Nati, are you okay?

I'm already in bed, every body part aching from practice, the most exhausted muscles being my brain and heart.

Yeah, I'm okay. Thanks for asking.

I'm still not used to Alex texting me, and I don't understand what it means. But in this moment, it's exactly the comfort I didn't know I needed. For some reason, I haven't even told my parents about what occurred at school and volleyball practice earlier today. I'm certain I will fill them in tomorrow, but it's too much for my soul to relive the details again tonight.

Good, is Alex's simple reply.

I decide to be brave.

What about you? You were so mad.

After storming out of the gym, Alex had returned five minutes later and finished practice as if nothing had happened. Ariya filled in Steve about the argument, and Steve had basically told us to compartmentalize our feelings and focus on volleyball. Beck left practice early, which our coach was not at all happy about.

Yeah, I'm fine. Those comments really got to me.

I might get fired, he adds.

My heart constricts as if wrapped in tight rubber bands.

What?

A wave of too many emotions crushes me, and the screen in front of my face becomes immediately blurry as water pools in my eyes.

Steve says I didn't react professionally.

Part of me wants to laugh as I recall the boomeranging volleyball veering towards Beck. It wasn't actually that close to hitting her, but the look of panic on Alex's face was priceless.

You reacted like a human being who has emotions and doesn't approve of racism.

There's a short pause.

Yeah. Thanks Nati.

Then he sends a blue heart and a white heart—our team colors—and my universe implodes.

* * *

When I arrive for our game the next afternoon, Alex is nowhere to be seen, though this is normal given it's quite early. Still, my eyes scan and rescan the gym, as if I've just missed him hiding behind a volleyball pole or camouflaged into the tangle of colorful sidelines.

I take my place on the bleachers next to Kathy, Shelly and Ariya, who have already arrived for the JV game.

"I heard Steve called Beck and chewed her out for leaving practice early and for what she said to us yesterday," Ariya informs me, by way of greeting.

"Really?" I manage.

Several others from our team arrive, and Ariya drops the topic, for which I am thankful. I just want to move on.

"Natalia, are you coming tonight?" Kelsey asks me. We have a team gathering at her house after today's match–a "bonding" activity. I wish I were looking forward to it, but to be honest, I would much rather head straight home to relax.

"Yes," I reply in typical one-word fashion.

As we watch the JV girls play, I'm clutching a paper lunch bag that's inside my gym bag and making mental calculations.

When a few of the girls stroll out of the gym in between sets, I slide the paper sack out and awkwardly move it towards Shelly.

"Could you give this to Holly, please?"

We have been exchanging "Secret Pal" gifts for the past several weeks. It's yet another normal high school activity about which I have to feign enthusiasm. Each week I wrack my brain about what to give my "pal," always regretting whatever I've selected at the last second, my overactive imagination convincing myself the items are somehow odd or embarrassing. Then there's the challenge of delivering the gift with discretion. Decisions that are common sense to others come unnaturally to me, and I never seem to do things the way others do them.

"Go get changed!" Steve snaps at us, startling me out of my analytic daydreaming.

When we return from the locker rooms, my eyes dart desperately across every inch of the gym. Inside my stomach, it's like someone is shredding paper. No sign of Alex.

"Let's go, gather up at the net," Steve calls as the JV match concludes.

"We're going to run our 5-1 offense." He lists off the starting players and substitutions. I'll be subbing in for Beck as middle hitter. When I look towards her for the first time today, her expression is softer than I expect.

As we warm up, out of the corner of my eye I catch Alex jogging into the gym wearing cream-colored shorts and his navy "Genius" shirt. He wears our team shirt all the time; I pretend it's because my tears were once on it, then crack up on the inside at my stupid thoughts. My stomach is doing Olympic gymnastics.

"Hey, Coach!" several of the girls greet Alex as he makes his way to the court.

"You're late, Coach!" Kelsey pretends to reprimand him.

