When the Clock Struck Twelve | ✔️

There was a boy staring across the living room at Leone. He was holding a beer bottle loosely by his side, wearing a red paper crown and a t-shirt that said I HAVE NEVER BEEN TO THE MOON.

"What?" she finally said, because he'd been trailing his eyes up and down her body for at least a minute.

His voice was deep and loud. "You're covered in circles."

Oh.

"Polka dots!" She yelled over the music, unnecessarily, because he'd moved so that he was right in front of her.

"You're covered in polka dots. Why?"

She crossed her arms over her chest, for the first time that night self conscious of the ruffly, dotted dress she'd borrowed from her twin sister. "I'm Filipina. It's our tradition to wear polka dots on New Year's Eve. Something about circles being good luck. It's not like I'm going up to you and making fun of your wardrobe."

The boy shrugged his broad shoulders. "I'm not making fun. Just observing."

"Fine, whatever. What's with the shirt, anyway?"

He looked down at the text on his t-shirt—forgetting what it said? Checking to see if it was still there? "It's just the truth," he concluded.

"I would've never guessed." She laughed. She didn't even bother to mention the paper crown, which must've come out of Christmas cracker within the last five days. "Maybe you should make it your new year's resolution. You know, to go to the moon."

The charismatic, dry-humoured boy raised a curious brow. "That's aiming quite high. Is this your first time drinking, Polka Dots?"

The girl scoffed. "No. I turned nineteen, like, seven months ago. I don't do it often, like some others probably do, but still."

"What day?" he interrupted.

"Huh?"

He leaned closer, as if she hadn't been able to hear him. "What day did you turn nineteen?"

"June twelfth."

"No way." He pointed to himself. "June fifteenth."

"Huh." the corner of her mouth tilted up. A coincidence, but an interesting one. She felt insecure about her dimples, but they were inevitable.

He must not have noticed—or perhaps, he didn't care. "So you can't be an absolute lightweight. Just optimistic then?"

"Not even that. It was a joke. I despise new year's resolutions, actually." Leone hated New Year's Eve in general. It was like Valentine's Day, but worse, because everyone kissed at the exact same time, and she was always left standing in the middle like that stupid emoji.

The boy grinned as if he'd just found his twin flame. "Me too."

Suddenly, she felt a strange sort of comradery with this boy, enough so that she could trust him with one confession. "I used to make them every year, like every other person on the planet. But then I never followed through," she said, thinking about lists printed neatly on custom notebook paper and inevitably thrown in the recycling. "It's all pointless. My year never goes how I want it to."

"Hey, I'll drink to that." He held out his beer bottle for her to tap her red solo cup against it. She did. Then, he confessed a secret of his own. "See that girl? I met her last New Year's Eve. She rejected me tonight. Said she's still trying to get over her stupid ex."

Leone followed the point of his long finger. The girl was gorgeous; short and curvy with a mouth painted red, she was gesturing wildly to another girl, no doubt in the middle of a riveting story.