After a brief bit of small talk, which is awkward but tolerable due to the sliver of newfound social confidence I have developed in the past year, I assist Steve in gathering equipment from the locker rooms.

"Hey, Natalia!" Alex fist bumps me in the most natural manner as we cross paths. I'm so uncool that I nearly burst out laughing.

We all work together setting up the nets. Alex, as promised, keeps his gaze directed at the floor each time he approaches me. I, on the other hand, have no sense of discretion and stare at him every chance I get, taking in his muscular legs, terrible curved posture, sandy-streaked hair twisting every direction and slightly sunburned face. My mind wanders to the three pictures on his Instagram account; I imagine he spends most free moments engaged in outdoor sports. He seems like the kind of person who can't be still.

As Alex hands me one side of the net, our fingers brush together and he accidentally makes eye contact before flicking his gaze away. I catch a smile bursting in the corners of his lips, which matches the rush of adrenaline coursing through my insides. This is going to be fun.

The other girls soon arrive; I recognize most of them from the JV team last year but only played on varsity with a couple of them, who were juniors and now seniors. I am excited to see Shelly in particular. Part of me is nervous about how the girls will respond to having me invade their training camp. At the same time, there is a tiny flicker of hope burning in my throat at the opportunity to engage on a team without the painful barriers of shyness barring me from every interaction.

I sometimes feel as though I am being stretched and tangled up like sticky bubble gum among my various selves—myself at home, free and straight-laced; my California teenage self, afraid to even open my mouth for fear of embarrassing myself; my college self, open and slightly adventurous. At any given moment, my level of confidence can shoot up or evaporate into thin air. I suppose this is the case for everyone, even extroverts; we are all running against the current of our own insecurities at every turn.

Once the whole team has arrived, Steve has us introduce ourselves since not everyone is acquainted or has played together. As my turn approaches, my fingers turn tickly in nervous anticipation. I glance at Alex before speaking, and he gives me an affirming nod.

"I'm Natalia. I played for two years on the varsity team, but I'm actually in college now and just home for the summer. I'm considering playing next year on my school's team, so I..."

"What college do you go to?" one of the girls interrupts me, her voice loud and impulsive.

"Lewis & Clark, in Portland, Oregon."

"Did you play on the team this year?" someone else asks.

"Quit interrupting," Steve warns quietly from off to the side, where he is making notes on his clipboard.

"No, I wasn't going to play college sports, but the coach invited me to play."

When I hear the girls uttering little noises indicating they are impressed, I squirm in discomfort.

"It's a really tiny school, so the team isn't very competitive," I attempt to clarify.

"Natalia, that reminds me—are you coming with us to Tahoe this weekend?" Steve cuts in. "The school doesn't need a permission slip, since you are over eighteen and not a student, but I'll need you to sign a waiver." He digs through a pile of crumpled papers as I attempt to process his words.

"Um, what is it?" I squeak.

Steve peers up, realizing I have no idea what he is referring to. "The overnight camp at Lake Tahoe. Friday through Sunday—it's training sessions with the coaches followed by scrimmages with the other teams. Alex, you said you filled her on on all the details."

"Oops." His singular word—the nonchalant tone over his own mistake, the utter lack of concern about Steve's disapproval—is precious.

Steve glares at Alex as he hands me a waiver form. My hands are trembling. I peer discreetly at Alex at the same time as he glances my way, and my stomach disintegrates into butterflies at the little smirk that dances across his face.

"Let me know by tonight or tomorrow if you can make it," says Steve.

"I'll be there," I reply automatically.

"Great." The word drops out of Alex's mouth as he jogs past us to grab a stack of orange cones. I would say he's flushed, but his sun-toasted face appears permanently colorful today, especially in the stifling heat of the non-air conditioned gym. My insides are zipping around as if tiny Dr. Seuss characters were building an absurd, haphazard structure in one of their fantasy worlds.

Practice is rough and fun at the same time. I am rusty; the twice-a-week scrimmages from my volleyball class at LC have not prepared me for Steve's complex drills and formations. Despite weekly jogs and working out regularly at the gym, I am also out of shape. Team sports require a completely different level of physical fitness.

"¿Estás bien?" Alex asks me quietly during a water break.

"Sí." The rush of speaking even the most mundane conversation with him in our secret Spanish code invades my throat almost as a sensation of nausea. Of all the romantic interactions I have had in the past eight months, no other boy makes me feel like this.

I fall into a zone during the last twenty minutes, skittering around the court with quick feet and floating through the air, suspended in time, for each spike. By the time practice wraps up, my body has achieved a bizarre energy high, and I feel as though I could continue running and leaping for another hour.

"Thanks for letting me join with you all, Steve," I say as I gather my bag, the words and sentiment flowing freely. "I'm rusty, but it's super fun to play again."

He high-fives me and offers a mild but genuine smile. "You've gained confidence. You'll fall back into rhythm soon with the skills."

