The stark cold of winter had passed, and yet the green liveliness of spring hadn't arrived. It was a time when one had to hold their breath and wait for the first signs of life to appear. As I thought about the passing time, I reflected on how my friends and I had changed. We were growing up. It was scary, but it couldn't be helped.

On top of SATs, college and scholarship applications, and school projects, my senior friends had to make plans on what to do after they left their nests. I wasn't in their grade yet, but I could feel the pressure descending upon them.

None of them knew what college would be like or what the future held for them. All they knew was that each of them was on a mission—to do something, to be somewhere, and to become what they wanted to be. Clover had a vivid dream of becoming a chef. Clint had no clear idea about what his major would be, so he would just go with the flow. Rose wanted to write songs for the church, and Nate declared that he would flip burgers at McDonald's if ever his plan of getting into an engineering college were to flop. Michael didn't say what he intended to do in the future; he only smiled. I felt that his ambition was something that his talent could show.

My chest ached at the thought that our time together was unconsciously ticking away. Even so, as they shared their dreams and aspirations, I was encouraged by their responses. It was in their actions that I saw their zeal to put themselves out there. It made me assess what I needed to work on myself, and I found myself yearning to learn how to break out of my shell.

So, I began writing again after weeks of being busy with the outside world. I missed the vigor that flowed through my veins as I typed the words down on the computer. Since the Westside Chronicle required the applicants to submit a writing sample about any community or school event, I wrote about the band competition that had happened that November.

It was nerve-wracking. I wrote about six drafts of it or more, and I proofread my final piece multiple times in three days to ensure that there were no embarrassing typos and grammar mistakes. When I finally submitted it to the club's email address, I felt like all the oxygen left my lungs, and I was shaking.

I hadn't had a proper rest for a week. All I could think about was the senior club members laughing at my terrible writing and deleting my submission, and these assumptions led me to ruminate on my other life decisions that I should have and shouldn't have done. Intrusive thoughts, my number one enemy.

After all those overthinking and sleepless nights, however, I received the news that changed my perspective on myself. I got in. They liked my submission and invited me to attend the club meetings every Thursday at lunchtime. I was the last writer to complete the staff. I'm not ashamed to say that I cried when I broke the news to Clover and Mom. It was a big thing for me. I had spent so many years thinking so low about myself, but I managed to overcome that thinking trap through my own resolve. I had believed in my friends; now was the time to believe in myself, too.

The following day after I had received the news, the first thing I did was to tell Sunny about it, and she screamed and gave me a very tight hug that hurt.

Finn congratulated me as well, but that was just it. A simple message. He was right. Things had gotten awkward again between us, but it wasn't the bad kind of awkward anymore. I supposed he was learning how to distance himself from me to prevent another dumb high school rumor and to respect my boundaries. I admired that.

Later that day, at lunchtime, Clover and I brought strawberry pies that we had baked. It was to celebrate my win. Not even ten seconds that Clover placed her Tupperware on the table that the entire pie was gone. Rose, Clint, and Nate had gobbled down huge portions without care.

"What the hell?" Clover said, staring at the breadcrumbs left in the container. "You guys didn't even leave a single piece for Michael."

"Not our fault he's not here," Clint said while chewing.

Rose licked her thumb, nodding at him. "Yup. We're eating his share."

"Where is he, anyway?" I asked and hid my paper bag behind me.

"I don't know. Somewhere. He didn't text me back," she replied unflappably. Everyone's attention was on Clover's expertly made strawberry pie.

"Okay, I'll go look for him," I said and took off.

My eyes scanned over every person I passed by. He wasn't in the cafeteria. He wasn't at his locker either. And I simply couldn't search for him in any of the boys' washroom. I sighed. It was a fruitless pursuit. I couldn't spend my whole lunch break trying to find this person around the whole school, but when I looked at my paper bag and thought about the effort I had exerted in making this little present for him, I decided to look for him once again. There was one place I had not examined yet—the place where he would most likely be spending his time alone.

I stepped outside the building and was about to pass the exterior hallway to the courtyard when I found Michael. There he was all along, and he was talking to somebody. Claire.

I shouldn't have been there watching, but my curiosity glued my feet to the floor. It was my first time seeing them have an actual conversation with each other, and it was bittersweet to see.

Claire smiled softly at him and went up on tiptoe to wrap her arms around his neck. Michael seemed to stiffen at first, eyes going wide until he relaxed in her embrace. A scene of old lovers sharing a private space in the world for the last time. I felt a little green-eyed, but mostly, I was glad. They had probably smoothed things out between them after a long, cold silence.

