I've been staring at myself for five minutes.
Maybe ten.
The girl in the mirror looks like she's trying not to panic.
I smooth down my top again. Then my hair. Then I step back. Then forward. I tilt my head to the left like that's going to suddenly make me look different.
This is stupid.
It's just a party.
My first high school party in Miami.
And somehow that makes it feel like a test I didn't study for.
I don't even know why I said yes. Yolanda has been begging me to go out ever since I moved here. "You can't rot in your room forever, Zelda," she'd said. Dramatic. Always dramatic.
But right now? Rotting in my room sounds incredible.
I could change into my pajamas. Wash this makeup off. Crawl into bed and let Netflix make my decisions for me. That sounds safe. That sounds like me.
Instead, I'm standing here, dissecting my reflection like it owes me answers.
Do I look good?
I lean closer to the mirror.
Is my eyeliner uneven? Is my lip gloss too much? Not enough? Do I look like I'm trying too hard? Do I look like I didn't try at all?
God.
I press my lips together and turn sideways.
My stomach tightens. I suck in slightly, then release it. Why do I even care this much? It's just teenagers. It's just loud music and sweaty rooms and people pretending they're cooler than they are.
But this is my first one here.
What if I walk in and immediately feel like I don't belong?
My phone buzzes on my desk, and I nearly jump out of my skin.
Yolanda:
Come downstairs. I'm readyyyyy. Stop overthinking and let's go.
I glare at the screen.
She knows me too well.
Before I can even type a reply, there's a knock on my door.
And my heart does something stupid.
"Yeah?" I call, trying to sound normal.
The door opens slowly, and Danilo steps in.
And for a second, I forget how to breathe.
He's dressed casually — dark jeans, fitted shirt — nothing dramatic. But somehow he looks… different. Sharper. Older. His hair is slightly messy in a way that looks intentional but not forced.
He looks at me.
Not quickly.
Not politely.
He really looks at me.
And I feel it. In my chest. In my throat. In the way my fingers suddenly don't know what to do.
"I'm ready," he says.
There's a pause.
Then softer — "You look really beautiful, Zelda."
My stomach flips so hard it almost annoys me.
I roll my eyes automatically, because that's safer. "Relax. It's just a party."
But I can feel the heat climbing up my neck.
He doesn't laugh. Doesn't tease.
"I'm serious," he says. His voice drops a little. "You don't have to be nervous."
That hits me.
Because I didn't say I was nervous.
Which means he can see it.
"I'm not nervous," I lie quickly, grabbing my purse. "And we're going with Yolanda anyway."
I say her name like it's a shield.
Like it changes something.
His jaw tightens just slightly before he nods. "Yeah. Cool."
We walk downstairs together, and I'm painfully aware of how close we are. Our shoulders almost brush, but not quite. There's this invisible line between us — one neither of us crosses.
Emilia is in the living room when we pass.
She looks up, then grins.
"Well. Don't you two look suspiciously good tonight."
My face burns. "It's not like that."
"Didn't say it was," she says, way too amused. "Have fun. Try not to make memories you'll regret."
Danilo snorts. "That narrows nothing down."
Emilia just laughs.
The night air outside is warm and thick. Miami doesn't cool down properly, even after dark. The streetlights glow yellow against the pavement, and Yolanda's car is parked at the curb, music already playing.
I hesitate.
Just for a second.
Danilo leans slightly closer to me. "You're okay," he says quietly.
And the way he says it — not mocking, not teasing — makes something in my chest ache.
"I know," I reply, even though I'm not completely sure I do.
We reach the car.
Yolanda rolls down her window dramatically.
Her eyes land on Danilo.
And widen.
"Oh."
There's a long pause.
Then, "Ohhh."
I close my eyes briefly. Of course.
"You didn't tell me he was coming," she says, staring at me like I've committed a crime.
"We live in the same house," I defend. "It would've been weird if he didn't."
Danilo gives her a polite nod. "Hey."
Yolanda looks between us slowly. Analyzing. Calculating.
"Well," she says finally, dragging it out, "this just got interesting."
My heart starts racing again, but this time it's not just about the party.
It's about the way Danilo stands slightly closer to me than necessary.
It's about the way I don't move away.
I open the car door and slide into the seat. Danilo gets in beside me, and for a second our knees touch.
Just lightly.
But it's enough.
He shifts away first.
The car pulls off, music filling the silence, and I stare out the window as the house disappears behind us.
I can't tell if I'm excited.
Or if I just stepped into something that's about to get complicated.