The next morning at breakfast is the strangest I have ever felt in my life, both emotionally and physically. My whole system is a bit of a wreck from the overindulgence in alcohol immediately following an extreme bout of strep throat. I'm glad I am flying home today for break in order to detox for a few weeks.

My brain is cloudy from the hangover and befuddlement over what happened last night with Ethan. We ended up making out for nearly an hour in his bed. Nothing progressed beyond that point; he didn't pressure me or even suggest that we do anything more. Isla woke up at one point when Ethan went to the bathroom, realized what was happening and chided me in shocked amusement.

"Hey." It's all Ethan and I can say to each other as we stand in line for omelettes. There's an intensely uncomfortable tension between us; it's not that alluring, tingly sensation portrayed in romance novels. I am about to choke on the crackling static electricity hanging in the air.

Neither of us can look the other in the eye. I am dying to know if he regrets kissing me or what is causing his intense shyness. Selfishly, I believe I'm the only one with the prerogative to act shy and awkward, and it's Ethan's responsibility to take the lead here.

I glance at Isla, and I can tell from her expression that she is observing the train wreck of our morning-after reunion with immense enjoyment. Her eyes sparkle into mine, mocking me—with love.

Ethan chats with Isla throughout breakfast, and I am basically silent. My stomach is still queasy from last night.

"Want to take a walk?" Ethan asks me quietly as we finish up breakfast.

"Sure?" I say, full of hesitation.

We amble along the same brick pathway we did several weeks ago, when I told Ethan about kissing Joshua, and some of his comments rush back to me now. If his confession last night was true—he thinks I'm cute—I am forced to reinterpret so many other things he has said to me in the past months.

"I just wanted to make sure you are okay, after last night," Ethan opens.

"Yes, I'm okay. Are you?" I'm terrified of the answer.

"Yep," he says, quiet but matter-of-fact. "I've actually been wanting to kiss you for a really long time."

Oh my God. My legs actually go weak.

"Seriously? I had absolutely no idea."

"Yeah, I've had a huge crush on you and Isla this whole semester."

Me and Isla? Interesting...

"So, you're not uncomfortable with what happened last night?" he continues.

I attempt to hold back my reaction, which is the urge to burst into giggles. "No," I say. "It felt surprisingly... comfortable."

I'm unable to interpret his expression, but a tiny smile flashes across his lips and his face looks bright.

"Good," he responds with simplicity. "Because I would hate for anything to spoil our friendship."

Friendship. Now I'm confused. I'm not sure what he wants, or what I want. I pray he takes the conversation there. In the miniscule experience I now have with boys, I loath the game of mystery, the intricate decoding I'm forced to do, the fact that we can't just bust open the conversation and explore the truth. For someone who spent nineteen years holding everything inside, I'm now bursting to spill my guts into the ether for all to see.

Ethan steers the conversation towards my plans for winter break and doesn't mention anything more about last night's escapade. We return to the dorms, and he gives me a warm, lingering hug before we part ways to pack our suitcases.

* * *

Over break, I mostly hang around the house with my parents, reading and playing board games. I procrastinate on texting my high school friends to let them know I am home, each day convincing myself I will reach out tomorrow. One week in, I finally make plans with Raquel. I'm struggling to bridge the gap between my two worlds in California and Oregon. My mind and heart feel like a massive puddle of sopping wet paper towels failing to absorb the overflow of thoughts and emotions.

My cousins, aunts and uncles visit often, and I also tag along with Mom to volunteer downtown. She is thriving in her role as president of the community equity committee.

Isla and I text constantly, and I am also in communication with Elia, Krista and that group of friends, and a few other people—even Joshua. But the most surprising development is that Ethan now texts me daily. Before we kissed, he and I rarely communicated one-to-one. Whether it was texting or hanging out, it was always done in a group format. Now, we send messages to each other throughout the day and usually text for about an hour every night.

One evening, a few days before Christmas, Ethan finally brings up our kiss.

So, a question...

My stomach begins crawling with the sensation of ants hyped up on caffeine. To ground myself, I pet my dog Curly, a golden doodle, who is dozing on the bed next to me.

Did you know you wanted to kiss me that night?

For whatever reason, Ethan doesn't use emojis when he texts. Although it's his own particular, unique attribute, which I find cute somehow, I do suffer from the lack of visual support to aid me in interpreting his emotional tone.

Um, no. I had no idea that would happen. It came completely out of left field.

My heart is pounding. I pat Curly with such zeal that he lifts his head and stares at me in confusion, then nuzzles my hand and drifts back to sleep.

Interesting, is all Ethan responds.

Did you? I ask, even though he already admitted once that he had been hoping to kiss me for a long time.

Uh, let's see how I can answer this, he begins.

I had wanted to kiss you for a while, but I didn't know if that opportunity would ever arise. Also, I didn't want to do something stupid and jeopardize our friendship. But... when you gave me the cue that night, I couldn't hold back anymore. I know you were drunk though, so not sure if you meant for that to happen...