I say goodbye to Shelly and the other girls, for once not questioning my choice of words or tone of voice, and I'm bursting with smiles ballooning at the edge of my lips as I make it to the gym doors. I literally bump into Alex as I step outside; he grabs me around the arms, and the closeness is dizzying.

"Heh, heh." He gives this little two-syllable chuckle that drives me crazy, soft and mischievous between his lips.

"Oops," I remark at having crashed into him, echoing his adorable word from earlier in practice.

"Need a ride home?" he breathes, and we have been too close together for too long. I can't pry my body away from his, but he drops my arms and steps back.

"I drove my mom's car here."

"Oh." He grins, all the memories of our carpools and conversations rushing silently between us in the hot June air.

"Te hablo más tarde."

* * *

As promised, by the time I have finished showering and catching up with my mom about my first day of practice, there is a text from Alex on my cell.

It was really, really good to see you today.

Bookending his words are blue and white hearts—the Wilderness High colors—and this time I don't question if the hearts are only meant to represent volleyball colors. I know they are for me.

I'm suddenly petrified that this guy is going to make me fall in love with him and break my heart. I don't hold my thumbs back from typing what they want.

I missed your hugs. You give the best hugs.

My phone lights up with several heart eye emojis.

Hugging you is the best thing ever. I wish I could do it right now.

"M'hija," Mom interrupts, and it takes me a very long second to readjust my facial expression. "La comida está servida." She has food ready for me.

"Ya, gracias."

"¿Con quién hablas?" She wants to know who I'm texting, because I have obviously failed to tamp down my smile or the excitement glowing from my eyes.

"Chismosa," I jest, calling her a gossip. In that moment, I consider telling her about Alex. I'm nineteen years old and in college. Despite the unorthodox circumstances under which our crush developed—a coach and a student looks pretty bad on paper—Alex has been nothing but respectful and sweet with me. We have only ever hugged.

"I'm here if you want to talk about it. Or him." She winks at me. "Or her," Mom adds as an afterthought.

"It's a him," I remark with a giggle, in order to let her in a tiny bit. But I leave it at that.

When is the next time we can hug? I ask, immediately regretting what sounded like a clever joke in my head. I add a few laughing with tears emojis.

I would say let's meet up early at practice again, but I feel as though we are playing with fire. Do your parents know about me? Would they freak out?

I draw in a breath.

I haven't told them, but I think I might soon. Maybe after Tahoe.

My comment seems to connote more meaning than what I intended, and I wish I could erase the message.

Probably a good idea, Alex replies.

Then he adds: So I really get to spend three whole days with you? That's going to be agony. In the best of ways.

A bunch of hearts and winking emojis invade my screen. I'm dying.

Do you think Steve suspects anything? I ask, now paranoid.

Not that I'm aware of. But people always think they're being sly when they're not, so who knows? He adds a face palm for effect.

I won't speak to you and will stay ten feet away at all times at camp, just to be on the safe side, he jokes.

Sort of disappointing, I answer in sarcasm, winking.

Extremely, Alex agrees.

Um, Nati?

Just for the record, I mean I've been wanting to say this for a while, that I hope you're okay with... how this whole thing started? I don't make it a practice to go after girls that I coach. I don't know if I never made you uncomfortable. Really just... genuinely like you.

My heart is beating out of control.

Of course it made me uncomfortable. Every new experience does. But it was the exciting kind of discomfort. Maybe I was stupid and naïve because someone in your position *could* have taken advantage of me, but for better or for worse, I felt I could trust you.

I have to wait a while for his response.

Yeah. I mean, I thought about that. Some people would say what I did was predatorial or whatever. That's why I tried to hold back as much as possible, not text you all the time or push things, especially physically. I really, really wished that I had kissed you. I was in agony every day in Costa Rica over that.

"Oh my God," I whisper to myself.

You were okay last year with what happened, though?

I thrum my fingers across my desk before responding.

Yes, very okay. I'm shy, but I'm capable of making decisions for myself.

"¡Natalia! ¡Tu almuerzo!"

Oops, I forgot my mom served lunch! Gotta go.

Alex sends me a kiss.

I'm heading to work. Besitos.

We text more that night when he gets home from work. I find out he is working at Costco and taking his computer programing classes on Tuesdays and Thursday nights. He seems really busy, and I selfishly worry he won't have time for me this summer.

Later that night, I call Isla to fill her in on all the details of my reunion with Alex. Recounting every glance and touch, my body rushes with shimmery golden adrenaline. Isla accidentally pops the balloon I'm floating on when she asks a simple, valid question:

"So, he asked you out?"

I pause before responding. "No, not yet. He said he plans to ask me out."

And in the brief beat of silence on my best friend's end of the line, the frenetic activity inside me screeches to a halt, frozen and black. I have been here before. Expecting something based on assumptions, only to wind up empty handed later.