A New Reflection

16. Adjectives

As I lay in bed that night, my fingers are tingling as if I drank a triple shot mocha. I can't fall asleep.

I hear a buzzing on the desk across my room. Normally, I leave my phone charging in the kitchen overnight, but lately I find myself bringing it into my room, "just in case."

Expecting to be disappointed, my chest lights on fire when I see Alex's name flash green across the screen.

Funny, eh?

I think I know what he's referring to, but it's my practiced habit to avoid all social risks.

What?

My hands almost disintegrate as I clutch the phone and wait for three dots to materialize into words.

You think I'm funny?

I think he's so many things, including and beyond funny.

You are funny, I reply, adding a laughing with tears emoji. You think I'm insightful? I ask, mirroring his game.

I think you're insightful... and many other things.

Alone in my bed, I gasp in a startled breath.

I send a bright red question mark and write, Such as?

My hands are trembling and covered in tiny, glistening specks of sweat.

I don't know if I should say, he writes. With the mischievous, hand covering a snickering mouth emoji.

My brain is screaming.

Okay... is all I can manage.

Goodnight Nati. Tonight was... great.

I wonder which part of the night he thought was great, though I think I know... yet I don't dare let myself believe it... even though the mounting evidence is difficult to ignore.

Goodnight Alex.

Exhaustion and uncertainty and ballooning desire swirl together until my brain clouds over with sleep.

Bzzzz

I can't help it; I lift myself up onto my elbow and hold my phone in front of my face, unlocking it magically with my reflection.

Okay just one...

Hermosa.

Spanish for... gorgeous.

* * *

I spend the next two days floating through life, my head disconnected from my body. The bottoms of my shoes seem to have giant cartoon springs attached; I bounce-walk from class to class and jump higher than ever during volleyball. My brain is made of glitter.

Alex acts completely normal around me during our games and practice, and I will myself not to look his direction for fear of giving something away. He doesn't text me again the rest of the week. I have no idea why sometimes he texts and sometimes he doesn't. I wonder if he's worried about the lines we're crossing, and if so, who or what he's most concerned about. On the one hand, he seems like the kind of person who doesn't stress too much over following rules. Yet, there is a thoughtful side to him.

By Friday, I'm coming down off my high as it dawns on me that less than two weeks of the volleyball season remain, and I may never see Alex again afterwards. The reality is difficult to swallow, and each time I think of it, a hard lump of tangled emotions sticks in my throat.

When we're safely in Alex's car after practice, without having been seen by anyone else, he turns to me with a bright and hopeful face.

"I want to show you something. Are you feeling spontaneous?" he asks.