"That'll be thirty-seven laps around the gym!" Ariya clips.

As we move towards the sidelines to prepare for the start of our first game, Beck is suddenly standing by my side with a crinkled forehead and searching eyes.

"Natalia. I'm sorry about what I said yesterday. I didn't mean to hurt you or insult you."

Her apology is the last thing I expected, and my throat dries up.

"It's okay," I squeak out, even though it's not. But I have a set of conditioned responses, and this is what you say when someone apologizes. Her present words don't erase yesterday's racist tirade, and I know whatever Steve might have said to her last night on the phone didn't magically change her heart on the issue.

But in this moment, I'm more elated over the fact that Alex hasn't suffered repercussion than I am bothered by Beck's racism. Look at me, being an insufferably vain teenager.

I smile to myself, and when I glance up, I catch Alex watching me. Our eyes hook into each other's, and I don't know if the expression he's suppressing is a teasing smirk or a bursting grin, but the emeralds in his eyes are sparkling.

* * *

I'm striding towards the locker room at the conclusion of our match when I discover Alex by my side. He doesn't say anything, just sort of nudges me in a random gesture that's over before I can perceive what it was.

I want to speak to him in secret Spanish code, but I'm lacking the necessary vocabulary.

"You didn't get fired," I assert quietly.

"Nope," he confirms.

I peek his way, and his eyes flood into mine, and I feel like I want him to touch me again.

I flick my eyes away on instinct, and he lets out a brief, upbeat chuckle.

Inside the locker room is a zoo. Ariya is dancing around with purposely hideous movements, and I marvel at how anyone could be so uninhibited. Kathy does a cute, tidy cartwheel. Kelsey and Holly are chanting random team cheers over and over, and several others join in. I'm getting a headache.

"Oh my God!" Holly shrieks all of a sudden. "What is this?"

All eyes turn her direction. In one hand, she is holding up the paper sack filled with snacks that I had Shelly deliver to her; in the other, she's clutching a mutilated, dripping pear.

"What the hell?" blurts Ariya. "What is that?"

"This is from my secret pal," Holly explains in bewilderment, bursting into laughter. She's doubled over, her face flushed and eyes pouring tears of hilarity. Holly again displays the smashed pear for everyone by raising it back into the air.

The entire team goes berserk, laughing hysterically and screeching idiotic comments.

"Oh my God, it has a bite taken out of it!"

"Gross!"

"Did they eat half and then trample over it before giving it to you?"

"Here, Secret Pal, here's a half-eaten pear for you to snack on!"

My insides are ballooning with mortification, about to pop. As the comments subside at last, Holly shuffles to the trash can, holding the rotten pear gingerly between two fingers, and dumps it with a flourish. I glance at Shelly in the midst of the chaos, but she maintains a neutral expression as she organizes her clothes into her gym bag.

Does not one of these girls realize that the person who gave Holly that pear is in this room, listening to all these mocking comments?

Steve delivers his cursory post-game commentary, then dismisses us so we can head over to Kelsey's house. I make it to the parking lot, toss my stuff into the trunk of Mom's car and slump into the backseat. My face is already soaked with tears by the time I'm seat-belted in.

"Good game today!" Dad exclaims from the passenger seat.

I respond with phlegmy sniffles.

"M'hija, what's wrong?" Mom asks, concerned.

I tell her about the humiliating scene in the locker room.

"Those silly girls," Mom soothes. "They don't think about what they're saying; they are just reacting to the moment."

It's true. Holly doesn't know that those pears are special-ordered from Harry and David's, a store with gourmet treats my mom splurges on about once a year.

After my dramatic waterfall of emotion subsides, I blow my nose a half-dozen times and fan my eyes with my hands in a futile attempt to reduce the swelling and redness. I glance briefly at my reflection in the rearview mirror and cringe.

"Better, sweetie?"

"Yeah, I guess."

