The Orange Incident

Thursday afternoon found me wedged between a locker and Tyler Henderson, my crush since seventh grade, while our baseball team did some weird bonding ritual in the gym. The ceiling fan spun lazily above like a giant mouth about to swallow us whole.

"So," Tyler said, leaning against the lockers, "wanna come to Lila's party Saturday? Her parents are in Tahoe again."

My brain short-circuited. Lila Chavez's parties were legendary — the kind where someone ended up in the pool or the police showed up. I nodded before the panic could register. "Yeah. Totally. I'll be there."

Cool, confident, casual. If he noticed my voice squeak on the last word, he didn't show it.

Cut to Saturday night, and I'm standing in Lila's backyard clutching a warm orange soda while some junior built a literal human pyramid on the patio. Like, seven people stacked like they were trying to recreate ancient Egypt or whatever. This is what teenagers do for fun, apparently.

The pyramid collapsed predictably. Someone's cat darted through the chaos, knocking over a decorative bowl filled with water. The water sloshed everywhere, straight toward my white Converse and Tyler's very expensive-looking sneakers.

We both jumped back, laughing, and suddenly we were pressed close enough that I could smell his cologne — something woodsy and perfect. His hand brushed mine.

"You saved me," he said, gesturing at my dodging skills.

"Born ready," I said, because apparently becoming cool was now my full-time personality.

We spent the rest of the night on the edge of the patio, talking about everything and nothing while the human pyramid rebuilt itself in the background. The cat kept circling us like it sensed something was happening. Maybe it was.

"You know," Tyler said, when the party started winding down, "I've been wanting to ask you to hang out for a while now."

My stomach did that fluttery thing that feels like your insides are turning into something fizzy and dangerous. The orange soda can slipped from my fingers, clanking onto the patio.

"Yeah?" I managed.

"Yeah. So, maybe next time? Just us?"

I nodded, feeling like I was standing on top of my own pyramid made entirely of hope and terror. This was it. This was the beginning of something.

And then the cat jumped onto a nearby chair and knocked over another bowl of water.

We laughed. What else could we do?