Wednesday night and Kimchi are mutually exclusive at the Kim house. It's always been one of my favorites, maybe because there's no way to autumnize it. Although, it doesn't stop my dad from trying tonight.

I plop into the barstool at the kitchen island and repeat the day in my head. I bored myself through most of the day -silently daydreaming about my one-on-one with Owen last night. I died inside when he shot me a furtive smirk leaving 7th period.

I would have preferred words, but hey. Beggars.

It's just me and dad tonight; mom took Charlie, my younger brother, to youth football practice. I empty my Kimchi bowl in minutes and wash it down with two cups of water before excusing myself to my room.

There are four missed messages waiting for me on my phone and my stomach does a summersault thinking it may be Owen. Then my brain starts working and I remember Owen doesn't have my number.

Did u see the post from Ms. Fink?

What was the homework for chem again

Are you being angsty or wat

Three messages from Alex.

My finger instead clicks on the unread email that's sitting in my school email inbox. The summersault Olympics breakout in my gut.

My eyes scan over the meme of a pirate wearing a cowboy hat and rest upon the tiny line of text at the bottom.

For viewing pleasure, O

The smile on my face is categorically absurd, but it has a mind of its own. After I snap back to reality, I contemplate my response. Do I respond? I consider leaving him hanging, maybe pretend I didn't get his email or that I don't care to respond to it.

No chance.

I sprawl out on my black velvet comforter, phone in hand, and stare at the darkening sky outside my window. This time last night, Owen and I were nestled on my porch swing, closer than we've ever been (literally, metaphorically, existentially).

I smile to myself and click Reply.

Still disagree :)

I hit send before I can second-think myself.

Owen. Emailed. Me.

This may be better than his furtive smirk in 7th.

...

I wake up and can't believe it's already Thursday morning. Only two more days until Patch Fest. I have a slew of student council duties to complete before Saturday: Tally the final tickets sold, distribute student staff tees (pumpkin orange, of course), and pick-up the basket for the raffle prize.

It's the homestretch now.

The next two days go by in the blink of an eye -and without any more emails from Owen. In fact, it's been so busy at school and I've had so much going on that I haven't even had  time to think about Owen, let alone talk to him or try to talk to him.

I pull on my Patch Fest cotton tee (over a long-sleeve thermal), which basically makes me look like a walking and talking jack-o-lantern. I wear my hair up in a smooth knot and grab my black gloves from the table as I leave my house.

It's a perfectly crisp fall morning. The sun is just strong enough that I feel a surge of warmth when it kisses my face.

I am one of the first ones to arrive at the farm at 7 AM. It's entirely set up already, thanks to a weeks' worth of hard work. A rusted pick-up, trunk teeming with mismatched pumpkins and gourds, is situated right at the edge of the parking lot. A bleached wooden sign reads Shady Lane Farm.

My hands clench a warm coffee cup as my legs carry my still-yawning self over to the ticket booth just inside the entrance. I unzip my backpack and pull out the clipboard with the fundraising groups. My eyes scan the list for Owen's, as my stomach rumbles thinking about the afternoon in Goode's.  I can almost taste the smoked salted caramel on my tongue.

Slowly, the crowd filters in. More students arrive and I direct them to their designated stations.

"Pumpkin Carving -That long table over there by the fence," I tell a freshman with a long red ponytail.

"The maze," I say, pointing.

A sophomore boy grunts in response.

"Food Tent."

"Carving Station."

"Maze."

One by one, the students saunter off to commence their chores.

"We're here." A high-pitched V wicked witch of the west voice disrupts my train of thought.

I smell the pumpkin lattes before I even look up.

Monica and Clarisa match and I loathe it. I loathe their ripped black jeans and high booties and perfectly manicured orange nails. I hate that I like their wavy hair and even the candy corn ribbon tying it back.

Monica crosses her arms and rolls her eyes at me. "Where to?"

"Cider Stand." I barely mumble through my clenched teeth.

"She just told you like three days ago, c'mon." Alex appears at my side.

"Hmpf," Clarisa flips her hair.

I watch, relieved, as they stalk off towards the market stand festooned with apples.

My parents arrive around 9 AM and join the rest of the Korean families in the corn maze entryway. My mother takes every chance she can to do things as a group. Really, I think she's just over-compensating for having married my dad. She wants to make sure we know our roots. Or something. As if the Kimchi would let me forget.

Three hours later and Patch Fest is in full swing.

I've already had to restock the apple barrels, deliver more face-paint to the kids' tent, and console a lost child found wandering out of the corn maze. Somehow the BWs have already sold almost all the hot cider -I suspect thanks to the ogling group of freshman boys lingering next to the stand.

I'm juggling two pumpkins and a phallic gourd under my arms when I'm tapped on the shoulder.

"What?" I spin around, exhausted and annoyed.

"Wow," Owen shouts, jumping back. "Good thing you weren't on the greeting committee."

His flashy smile has already weakened my knees.

Butterflies. Bats. Whatever you want to call them swarm my stomach.

"Sorry!"

The lumpy gourd slips from beneath my elbow, but my fumble is spared by Owen's quarterback reflexes.

"No, I think that would be you on the greeting team." I smile, hopefully not as awkwardly as I feel on the inside.

"Guilty. I just stepped away to greet you," Owen smirks.

I step back, raking him over, and notice how tall he is up close -how he sort of hunches to lean his head closer to mine. He's wearing the same black jeans as the BWs, but with an oatmeal Henley pullover and boots. V off-brand, or maybe I'm just accustomed to seeing him in football spandex and gym shorts.

"Hi," I mumble stupidly. "I'll take my gourd back."

He grins again, outstretching his hand.

Monica saunters past us, trying her darnedest to look extra girly. I do my darnedest to avoid eye contact.

"I like your skulls," Owen says, eyes nodding at my black dangling earrings. "Very festive."

"I wear these all the time."

"Amber!" Someone behind me shouts. "HEY!"

A junior girl I only know by face is beckoning me over to the entrance. I

"I'm being summoned," I say, eyes rolling. I hate this girl for interrupting us. I shift the two pumpkins against my waist for support.

"Let me," Owen insists, collecting all the fall fruits from my hand.

"Thanks," I mumble.

"Hey, let's meet up later. I mean -You have to be here all day, right?" Owen asks.

I side-step myself and nearly fall over. I see Alex staring at us from across the worn pathway.

"I do," I say slowly, skeptical.

"AMBER! Can you come over here?"

I give the girl the one-second gesture and turn back to Owen.

"Same. So do you get any breaks?"

"Breaks?" I repeat the word like I'm hearing it for the first time.

"Come on," Owen says. "Can't you pencil yourself in some free time?"

"A gross misuse of power," I reply, crossing my arms.

"I guess -during the bonfire."

"Perfect. Let's do the haunted maze after dark," Owen suggests, smiling bright.

"The haunted maze? You and me?" I pull at the fray on my thermal's sleeve.

"Scared?" He smirks, mischievous.

"Never."

"Didn't think so," he says, backing away. "Meet at the bonfire!"

He's almost shouting by the time he's done and across the farm's courtyard.

I am too aware of everyone looking at me. Namely, the BWs and Alex, who's giving me the thumbs-up with a goofy smile. 

Did that JUST happen?

"HEY!"

I finally walk over to the girl that's been vying for my attention (she still doesn't have it). My mind is swimming with all things Owen.

He wants to walk the haunted maze with me?

A quarterback and a student council goth nerd go into the haunted corn fields at twilight... sounds like the start to an urban legend.

My favorite urban legend.