"Call me when you're ready to be picked up, unless you can get a ride with one of your teammates."

"Okie dokie" I chirp, already in much better spirits after my indignant outburst.

I'm waiting for the moment when Mom decides to confirm that my coach is no longer giving me rides, but she has yet to mention it again. I have never done anything wrong in eighteen years, so I don't think it occurs to her that something suspicious might be happening. You would think I'd feel guilty, but I have this sort of protective bubble of naivety around me that makes me believe I'm in complete control and can do whatever I want.

With a pounding heart, I press Kelsey's doorbell. Doorbells make me anxious, because if you don't hear it ring, the next step becomes such a problematic dilemma. There are three possibilities: 1) You didn't press hard enough, so you are now standing on the person's porch like an idiot. 2) Their doorbell is too quiet to hear from the outside, so if you knock or press it again, you risk seeming rude and impatient. 3) The doorbell is broken; again, you are standing like an awkward moron on their porch.

Luck is on my side tonight, and I hear a clear, gentle ring as my finger presses into the spongy circle. Kelsey and Megan sprint to the door giggling.

"Nati! Come in!" They act as though they are overjoyed to see me.

Everyone is gathered in the spacious family room, which is like a blinding white bath of sunlight when I step in. In my preoccupation with the half-eaten pear, it had failed to register in my mind that our coaches would attend this event. Alex is seated on the armrest of a marshmallow loveseat, shoving handfuls of chips into his mouth.

Feeling newly self-conscious over my puffy cry-baby face, I whisper to Kelsey asking where the bathroom is.

"Down the hall and to the right," she answers, pointing.

When I finish rinsing off my face and readjust my ponytail, I look somewhat normal, the only trace of tears being a crystally glaze over my eyeballs that intensifies their dark brown color with a glittery sparkle. As I emerge from the hallway into the open entryway that connects every room of the downstairs, Kelsey intercepts me and directs me to the kitchen.

"Go get food. My mom ordered pizza for us, and there's a bunch of snacks in there."

Taking a deep breath, I make my way into the kitchen, slightly terrified of navigating this unfamiliar situation unassisted. As I peel two stuck paper plates apart with difficulty, staring at the multiple boxes of pizza laid across the countertops, I hear footsteps behind me.

"Pst." Oh my God, it's Alex.

I turn towards him, already blushing profusely.

"Were you crying?" he whispers. It's not the concerned tone my mother uses; it's just a straightforward question without judgement.

"Uh," I stammer. He is close to me, really close, and I'm suffocating in the thick air of dangerous thrill that surrounds me.

"Is it the pear?" he asks me in a low hum, and I see his lip quiver in amusement. In fact, his face is trembling as he holds back laughter.

"What?" I ask, merely because I don't know what else to respond.

He puts his hand to his forehead with an affectionate eye roll.

"¿Por qué, Nati?"

"Obviously I didn't give it to her in that state!" I hiss, shocking myself with the level of sass infused into my words.

"Well, obviously!" Alex retorts, his eyebrows raising and dimple popping in this adorable little burst of incredulous amusement.

"It got smashed up in her gym bag!" I continue, still defensive.

"Yes, clearly!" he snorts, now unable to control his hysterics.

"Well, so...!"

"Well, so! Then why were you upset over it?" I've been focused on the conversation, but I'm suddenly aware once again of Alex's increasing proximity.

"Because everyone was making fun!" I complain, but Alex's laughter finally breaks me down and I join him, covering my mouth as I disintegrate into giggles.

"Ay Dios mío, Nati Nataliita," he scolds, playing with my name in rich melodic Spanish tones like lush rolling hills.

Suddenly, the air between us falls still, and our bodies are stiff, and I feel this electrical current crackling everywhere around us.

Alex whips open a pizza box and has scooped out a slice in an instant like a bear swiping up a trout in its paw—all before I register the sound of footsteps and realize Kelsey's mother has entered the kitchen.