"Are you fricking kidding me right now, Alex?" Steve is absolutely livid. His short, sparse hair appears to be standing on end as if he has been subjected to the electric chair.

Alex doesn't jump, shirk back or really react at all; he holds steady and looks his colleague in the face.

Meanwhile, I've been transported in space from the bed to the wood chair without conscious movement of my limbs. Should I flee from the room?

"Do you realize how inappropriate this is?" Steve bellows. He launches into a scathing diatribe, and I suddenly feel very foolish for believing we would get away with sneaking around, as well as quite selfish for compromising both Alex's coaching job and reputation.

Alex absorbs the entire speech without interrupting or becoming defensive.

"I know," he tells Steve quietly. "It was really stupid, I'm sorry. I like her. We like each other. And Natalia's in college, and I've been respectful."

Steve takes several long, labored breaths, pressing his index fingers to his temples.

"That may be the case, but this is certainly not the time or place. You are here this weekend in a coaching capacity." His voice is much calmer. Steve addresses me for the first time. "Natalia, I have to ask how and when this began."

I glance at Alex in a panic. His eyes, grey-blue in this particular lighting, reflect the calm of a placid lake surface.

"Just tell him the truth," he coaxes.

"Alex gave me rides home on Fridays the last few weeks of the season because my mom couldn't pick me up; we talked and got to know each other during that time. Nothing ever happened beyond a couple hugs."

Steve's facial expression is eerily neutral.

"Okay. Natalia, I want you to return to your cabin so I can talk this over more with Alex."

Without a word to either of them, because I am petrified and mortified and every other excessive adjective in the English language, I wobble out of the room. My numb legs are quaking so badly they barely manage to carry me back to my lodgings.

Returning to a room void of other teenage girls, I praise my good fortune and collapse onto my bed to compose myself in private. I guess the deer wasn't an omen of good luck, after all. But then, there is no woodland creature or guidance from the universe that can protect against outright stupidity. What were we thinking, meeting up in those circumstances?

We have to join Steve for team bonding time in forty-five minutes. The idea of having to look him in the eye makes my stomach churn with shame. To avoid thinking about it, I begin texting Isla a long update on the developments with Alex. I haven't talked to her at all since arriving at Lake Tahoe.

When I'm halfway through relaying the scavenger hunt episode, Alex texts.

Hermosa, ¿estás bien?

The term of endearment makes my heart spiral.

No but yes. Are you?

How could you make a joke in that moment??? I accuse, with three crying faces and three laughing with tears emojis. Oh deer??? I throw in a face palm emoji.

He sends me back the leaping deer image.

I was saying "Oh dear" not "Oh deer."

Despite the lingering mortification, I flop back onto my pillow giggling. The mixed emotions leak out as tears that stream therapeutically down my cheeks.

You're incorrigible, I claim.

I feel horrible. Are you getting fired? Will something worse happen to you?

My mind conjures up a fantastical drama—Alex in the news for grooming a young, shy volleyball player. How could I be so careless and naïve to think this weekend's covert gallivanting was all fun and games? Of course we got caught.

The bitter irony is that Alex has treated me better than any of the guys in my past... "encounters." He's touched me less in all our time together than Joshua did during our first kiss, when he ran his hand high up my thigh and fondled my breasts. Alex never tried to thrust himself against me or shove his tongue down my throat after one conversation, as have so many drunk college boys at parties. He is in tune to my emotions and body language and does everything he can to make me feel comfortable.

Tranquila, he soothes, telling me to calm down in Spanish. I talked to Steve for a long time. He's still pissed at me, but he's not as alarmed as he first was.

The anxious sparks zipping up and down my fingers slow.

What's going to happen? I'm so embarrassed. Is he upset with me?

There's a delay, and I start freaking out again.

Sorry, my mom called.

I'm not sure, but I don't think he's going to report me. He's still processing it. No, Steve's upset with me, not you.

I attempt to slow my breathing.

How can you be so calm? Are you as calm as you seem?

He sends a face in cool sunglasses emoji and fingers making a peace sign—the tan, slightly darker ones that match our half-Latino skin color.

Very little in life is worth getting that worked up about. Things usually sort out.

The events in my life, at least up until now, prove his theory to be true. Intellectually, I fully subscribe to this mentality; emotionally—that's another story. The irony is, I'm not sure Alex's life experiences support his own idea that things work out; though perhaps surviving hardships is what fostered his resilient attitude. I, on the other hand, have known nothing but safety, love and privilege, and thus have zero emotional fortitude.

He doesn't want me at tonight's activities though. I'll be here in the cabin doing some stuff for work.

I'm disappointed and relieved all at once, and I wish I could skip tonight's games and hide out in my room as well. Looking ahead to something more positive, I remind myself of our upcoming bowling date. Unless Alex regrets how complicated this has become and plans to call it off. Another message interrupts my spiraling pessimism.

Or, I'll be here... thinking about that kiss. The accompanying fire symbol sends my heart up in flames. I feel a warm flickering other places, too.

Not having a clue how to respond, I send him some hearts, purple and pink.

Gotta go Steve herr, love u

I infer from the rushed typos that Alex doesn't want to be caught texting me and further instigate Steve. Love u? That, I don't know what to think of. Probably a brain typo.

* * *

"Natalia." Steve motions to me, his voice serious but almost nurturing. We have finished our evening activities—charades and sports truth or dare; he waits until the stragglers clear out and then turns to me. Intent, grey eyes bore into mine, scouring for truth. "I've spoken with Alex, but I wanted to get more of your version."