My mind races, unsure of what "cue" I gave him. Is he referring to the little touches between us throughout the party, while we chatted on his bed? In my memory, he was the one initiating most of the contact between us. Or maybe it was the way I grabbed his arm and thanked him for bringing me Advil. In that moment, I had absolutely no idea that there could be anything between us beyond friendship. It had never crossed my mind.

Sucking in my breath, I type, Sorry, but what "cue?"

There's quite a long delay, with a frantic flashing, blinking and disappearing of the three dots on Ethan's end. Now, I'm freaking out.

Um... Do you remember what happened in the bed before we kissed? he writes.

Scratch my previous statement. Now, I'm freaking out.

No...? I reply.

Again, I wait an eternity for Ethan to fill in the information.

I was sound asleep when all of a sudden, I felt you lightly stroking the back of my neck. That's why I woke up in that, uh, "state." If I hadn't been quite so drunk, I would have had the sense to check in with you before kissing you, but I just sort of let myself go for it. I hope that's okay, Nati.

I'm totally mortified. And, I also don't believe him. There's no way I would have stroked his neck! Why would I do that? I had never had one romantic thought about Ethan before we kissed.

Yet, since kissing him... all I can think about is doing it again. And how sweet and smart he is, and how well we get along, and how attentive he is towards me.

OMG, WHAT?!? I send, along with several face-palm emojis. You're not making that up? I had no idea that happened. I didn't mean to touch your neck, I don't know why I did that! I was just really grateful you stayed in bed with me when I was feeling sick. I'm so sorry!

Cue another agonizing pause on Ethan's end. I stand up and pace my bedroom, making high-pitched screeches. Curly's head snaps up again, and he tilts his neck to stare at me. Luckily, I am home alone right now, or my parents might be slightly concerned about the odd noises and frantic stomping coming from my room.

I'm not sorry, Ethan sends finally.

Are you sorry we kissed?

Now I full-on scream, and Curly reluctantly stands up, leaps off my bed and trots out of the room, glaring at me.

No, I don't think so, I answer, still tentative and not yet willing to give away all my cards. I'm still dying of embarrassment over the fact that I seduced Ethan in my sleep.

I think it's pretty clear that we both enjoyed kissing each other, he writes.

There are so many questions I want to ask him. I'm trying to hold back, to allow the situation to progress naturally, but my obsessive need to know his thoughts and plans gnaws at me, mincing my insides into tiny, swirling fragments.

I send a winking emoji to confirm that I did indeed enjoy kissing him.

So... now what? I venture, unwilling to let the conversation dissolve back into mystery.

I'm not sure yet, Nati. But I do know: 1. I enjoy texting with you and hope we can continue it, until we see each other in person again. 2. You are super cute. 3. If we end up kissing again in the future, I wouldn't be opposed to it.

* * *

The next day, I float through life disconnected from reality, unable to focus on any words my parents say to me. I imagine being carried through a light pink sky on a tiny, magical pillow whiter and fluffier than a Chinese steamed bow.

It's a sunny winter day; Raquel and I spend the morning driving around our hometown and snapping photos of random, unique places, including the colorful roosters in Old Fair Oaks, the American River and the run down frisbee golf course across from Wilderness High. Since school is still in session, we stop by and greet a few of our favorite teachers. I'm caught in a strange spider-web of my two selves, accidentally spitting out silky, free flowing sentences to my teachers, then getting caught like a fly in shyness with each statement as I doubt the design I've woven with my words.

My history teacher, who is also the boys' basketball coach, informs us that the team has made it to playoffs and will host the district championship game tonight.

"Feel free to come watch!" he exclaims. I don't know anyone on the team, and it seems a bit strange, but it also sounds fun. I have always loved watching amateur sports, in the same way I enjoy listening to young people perform music. Besides, I have nothing better to do.

Raquel isn't into sports, and she already has dinner plans with her family, so I ask my dad if he wants to take me to the game. I feel only slightly awkward about attending the game with my dad rather than friends, since no one in the stands will really know who I am; besides, I'm a big shot college student now.

The gym is packed when we arrive that evening, and we squeeze into a tiny gap in the far corner of the bleachers by the main entrance. The energy radiates louder and thicker than a professional sports arena as fans from both sides cheer and scream and taunt. The game is tied in the second quarter.

Just as we sit down, I feel my jeans pocket vibrating with text messages.

The first is from Elia and reads: Ethan mentioned you guys have been texting nonstop. How's that going?!?!

The other is from Ethan: Do you want to talk on the phone later tonight? As in, an actual conversation? I miss you.

My organs are flipping circles, tangling together. I continue staring at his message until the crowd surrounding me erupts into an ear-splitting roar, startling me back to reality. Tucking my phone into my back pocket without responding, I stand along with everyone else to cheer for the Bears' new two-point lead.

And that's when I spot the very last person on planet Earth I was expecting to see tonight.