. His grades aren’t as high as ours, but he doesn’t seem to care. Baseball’s where his heart lies, and he pours himself into it with everything he’s got. When it comes to popularity, his grades don’t matter. He’s the kind of guy every school seems to have. Everyone knows him, and naturally, all the girls want him.

  “You can sit,” he says, noticing my fingers fidgeting with the straps of my backpack.

  I glance around their small living room. Even though the house is a decent size, the living area is modest, with a couch, TV, coffee table, a rustic deer-head artwork on the wall, and a potted fiddle leaf fig in the corner. He’s sitting in the middle of the sofa, leaning slightly to one side. Sitting near him feels like stepping into a daydream I’ve replayed too many times. But instead of going for it, I walk to the far end and sit down at the edge, holding the armrest like it might help me stay calm.

  He picks up a cookie and takes a bite. I steal a quick look at him, and of course, he looks up at the same time. When our eyes meet, I’m suddenly embarrassed, yet I enjoy the jolt of electricity sparking through me, leaving a fleeting trail of goosebumps.

  “Want one?” he asks.

  I shake my head. “No.”

  Even the shake feels unnatural, too fast, too stiff. Why can’t I ever act normal? I groan inside.

  Good thing he doesn’t seem to notice. He leans back, almost turning toward me, which somehow makes it worse. Thankfully, his focus stays on his phone. Watching him from the corner of my eye, I can’t help wondering what he’s so focused on. It’s not a video, no sound, no headphones, and he isn’t even scrolling. Whatever it is, he’s completely absorbed, definitely something baseball-related.

  A few minutes pass, then I hear footsteps upstairs. Selena’s voice follows. “Oh, you’re here. Come up.” After a short pause, she asks Oliver, “You didn’t leave yet? I thought you were heading out.”

  “Waiting for Tom,” he replies, still looking at his phone.

  I have to walk past him to get to the stairs, and I tell myself not to overthink it, to move like any normal person. He isn’t even looking, so I rise slowly and step forward as if I haven’t spent the last few minutes freaking out inside.

  As expected, he doesn’t look up. He doesn’t say anything.

  I climb the stairs, trying to calm my silly heart that’s racing too fast over nothing.