In slightly more detail than earlier, I relay how we began interacting and the bond between us that developed slowly over time. I'm careful to leave out certain details such as Alex dropping by my house on a Saturday with Costa Rican tamales or spidering his fingers across my back during team karaoke.

"My first instinct was to report this incident to the school, but I understand that not every situation is black-and-white. Was there anything Alex did that made you uncomfortable last year, or this weekend?"

Everything that happened between us was unexpectedly, thrillingly, dangerously, miraculously, beautifully outside my comfort zone. I'm a willing participant in all of it.

"No," I tell him firmly. "I know I'm a little shy, but I'm pretty strong on the inside. I make my own decisions."

Steve nods.

"Alex has been nothing but kind and considerate. He never pressured me to do anything I didn't want to do."

"Got it."

"I'm sorry." The stress of this conversation finally bubbles over, and tears shoot out. "I'm really embarrassed."

"Well, okay," Steve says, not exactly soothing or forgiving me. Then he adds awkwardly, "Sounds like you two have something real going on."

I blink at him, shocked at the way he softened.

"But it can't go on during volleyball events," he adds in a gruffer tone, emphatically.

"Okay," I squeak.

* * *

The next morning before we get on the bus, Alex pulls me aside and we walk around the corner for privacy.

"Uh, my bad about the 'love you' text."

"Oh, right," I say, as if I have not been thinking about it for the past twelve hours, even in my sleep.

"Not sure what happened; I was rushing to write the text and I think it was just instinct. It's not that the sentiment is... uh, totally inaccurate... um, it's just probably a little soon."

"Yes, too soon." I mean it. In fact, I'm not the kind of girl who wants a boy to say he loves me after a week of not-quite-dating. In my mind, love should take months or years to fully develop. Not that I have any experience on the matter.

On Sunday night, after we return from camp, I text Steve to let him know I won't be joining in the rest of the summer volleyball program, assuming he plans to uninvite me anyway. I do my best to articulate myself genuinely; I want him to know the decision is not just about Alex and that if being on the college team had been important to me, I wouldn't have allowed a boy to interfere with my goal. Apologizing one last time, I thank him for being my coach these past years.

Alex takes extra convincing; he suspects I am giving up due to the awkwardness of being caught by Steve. I explain that I had already made my final decision in the shower shortly before going to his cabin that evening.

In the shower, eh? he teases me.

Oops, I think. It's inconceivable that my overly micromanaged brain still fails to filter out so many embarrassing comments.

Uh, it's where I do all my best thinking.

Alex seems to deliberate his response.

Me too, I think it's the hot water. It melts out the ideas. It was just the thought of you in the shower got me a little sidetracked from the conversation.

That escalated quickly.

I'll pick you up for bowling at 7:00pm Tuesday. Is that fine?

In my bedroom, I leap for joy one time, startling my dog Curly. I confirm our plans with a thumbs up and starry face.

I gotta go. My mom got a new laptop and I promised I'd set it up for her. FYI I live with my mom now, we got a place together after I came back from CR because I had zero dollars and zero jobs. Don't judge me, okay bye. His unfiltered confession is accompanied by a kiss-blowing emoji.

He's so precious I can't take it. Why would I care that he lives with his mom? He's obviously working hard, going to school with multiple jobs and getting back on track. I find everything about him impressive.

There's a gentle knock on my door; Dad has dropped by to say goodnight. He stays to chat for a while, and I tell him about the volleyball-related parts of camp. Once he leaves, Mom pokes her head in.

"¿Te divertiste, m'hija?" She doesn't allude to it, but I can tell by the amused glint in her eyes that she is still waiting for me to confide in her about my mystery boy.

"Mami, te cuento ya."

Mom scrunches her shoulders like an excited teen and grins at me with closed lips, restraining her excitement so as not to startle me back into my hole of secrecy. She squeezes my arm in a gesture of support.

"I'm not really sure how you're going to react," I say, gulping back my swelling tonsils. "We just kissed for the first time." I don't want her imagination running wild, seeing as how I just returned from an overnight camp, so I begin with this piece of information.

Mom gazes at me attentively with a twinkle in her eyes as I tell her about my saga with Alex, my face burning the entire time. She appears unperturbed by the situation.

"M'hija, he sounds cute." This is all the reaction she offers after my lengthy explanation. Some of the tension melts from my shoulders.

"You're not freaked out because he was my coach?"

"I think you chose the right time to tell me," she replies, pensive. "He has proven himself to be a respectable guy, as far as how he has treated you and responded to your lack of experience. A little stupid asking you to come to his room and getting caught by Steve..."

I giggle with Mom.

"I thought you wouldn't approve of the whole thing," I admit, sighing with relief.

"Please, m'hija. I've done so much worse in my days."

I snort. Mom doesn't really tell me about her past. Although this comment was made in humor, I'm aware that there is a host of family trauma on Mom's side that she has shielded me from. I'm not even sure how I know about it—comments overheard, observations of certain behaviors, life struggles I've witnessed from extended family members, intuition. Sometimes it's like I feel it in my DNA.

I think about Alex and the challenges he has alluded to growing up. He hasn't provided many details yet, but I know he was raised with a lack of financial resources, the father is out of the picture, his brother is addicted to drugs and he just moved in with his mom.

"Mami," I say, my voice suddenly wavering with emotion.

"¿M'hija?" She squeezes my hand and runs her thumb over my smooth skin.

"Thanks for... giving me a... nice childhood. Not everyone gets to experience that, I think."

Her eyes fill with tears, and she pulls me in for a hug.

"I'm happy for you and Alex. And I'm glad you told me about him."