A New Reflection

7. Ride

As I climb into Alex's dark grey Volkswagen Jetta, I can't help registering in the logical area of my brain that my parents would be uneasy with my present decision.

"Okay, which way?" Alex asks with upbeat energy.

I point to the right, and he turns out of the parking lot. Alex plugs in his phone to connect the stereo system, then continues fiddling with it as he's driving—something I would never dream of doing. He continues poking buttons on the screen haphazardly, scrolling through his Spotify playlists. Eventually, he lands on Shawn Mendez.

"Señorita" is my current favorite song. Either Alex selected this music as something he thought I might enjoy, or he listens to Shawn Mendez, and both of these possibilities cause a brief flicker of tingles in the tips of my fingers.

"You slayed it today in practice," Alex informs me, and my stomach does several somersaults.

"Thank you."

"So..." he begins, drumming the steering wheel as if attempting to uncover a topic of discussion from his imagination. It's not a nervous drumming but rather a cool and carefree fidgeting.

"What do you do besides volleyball and school?" he asks me.

"I also play basketball."

"Yeah, I remember that. You were shooting the ball that one day."

Right. They ran an intensive summer volleyball training program for us, and one day I mixed up the times and arrived almost an hour early. The coaches were laid out on the stage (one of our gyms doubles as a theater auditorium), napping between training sessions; I didn't want to bother my mom to pick me back up, so I just shot a volleyball around in the basketball hoop for forty-five minutes until the other girls arrived.

My face flushes at the memory.

"Besides sports, any hobbies?" Alex presses.

"Um, yeah—I play the piano," I answer softly, a frog in my throat.

"Really?" he responds with enthusiasm. "That's awesome! How long have you played?"

"I've been taking lessons for about eight years."

"Wow, you must be really good."

I'm out of breath from this conversation and working to control the amount of air entering and exiting my body so Alex doesn't notice. He bops to the music and sings a phrase or two, airy—not a care in the world. He smells like sweat and cologne, and it's intoxicating. I'm praying the stench of my sweaty sneakers doesn't waft across to his side of the car.

"What about school? You have a favorite subject?"

The amount of questions is surprising, and normally such an interrogation would cause my soul to slowly shrivel inside. But there's something about his demeanor that makes me feel almost like... I can handle this conversation. I'm vaguely aware that I should be reciprocating the questions, but that level of human engagement is beyond me.

"Hm," I say, pausing to consider. "Maybe English? Also math, though. And Spanish. Actually, this semester my favorite class is probably psychology."

Alex chuckles. "So, every class then is your favorite then."

A one-second giggle escapes my mouth.

"You're lucky. I freaking hated my classes in high school. I was a terrible student, just terrible." He shakes his head as he says the last part.

A pang of disappointment fizzes in my stomach, followed by a very sarcastic internal eye roll. It doesn't matter, Natalia; you're not dating him.