Nati, I'm going to Costa Rica.

I can already feel my insides rolling up and tumbling downwards into a dark abyss known as "disappointment."

When? I type. We have arrived home, and I have snuck into my bedroom with my new dress wrapped in plastic and the shoebox from Macy's.

Alex responds first with a dejected face emoji.

Tomorrow afternoon. I just decided an hour ago. I've spent all of my non-existent life savings on the ticket.

A sensation of helplessness overtakes me—that desperate feeling when you think there must be some way to change your reality, like waking up from a dream, but you know with bitter certainty that there's absolutely nothing you can do.

My uncle called me. I'm worried sick about my brother. I have to go see him.

I wonder what sort of childhood they must have had, for his brother to end up addicted to drugs. Alex has mentioned his dad not being around and growing up in a crappy apartment in Stockton. It stings my heart. In my family, I've only ever known love, support and security.

How long will you be gone?

It takes him a long time to answer, the three dots appearing and disappearing several times.

I'm not sure. I bought a one-way ticket.

My chest is tight as I clutch the phone in my right hand. I wonder about his classes at the community college and his job. There's a knock on my door, and my dad enters gingerly.

"Hi, sweetie. Did you find a dress?"

I discreetly toss my phone next to me on my bed and attempt to smooth out my twisted up face.

"Yeah, I did. It's periwinkle," I say, registering the randomness of my absent-minded response. To humor Dad, I roll up the plastic so he can take a glimpse.

"That's nice!" he comments with simplicity.

"Yeah. There are a lot of hideous dresses out there," I remark. "But we finally found this one at the twenty-second store we entered."

Dad chuckles.

"Well, I'm glad you were able to find something you like. Mom has the leftovers heated up. Are you just about ready for dinner?"

"Yeah, Dad. I'll be out in a couple minutes."

I collect my phone after he has partially shut my bedroom door, and I see Alex's newest text.

I will miss you Nati. I've really enjoyed spending time with you these past weeks. You are a pretty cool person.

My heartbeat is thudding inside my head.

There are so many questions I'm dying to ask him. I need to know if he wanted to kiss me when he dropped me off last night. I want to ask him what would have happened on our next car ride home. I have to know if he truly thinks I'm pretty.

Me too, I also enjoyed hanging out with you. I'll be wishing the best for your brother.

He sends me a red heart.

I'm gonna go pack.

The final text I compose only in my head reads: Do you really like me, Alex? Are you going to keep writing, or is this goodbye?

* * *

I don't hear from Alex on Sunday, and I miss him as if he's 4000 miles away in another country, even though we usually don't text on Sundays anyway.

* * *

"Gather up, team," Steve calls to us at the start of Monday's practice. "I have news. Coach Alex won't be finishing off the season with us. He had to travel to Costa Rica unexpectedly for a family issue."

"What?" several of the girls exclaim.

"Coach is Costa Rican?" Ariya blurts, incredulous. I roll my eyes internally. My heart twists at the fact that I knew Alex on another level, and no one here in this gym has any idea. It's a sensation all at once sweet and painful.

"That's a huge bummer," remarks Kelsey, regarding the loss. At her nonchalant tone, my chest floods with intense disappointment, and I'm afraid I might cry. It's not heartbreak; I wasn't in love with Alex, but I loved our thrilling little secret saga, and I still ache to know how what was going to happen next.

* * *

My prom is the following Saturday, and we all meet at Sasha's house to prepare for the evening. My primary goal is to keep myself calm in order to avoid excessive sweating. The universe stands in solidarity with me, offering a fresh, misty May afternoon in contrast to the stifling heat of the past week.

Crystal styles everyone's hair, one by one, and it takes an eternity. While we wait, the girls chat and primp and goof around. I don't understand how everyone finds so much to do to ready themselves. There are curling irons and clips, lotions and sprays, foundation and lip glosses every shade of pink imaginable.

"Ooh! Nati, can I do your makeup?" Sasha asks me with enthusiasm. Since I trust her, and I have no idea how to do my own makeup, I assent. Gulping back my nerves, I perch motionless on the silky chair in front of her, avoiding my own reflection.

"Wow, Natalia! I don't think I've ever seen you with makeup before," Juliette comments, and I catch a glimpse of my face flushing fire engine red in the mirror. I feel foolish, because I literally wear makeup everyday to school; though to be fair, it's often nothing more than a haphazard swipe of eye shadow and uncertain brush of mascara.

When it's my turn to visit Crystal's Salon, I'm dreading the inevitable question: "How do you want me to style your hair?"

I have no idea.

Everyone else has an up-do, but I don't like how I look with my hair pulled up; it only accentuates every feature of my face that makes me self-conscious.

"Can you leave it down?" I manage, my voice scraggly.

