My blood begins to settle. Shock begins to fade. My pace slows down, not wanting to go home. There's nothing there for me now—the haven that was my dark bedroom now seems like a prison cell. A car zips by, then another. I stroll down the row of detached houses with Audis and Acuras in their driveways, which eventually ends, turning into a strip of brown townhouses with old Hondas and Hyundais. This is my neighborhood. I think about passing my house. I think about walking and walking until the strip of townhouses ends and a field begins. Then a forest. Then snow. Then just keep going and going.

I can see my townhouse ahead with my empty driveway and yellow lawn. A slender figure stands on the cement steps at the foot of my front door. A female figure, looking down at her phone. Short kilt, white top, thick brown hair and long legs.

My heart and my legs stop moving. I stand there glued to the sidewalk. The figure looks up and turns her head to me. Something that feels like a cold water tap opens up in my brain and pours down my back. The figure raises her arm and waves at me.

Then something else switches in my brain and my legs start working again. I push forward, the figure in front of my house grows clearer in my vision. I know who it is before my eyes do.

Nadia. Fucking. Ricci.

She flashes her crooked smile at me and the cold water running in my brain rushes out in blasts.

She flies down my driveway to meet me. She's smiling and skipping, her leather backpack bouncing behind her.

A noise, like a gleeful squeak, exits her throat as she envelops me in her arms. And I know I should hug her back, but my arms at my side can't move.

Am I dreaming? Please don't tell me, Debbie Gibson, as real as it may seem, it is only in my dream.

She lets me go, and I expect her to take a step back, but instead she takes hold of the loops of my grey pants and keeps me close to her. I'm entirely disoriented by the feeling of being so close to the kind of girl I want to be close to.

"I didn't see you at school," she says.

"Nadia?" I whisper. Saying her name feels good in my mouth.

Then before I could think, she pulls me into her. Our mouths press together. She takes in a sharp breath through her nose. My heart stutters in my chest. She pulls away, letting go of her grips, and looks into my eyes.

"What's the matter?" she says.

"Nothing," I shake my head. I don't know what else to say, so I ask, "How was Italy?"

"Good!" she snatches my hand and ushers me towards my house. "Come. Let me see your room."

She pulls me and I let my body float behind her. "I met your mom, she's so sweet," she says in a casual way, as if holding my hand was a normal thing.

We enter my house and she stops abruptly to slip off her shoes, and I bump into her backpack -- the weight of her feels good on my chest.

Inside my house, my mom is cooking. I hear the exhaust fan in the kitchen and the smell of garlic marinates in the air.

Nadia saunters up the stairs so casually, like it's something she's done every day. I pause for a moment, my blood pumping. I draw in a few deep breaths and try to relax before following behind her.

In my bedroom now, she stops to look around. She slowly pivots, scanning my movie poster walls.

"So this is your room," she let's go of my hand and opens my closet. A leather Prada cap falls to the floor. She runs her hand over the sleeve of a fur coat hanging there—a coat that I don't remember having.

"Oh my god," she dives onto my bed, reaches out to my steel Inception top on my nightstand, and spins it. The gentle humming sound of the spinning top on the wood surface fills me with a quiet satisfaction.

"Do you know Sammy Jankis?"

"What?" I'm taken aback.

She flips over and sits up at the edge of the bed, her palms pressed behind her on the mattress, holding herself up.

"Some guy, Sammy Jankis, messaged me last night. It was creepy. I blocked his ass. Do you know who he is?"

My mom calls out from downstairs, "Simon, food is ready! Invite your friend to dinner!"

I feel hot and cold at the same time. The spinning top on my nightstand wobbles and clatters to a stop. My body is rejecting something. I guess Nadia notices because she gives me a worried look.

"You alright?"

I think I'm shaking, but when I look at my hand, it's not shaking at all. I look at Nadia. Her worried eyes lock onto mine and my shock dissipates. I have millions of questions, but only one boils up to the top, gigantic and squashing all others. Is this real? Please let this be real.

Nadia fucking Ricci. I step between her knees hanging off the edge of my bed and hold my hands out to her. She takes them and I pull her closer. Her back straightens up. I bend down into her. She tilts her head up and I kiss her everything I have. She giggles through pressed lips. Maybe I'm not doing it right, because she pushes me away. She gives me a look, takes hold of my shirt, then brings me in for another kiss, our lips moving slower now, softer.

"Simon!" my mom yells.

Nadia pulls away again.

"You better answer," Nadia whispers, our noses touching.

Oh god, not now.

"We're not hungry!" I turn my head and yell.

I lean in for more of her mouth but she brushes me aside, "Where's your washroom?"

I straighten up and let out a sigh. "Down the hall to your left," I say, but she's out the door before I can finish my sentence.

Nadia slips me a sly look before disappearing into the hallway.

Now, alone in my room, the questions flood back into my mind like raging water from a shattered dam.

Hastily, I open Simon's page on my phone. The pictures are all of me. The same wide nose. The same long bangs. I see myself staring back at me from Simon's page—my page. Like I'm looking into a mirror.

Hashtag we all need mirrors to remind us of who we are. I'm no different.

I should feel confused, shocked, dumbfounded, I know. But I'm not. The smell of Nadia is still on me, and I drop onto the edge of my bed, happy that I'm anyone right now. Sitting there, my mattress bending under my weight, I inhale deeply, the smell of her filling my chest, and I'm happy that I'm simply somebody.

Now, where was I?