The following afternoon, Krista informs me that Cora and Leyla have made friends with some of the third-year students who live in the on-campus apartments, and they have invited us all for cocktails.

"On a Sunday?" I ask, bewildered by the entire situation.

"Yeah, it's low-key. Not a party, just a classy gathering in the evening. Come on, it'll be fun."

Cocktails. I'm eighteen years old, and my lips have never touched alcohol. Never have I been moved by the desire to try drinking, nor have I been in a position to have to decide whether or not to accept or decline a drink. Screw it.

"Okay."

I've already finished my Spanish composition and completed my history reading assignments for tomorrow.

To fill the time gap, I jog around South Campus for almost an hour, then use the weight machines in the gym. For the past four years, I have been enrolled in sports year-round, and my body is accustomed to daily two-hour workouts. It feels natural to continue this workout regiment. There is also a secret part of me that frets I will gain weight if I let up on the exercise my body has come to expect.

Once showered and back in my dorm, Krista chats idly at me while I attempt to read. Soon bubbly voices fill the hallway outside our room, and the rest of the girls from our group file in. Shia is carrying multiple dresses on hangers, and Cora clutches an oversized, gold-colored makeup bag. My stomach is immediately contracting into tight lumps.

The girls begin readying themselves for our random gathering with what I can only imagine are very good-looking upperclassmen, judging by the amount of effort they put into their makeup and outfit selections. Cora is particularly giddy.

In my claustrophobic walk-in closet, I hastily change into the one and only decent garment I brought with me to college—the multi-colored dress I wore the night Alex caressed my naïve teenage heart with fifteen shades of eye-contact over greasy burgers at Chili's. My heart flutters with longing and disappointment at the memory of the most exhilarating experience of my life, which never fully coalesced.

"That dress looks amazing on you!" Krista compliments as I step out, and I feel everyone's smiling eyes on me.

"Natalia has the most amazing legs. I'm so jealous of your legs!" Leyla squeals, and my face pulses with the expansion of hot blood rippling under my skin.

The room buzzes with breezy chatter as the girls apply eyeliner, suggest lipstick colors and swap shoes with one another. I have applied a careless swipe of eyeshadow and mascara inside my closet. It doesn't matter if I took more time with my makeup, because I would have no idea what to do anyway.

Boredom and awkwardness soon overtake me, and I invent small tasks to keep myself occupied. I search through my small collection of earrings, selecting my favorite pair, and I place a bracelet around my wrist that my Tía Leti gave me along with this dress.

"Nati." Cora pronounces my name with a subtle, almost secretive tone from across the tiny room, where she's seated on the edge of Krista's bed. She flashes me a mischievous half-smile, and I raise my eyebrows inquisitively, inviting her to continue.

"Do you like Kamden?" she inquires. Thankfully, the volume in the room has increased, and no one else is paying attention to our conversation. Her question catches me completely off-guard, and rather than taking a moment to process and consider a response, I reply with a knee-jerk reaction.

"No," I answer automatically, shaking my head firmly. "No, I don't." Why is she even asking me this? Kamden is cool and witty and handsome... and not on my level.

"Oh, okay," she replies, accepting my response. "I thought I saw a little chemistry happening between you two last night."

"No, we're just friends," I emphasize. My palms are wet, and I discreetly press them into my comforter to absorb the moisture.

Cora moves on, and I'm left to process the conversation inside my own head. I realize that I am terrified at the idea of someone assuming I like a boy, because that would imply that I think the boy might like me.

Who on this planet would have the audacity to assume someone else likes them?

Alex pressed his knees against mine, danced his fingers across my back, found excuses to be alone with me, took a Costa Rican picnic to my house when my parents were away... and I still couldn't convince myself that he had a crush on me. On the other hand, he flew 4000 miles away to Central America and never spoke to me again, which didn't help my befuddled interpretation of his feelings.

Cora's question and comment come crashing back into my consciousness now. She noticed a chemistry between us? Because I teased Kamden about being weird, and he jostled my arm on a mossy rooftop under the starry, inky sky?

I laugh inside and mentally move on, vaguely aware of a potential missed opportunity but caring minimally. Kamden is funny and kind; however, I don't find myself specifically attracted to him. The teensy-tiny hint of possibility still pierces my stomach with a distant glee.

"What time are we supposed to be there?" asks Shia, the rule-follower of our crew.

"Six," Cora and Leyla chirp in unison, then break into giggles.

"Kamden just texted," Krista informs us. "He's on his way here."

I head to the restroom to kill more time. Once inside, I analyze my face in the mirror, something I rarely do. From certain angles, my eyes register an image that is aesthetically pleasing. I turn my head slightly in another direction, and the face reflected back to me changes drastically. The proportions are all lopsided; certain features appear swollen. Shifting the angle of my chin again, the reflection settles back into something I can tolerate. The image is an optical illusion that swells and narrows and expands and morphs—like one of those carnival funhouse mirrors.

Before exiting the bathroom, I flash myself one last smile, admiring myself in this dress and allowing sweet memories of my time with Alex to ripple through me. He called me hermosa.

In the hallway, I run into Joshua—Josué's roommate—the geeky boy I met at game night a few weeks back. I have chatted with him in the dorms a number of times since our initial encounter.

"Hey, Joshua!" I greet him with uncharacteristic pep and an easy smile. Knowing how this dress fits on me bolsters my confidence. Joshua is nerdy, socially awkward and not the kind of guy most girls would find attractive. He is on my level, I joke to myself.

