Alex picks up on my change in demeanor the following day at practice. There are no electrically charged glances on my end, no secret smiles as we pass each other in the gym. I don't even speak to him beyond a cursory greeting.

He texts me ten minutes after practice ends; my phone is flashing the second I pull into the driveway.

Nati, what's wrong?

I don't know what to say, so I ignore his text and head to the shower. Mom has left a handwritten note to let me know she ran to the grocery store; I am relieved to be home alone, because she would sense my mood and ask me about it.

Nataliita hermosa, I can tell when you're upset. Did something happen at practice? You played great.

Now I am doubting my previous doubts and beginning to feel like an idiot. I want to just ask him, straightforward, everything. How he feels, what he expects to happen between us this summer, how it will end. Part of me longs for him to spoil the entire plot, so that I can stop drowning in all of this uncertainty.

No, it's nothing to do with practice. I'm confused, about you and me.

That was a stupid decision, because now he is calling me.

"What are you confused about, Nati?"

In my paranoia, I think he sounds irritated.

"You're freaking me out. Did I do something?"

"No," I say, my throat invaded by a sensation of sticky cobwebs that won't allow words to escape.

"Spill. You can talk to me about anything."

"It's stupid."

"No, it's not. If you're having feelings over it, then it's not stupid."

I clear my throat.

"You said you like me and want to ask me out." My voice is hollow wood against scratchy sandpaper.

"Yeah?" There is a hint of amusement in his tone.

"Never mind!" I am about to tell him about all the other guys who indicated they liked me—by holding my hand, kissing me, breathing heavy in my proximity, touching me, calling me—and how their next moves never matched my imagination's storyline.

"I'm on my way to work. Are you home? Are your parents there?" He speaks in a confident, matter-of-fact clip. I can hear the background noise as he drives.

"Yes. I mean no, I'm here alone."

"Okay, hold on. Stay there." His tone is efficient, but softened like sweet cream butter.

Three minutes later, his grey Jetta pulls into the driveway as I watch from the living room window. I step onto the porch, waiting tensely among the purple shamrock, jade and spider plants hanging all around me in the stiff summer heat.

Alex, with swift motions, jogs up the three porch steps and meets me face-to-face.

"What's going on?" A fairly serious face quivers into a small laugh. He always appears entertained when I unnecessarily spiral into a self-sabotaging mess.

"Aren't you going to be late for work?"

This causes him to snort in amusement. He slips his hands into mine, stepping closer to me, and breathing becomes difficult.

"What are you stressing over? Are you having doubts about dating me?"

Dating?

"No. I... want to do that," I manage, piecing together an awkward phrase of words.

"Me too. So...?"

"I just feel like guys are never... straightforward with me. Whatever happens, I will be fine, but I prefer the truth."

"Straightforward? I thought I had been." He appears bewildered. Alex tugs my hands, causing me to shuffle one step nearer. His face practically touches mine as he speaks. " The truth, Natalia Stevens, is that you are so beautiful you drive me fricking crazy. Your sweet, shy and awkward nature are super endearing. Your deep intelligence shines through, and I want to get to know you more."

Saliva catches in the back of my throat, and I am about to choke, which would mean coughing directly into his face. Through sheer willpower, I squeeze my lungs and trap the coughing fit.

"This is my last week of class for the quarter, and I have some projects to finish. We're going to camp in Tahoe this Friday, and we will attempt to behave ourselves so I don't get fired from coaching. So if I ignore you on the trip, that's why."

I snicker, and he leans in. I don't know what he's doing, but his cheek brushes against mine, and his nose is in my hair, and I hear both of us inhale an unsteady breath.

"Next week, when I have more time, I was hoping we could hang out. A day at the lake or hiking in Grass Valley or playing mini golf, something like that—whatever sounds fun to you."

"That all sounds fun," I whisper. All my limbs have gone numb.

"I should wait until the volleyball training ends, but two-and-a-half weeks is too long." He has dropped my hands and has his boiling hot palms on my waist with a feathery, noncommittal pressure. Lord help me.

"Too long," I agree, my voice soft and teasing.

"Does that clarify things for you?" The chuckle rests below the surface of his words, but his face is serious, as if he is fighting against something, attempting to maintain composure.

"Yep." I put my hands on his arms, and instinct guides me to run my fingernails an inch upward, then back down. His breath sputters subtly.

"Oh... my God," he reacts, the note of his voice a smidge higher than normal. Alex plunges into me, kissing my cheek with hot, velvet lips, and I feel him press against me as he pulls me in for a fervent hug.

"Sorry for the drama," I creak out, my lips by his ear.

"I'm not." He releases me and grabs my hands again, firmer this time. "I like that you tell me straightforwardly what's bothering you. I want you to be open with me. You're not going to scare me away by asking a question or being in a bad mood or having emotions, okay?"

