A New Reflection

8. Memes and Emojis

"Come to church with us this weekend, Nati!" Sasha insists during Monday's lunch period.

Spring is in full force, and the sunlight washing over me as I sit cross-legged on the silky grass coats me in an unexpected layer of confidence. I've always been fascinated by the random ebb and flow of my confidence and insecurities. The border of daffodils around our lunch area and the dappled shade from the maple trees envelop me in a nature hug, and I am at ease here with my friends, who are feeling more and more like actual friends with each passing day.

"Okay, I think I can," I respond.

"Yay! Nati's going to come, you guys!" Sasha spreads the word to our group. My friends act excited. The challenge with my personality is that people usually either ignore me or protect me. Thus, I partially interpret this positive reaction as condescension rather than true excitement to hang out with me. It's not that I don't view myself as an interesting person, but the truth is that I haven't shown my personality to them. I'm merely a façade of myself.

Yet, I think the walls are slowly breaking down.

* * *

Ever since Alex rested his leg against mine at the volleyball tournament for seven seconds, I have started obsessively analyzing his every interaction with the girls on our team. I have several memories of our bodies coming into subtle contact over the past two weeks, and I'm curious to observe if this is simply his way of interacting with people.

Throughout the week, I don't notice anything odd. Alex runs drills, belts out instructions, scolds us when we slack off and encourages us when appropriate. He doles out high fives and fist bumps, employing his catchphrase "genius" liberally. I note the manner in which his sense of humor manifests. He cracks jokes, but they are directed generally to the group; there's no banter with any specific girls on the team. In other words, his demeanor is dry and professional, and I pretend to myself that his interactions with me have been somehow different—special.

Steve affords me another chance to play right-side hitter, and I perform decently at this week's games. I'm slowly gaining more playing time.

The weather is warming, and I venture a new outfit on Friday. My mom recently took me shopping for spring and summer clothing. I'm wearing dark jean shorts, in which I actually like the look of my legs and butt, and a lacy white top. Despite my other insecurities about my appearance, I don't suffer from the body-image problems that seem to plague about ninety-five percent of teenage girls.

I'm rushing to the locker rooms to change before our 3:00 practice when I spy Alex across the way. Oh my God, my brain chants repeatedly. My only goal is to not embarrass myself. I hate spotting people from a distance, because I never know at what point you're supposed to make eye contact to acknowledge you've seen each other. If you're too eager, you end up with a long, awkward wait while attempting not to stare at one another.

Alex makes it easy for me by waving a spirited arm back and forth, then jogging towards me. When we near each other, his eyes scan me up and down with a look I would interpret as surprise, if I had any trust in my ability to read people in the moment. He approaches me until he's standing closer than expected, and his cheeks are pinkish.

"You look pretty," he tells me casually.

I think I just open my mouth and leave it that way for a full five seconds.

"Do you need a ride again today?" he asks, and the question totally throws me off.

"Uh, yeah. I can ask Kelsey or Beck. They live near me."

"I can give you a ride," he counters, self-assured.

I say nothing, and there's a thick energy between us—at least for me. I'm suffocating in the uncertainty of what is happening in this moment.