"Hey!" He greets me back with equal enthusiasm, and we both slow our pace until we meet face-to-face. "Are you going someplace?" He nods down to indicate my outfit.

"Yeah," I reply, feeling unshy for the first time in my life. "A few friends and I are going to a small gathering over in the apartments. To have 'cocktails,'" I add with air quotes, rolling my eyes.

"Cocktails, eh?" he says in his confidently, dorky style. "Fancy!"

"Yeah, I guess," I say. I scrunch up my eyebrows and dare to look directly into his face. "Do you drink?"

"Not on the regular," he answers. "You?"

"No," I laugh. "I've literally never had a drink."

"Well, good luck tonight," he chuckles. "Be careful!"

Somehow, the conversation with Joshua is easy for me. I feel that I want to stand closer to him. An absurd notion swirls in my intuition that I could make him like me through my mere proximity, the way Alex did to me. I inch nearer throughout the conversation, smiling wider, though Joshua appears unaffected. He is not physically attractive, yet he attracts me.

"Let me know if you want to play ping pong or foosball again sometime," he drops casually, as we wrap up our conversation.

"Yeah, definitely!" I respond. "I'll see you around."

I strut along the hallway, only to spot Josué a ways down. What are the chances? I snicker to myself with heavy sarcasm; I'm literally four doors away from their room.

This time, I'm ready for him. I merely flash an uninhibited smile and wave.

"Are you wearing makeup?" he asks me, non-sequitur style. Oh, he's taking note of my appearance? I squirm internally.

"A bit," I respond. "Why?" I can feel my eyes twinkling, burning into him.

"It's cool that you take the time to make yourself look nice."

His comment makes no sense to me, but I just offer a vague "thanks," and continue toward my room.

* * *

"I like your bracelet." One of the third-year guys who lives in the apartments grins at me and leans in to take a closer look at my wrist. He's around my height, slender with light brown hair that hangs effortlessly messy.

"Thanks," I say, gripping my strawberry cocktail in cold, clammy fingers. I'm sipping it with intrigue, ignorant about the properties of alcohol and mildly terrified about the uncertain effects it may have on me. So far, I feel no different.

"They look like eyes," he remarks, studying the colorful glassy designs on the silver chain.

"Yeah," I reply like a robot with only three pre-programmed utterances. I'm so concentrated on not embarrassing myself in front of the older boys that I don't think to tell him about the interesting backstory of the bracelet. My Tía Leti relayed to me that the beads are meant to represent protective eyes that ward off forces of evil, based on ancient Mexican myth.

The boy soon abandons the exchange to refill his drink, and I notice several minutes later that he has moved on to a more willing conversation partner across the living room. I'm mostly relieved.

It occurs to me exactly one hour later, as I spot him again chatting animatedly with a group of students, that he is quite attractive. His cheeks glow light pink, and almost imperceptible dimples dent the corners of his mouth when he smiles, which is frequent.

As I take note of him for the first time, from a distance and without the social pressure to process questions and formulate appropriate responses, it also dawns on me that he was attempting to engage earlier. What college dude cares about the design of a bracelet? He wanted to strike up a dialogue.

Oh, well, my brain quips, less disappointed at the missed opportunity than perhaps it should be.

"Would you like another drink?" a black guy with rows of thick braids and smiling eyes asks me. I have gathered that he is the head honcho of this apartment and the guy Cora is crushing on, judging by her posture and the way she bats her eyelashes when speaking with him.

"Oh, no thank you," I reply. Tonight was the perfect introduction to alcohol, and I don't wish to push my luck. I feel literally zero physical effects from the fruity liquid in my now empty glass. My whole life, I've held a black-and-white perspective of underaged drinking and was solidly against it. This gathering tonight is far less intimidating than expected, and I feel safe here with this group of people, half of whom are complete strangers.

The rest of the evening, I mostly stand around the other people and listen to their conversations. I wouldn't say I am enjoying myself, but it's not an unpleasant experience either. At one point, Krista begins scrolling through the pictures we took of ourselves back at the dorm, primping and posing with one another in our elegant attire.

"Can I see?" I ask, when I notice a shot of the entire group. It's a simple request, three words, but a year ago I would not have been able to utter it. Krista hands the phone to me, and I stare at myself standing next to Kamden, his arm wrapped casually around my shoulder, hand hanging gently by my neck. I blink. We look attractive. Everyone in the group is beautiful. I'm not out of place standing next to these kids, or next to this boy. Based on this snapshot image, we could be a couple, in theory. I'm on his level, I giggle in my own head.

Except I unequivocally shot that sliver of possibility in the heart when Cora asked me about our "chemistry" earlier this evening. I am not bothered, however. There's really only one boy I'm genuinely interested in at this point in time, and he lives somewhere in California or Costa Rica, and he doesn't talk to me anymore. I'm more hung up on Alex than I was willing to admit to myself, but the sensation surrounding this realization is not one of misery or self-pity; it's more a sweet, tingling memory of latent possibility. A "what if?" that never materialized but thrills me to continue daydreaming about. 

As we get ready to leave a while later, Bracelet Boy catches my eye from across the way, tilts his head back in acknowledgement that we are departing and strides over. He briefly puts his hand on my bare arm.

"I'm glad you came by," he says with his infectious smile. "What was your name again?"

"Natalia." My name rolls off my tongue in Spanish melody rather than English, for whatever reason.

"So pretty," he remarks. "I'm --." I immediately forget his name as I step across the door frame, but everything inside me feels different, in the best possible way.