"Straightforwardly?" I grin, making fun of his invented adverb. It's technically a word; I just haven't heard it used in a day-to-day context and find it terribly endearing.

"Yes, straightforwardly." Alex presses his lips together, finding my eyes with his. They are bright and glittery like the summer afternoon sunlight blaring behind us. "Let's continue to have a straightforwardly relationship from here on out, deal?"

Relationship?

"Deal."

He squeezes my hands before releasing his grip, opening his fingers one by one. "Now, I'm late for work, in addition to hot and bothered."

"Hot and bothered?!" I can't help but react, giggling.

"Yes, it's very hot, on this... porch. With you."

I'm ten tones of crimson, cherry red, and I push him with my hands on his chest off the porch.

"Go away now, you're too cute."

* * *

The rest of practice that week is interesting. I fight spontaneous combustion as the sensation of fire ants building underground tunnels prickles inside my organs and caffeine geysers gush through my veins. My skills are unnaturally heightened from the adrenaline, and I think Steve is confused as to how I improved so much without having played for an entire season.

Alex and I make accidental eye contact several times each training session, and I pray none of the other girls notice. We text in the evenings in between Alex's work schedule and his final exams. I encourage him to focus on his studies and occupy myself helping Mom around the house and joining her downtown to volunteer in the afternoons. I put in several applications for part-time jobs at businesses around town.

Joshua texts me here and there, but I keep my responses dry and non-flirtatious. I talk often with Isla and other friends from LC.

The end of the week finally arrives, and I spend far too long packing on Thursday afternoon, overanalyzing every item that I place into my suitcase.

"Do you need anything?" Mom asks. "New underwear?" She glances with humor at the undergarments I have laid out on my bed next to my spandex shorts and tank tops. I follow her gaze to my rather plain and slightly worn panties, paranoid about what provoked her comment. Frozen, I blink at her as my cheeks burn.

"New underwear?"

"These things are looking a little raggedy. When was the last time we bought you clothes?"

I exhale the hot breath I didn't realize I was holding in, winded from a simple conversation with my mom as if I have just run lines.

"Why don't we go out shopping and get you a few things?" Mom suggests.

Based on my track record, I'm sure she is expecting me to refuse, but instead I nod my head in hesitant agreement. Mom doesn't comment, though I see her face brighten at my unexpected willingness.

We return a few hours later with a floral swim suit—the first two-piece I have ever owned—two summer dresses, a pair of sandals, and two bra-panty sets.

"Thanks, Mom."

She beams at me from the driver's seat and winks, a rather uncharacteristic gesture. "You didn't complain about how much I was spending." She doesn't add the second part of the statement, which I realize is "for once."

I stay silent, unsure about how to respond, and I can tell Mom has something more to say but decides against it. She parks the car and switches off the ignition.

"It was fun going shopping. I've missed you so much." I melt into her over the console, wrapping my arms around her as best I can from the inconvenient angle.

"Me too, even if it did cost me an arm and a leg." She's joking, and we both crack up. "I really couldn't stand the thought of you going away to camp with holes in your undies."

"They did not have holes!" My eyes fill with tears of laughter, exacerbated by the general emotion of anticipation for tomorrow's trip.

Mom offered to pay for my weekend volleyball camp, but I insisted on paying for it myself. Although I am having a blast being part of a team and playing an organized sport again, I have been putting quite a bit of thought into my options for next year, and I'm fairly certain I won't join the LC team after all. My motives for attending camp have everything to do with being in close proximity to Alex for three whole days and less to do with sharpening my sports skills.

My phone buzzes inside my purse as we make our way inside.

I finished my final exams!

I smile way too big as I read Alex's text, my chest swelling with pride knowing how hard he has been working this week, and I catch Mom watching me from the corner of my vision. Her eyes twinkle in amusement.

Congratulations!!! You're amazing.

I send a few celebratory hats and bells, or whatever those are when you type the word "party" into the iPhone.

Alex responds: Just to speak perfectly straightforwardly, I can't wait to see you tomorrow, and I'm also going crazy waiting for a proper date. The next three days might kill me.

Mom clears her throat, causing me to look at her while I'm still drowning in the shock of his text. I drop all expression from my face like a hot pot.

"What?"

"Nothing," she shoots back. "Just can't wait until you tell me about your mystery man."

I would totally tell her right now, if I was not about to go away to overnight camp in twelve hours with said mystery man.

"Maybe in a few days," I say, giggling.

"Oh, yay."

Say something straightforward to me, Nati.

This one is too much, and I rush to my room with my bursting shopping bags under the pretext of needing to finish packing. I can hear my own heartbeat echoing off the walls of my bedroom. Pacing, I type and re-type, dying to trust my own intuition, craving the opportunity to bust myself open.

I straightforwardly can't wait to kiss you.

An explosion of hearts overtakes my screen, but what does me in is the single fire emoji he dares to add.