God bless her—Crystal takes the reigns from there and goes to work, a vision in her artist's mind of what she wants to achieve with my hair. I maintain my gaze downcast; the idea of making eye contact with myself in the mirror while other people endeavor to transform me into someone beautiful is mortifying.

Crystal create a series of lacy, intricate designs like rich chocolate swirls of cake frosting framing my face. The rest of my thick mane cascades down my back in perfect waves. I love it.

"Beautiful!" Crystal exclaims, patting my shoulders with affection, and I assign the adjective to her artistry, not my appearance. But I do look... nice.

Forty-five hours later, once we are all immaculately primped and polished, we carpool to none other than Chili's, where I daydream for the next hour about watching volleyball videos with Alex and fantasize about the convergence of our kneecaps under the table.

The girls take dozens of pictures at the restaurant and several hundreds more when we reach Wilderness High. I drift between anxiety and boredom, which seem to be opposite emotions, yet they somehow manage to weave themselves together throughout my bloodstream.

"Natalia?" A familiar voice jolts me from my apathy.

I blink several times as James in a sharp tux and perfectly gelled up hair comes into focus through my previously glazed over eyeballs. His face is vibrant, and he's bathing me in his gaze like he did after Señora Brita showed my piano video to the class.

"Hey, James," I greet him. It registers in a vague, misty half-thought that I've just said "hey" instead of "hello." My stomach rushes with adrenaline. You're so breezy, my brain congratulates, and I'm secretly cracking up on the inside.

It hits me that perhaps Alex broke down some of my walls. The rush of rebellion, the thrill of uncertainty, the risk of falling for someone and being disappointed... I think all those experiences converged into the easy "hey" floating off my lips in this moment. I feel different.

"I like your dress," James tells me. He's wearing a familiar little bursting smile. As he moves in closer to talk to me, I note that he has grown taller since the beginning of the school year—his figure less boyish and more manly.

"Oh, thank you," I reply with a scratchy voice.

"Did you come here with someone?" he asks.

"Just my friends." I wave an awkward hand to gesture behind me.

"Nice. It's great to see you. You look great. I'll see you on the dance floor?" He grins in mischief, cheeks pink, presumably aware that I would dance only as an invisible ghost over my own dead body.

My face flushes, and I shake my head at his last statement.

"See you," I stutter as he moves away, no longer feeling breezy. It was fun while it lasted.

My body is all pins and needles by the time James strolls off. I watch him hook an arm into Kaity's—his date—and I attempt to ignore the heavy swirl in my stomach. I feel no romantic attachment to James, but the two minutes of attention played with my head; I blink hard in an attempt to black out an image of Alex dropping me off with a melting, desiring hug and then driving off to hook up with some gorgeous girlfriend.

The rest of the prom is fine. I engage in a decent amount of conversation with my friends and other acquaintances with whom I cross paths. Those of us without dates snap more pictures, wander in and out of the gym, sip lemonade and do everything in our power to avoid the dance floor.

After the prom, we head to Ruby's house to play pool and foosball for several more hours in her family's downstairs game room. Every last drop of energy has already been wrung dry from my poor introverted soul, but I don't have the guts to go home early.

I compulsively check my text messages, knowing there will be none.

"Natalia, are you okay?" Sasha asks, catching me as I zone out on the sofa.

"Oh, yeah," I squeak with feigned enthusiasm, brightening my face with a fake smile.

"Tired?"

"A little," I admit.

"Are you texting again with your special someone?" Crystal teases, nudging me with exaggerated gusto.

I raise my eyebrows, recalling the moment several weeks back when she called me out at Jamba Juice for smiling too wide at a text from Alex.

"I don't have a special someone," I return with a dry throat and hollow tone.

"Uh-oh, what happened, Nati?"

Did I really give away my emotion in that one short statement?

"Nothing," I attempt.

"You can tell us!" Ruby cheers me on.

Against all precedent and rational sense, I say something true and raw about myself.

"I think something was starting to happen with a guy, but I'm not sure exactly. Then he left to Costa Rica."

A series of "oohs" and "ahs" and "aws" and "mmms" bubble around me. I'm utterly exposed and comforted at the same time.

"Does he go to Wilderness High?" Juliette inquires. Since none of these friends are on my volleyball team, I'm not concerned about having revealed too much about Alex's identity.

"No, um... he's a little older." My face and neck are pulsing with a nervous heartbeat.

My friends ask a series of questions, and I wonder if they are truly as intrigued by my romantic life as they appear, or if it's the novelty of me opening up that has them hooked in.

"So, has he texted you from Costa Rica?" asks Crystal.

"No, not yet," I reply, the innocence and naïveté of the word "yet" swallowing me whole in the middle of Ruby's basement. I suddenly feel so stupid.

"When did he leave?" Sasha asks.

"Last Sunday." My voice splinters out like shards of fiberglass, the reality of the words cutting my throat.

I watch every girl in the room grimace, and I acknowledge for the first time that Alex is gone for good.