She gave him a pat on the back before she pulled away and said something I couldn't make out. When she turned and her eyes met mine, I panicked and mouthed, "Sorry," before turning on my heel.

"Hey, Autumn. Come back," Claire's amused voice rang throughout the hallway.

I stopped and spun back to her. A drop of sweat rolled down my scalp. "I didn't mean to intrude," I said.

She giggled. "You're not intruding on anything. If you want to talk to him, go."

Once she was out of sight, Michael approached me. I breathed in, preparing myself.

"What's that behind you?" he asked, nodding his chin toward my paper bag.

"Oh. Clover and I made some snacks for everyone. And this one..." I pulled a box out of the bag and pulled the lid open, a sweet smell drifting from it. "I made this for you."

Michael looked down at it and back at me with surprise on his face. "Really? Thanks. That looks appetizing."

"I hope it is," I said. "I just tried some random recipe in my mom's cookbook."

"Let's eat it together over there," he said.

We sat on a bench and placed the box between us. As he grabbed a cake and took a bite of it, I anxiously waited for his response. After another munch, his eyes widened. He turned to me and said, "It's great. Tasty. Looks cute, too. Good job."

I mentally pumped my fist in victory. "Thanks. You can have all of them."

"No way. We should share," he said. "It's awkward when I'm the only one eating, and the people around me are just staring." He took another bite. "Also, I can't finish all of these by myself."

Glancing at the dozen mini cakes inside the bag, I mumbled, "Right." I had made too many of them because I kept thinking about him while baking.

I got one and ate it, perfectly contented to be with him out in the open air. It struck a chord in my memory of the first time he and I had a meal together.

"What's this for, by the way? Is there an occasion?" Michael asked.

An overjoyed smile grew on my lips, but I tried to announce my good news gently. "Well... it's my mini-celebration. I'm now an official staff writer for the Westside Chronicle."

His face brightened up, and I felt my heart leap at the sight of it. "That's awesome! Congrats."

I reddened. "Thanks."

"So now's your chance to campaign for the environment, huh?" he teased. "You're gonna write news articles calling out students who leave their cigarette butts everywhere. I'll be expecting to see my name somewhere on the paper."

"Sure, Michael. Noted," I said with a little scowl. "But I guess that depends on what topic they want me to cover. I'll meet the staff tomorrow, and we'll probably talk about my specialty or something, I don't know." Apprehension filled me as I said that. Once again, I would be meeting new people. This time, without Clover guiding me. But I would be fine.

"Are you planning to be a journalist someday?" Michael asked.

"Hmm..." I had thought about what I wanted to do when I grew up, but there was no answer clear in my heart and mind. If we were talking about dreams, I had a lot of them. All unrealistic. "No. I don't think I want writing to be my job because I want to enjoy it without pressure, you know? I'm not sure what exactly I want to do someday. It's kind of frustrating to think about it."

"Don't pressure yourself. You still have two years to think about it, and a lifetime to regret your choices."

"Gee, thanks," I said sarcastically, and he laughed. "What career do you want to do in the future? You didn't say anything when everyone talked about it."

"World domination," he answered firmly. "If that fails, I'll probably perform and teach music."

I nodded. Michael lifted his head, and I could feel the gears turning in his head. The sunlight slipped through the leaves and branches above us, creating golden patches on his skin. What a breathtaking view.

"That's one of my childhood dreams," he said.

"You wanted to be like Maestro Javier, who taught you music," I said.

He flashed me a smirk. "You got it, Marmalade."

"I believe in you, Michael."

"I believe in you, too. Whatever you do in the future, I'm sure you'll do it well."

I replayed his words in my head, liking the sound of them, and picked a cheesecake from the container, leaving one piece for him.

Although the silence was starting to wrap around us like a warm cloak, I tried to think of something else to talk about. Catching the sight of the flowers on the bushes directly across us, I remembered an event that everyone in school had been talking about since pre-spring break.

"Hey, are you going to the dance?" I asked.

Michael arched an eyebrow at me, and I bit my lip when I realized something. Oh no, did I sound like I was asking him to the dance?

I quickly added, "I-it's going to be this Friday, isn't it? I'm pretty sure everyone will be there."

"No, I'll pass," he answered.

"Okaaay," I said, drawing out the word. I smiled to hide my disappointment. "Yeah, partying isn't really your thing."

"Are you going?"

"I was forced to," I admitted. "Clover bought me tickets yesterday without telling me."

He laughed, knowing that was something my sister would do. "I think that's good for you. Never miss the chance to have a good time."

"Maybe you should remind yourself that, too," I mumbled.

As a response, he only gave me a mysterious lopsided smile and ate the last cake. The bell rang a few minutes later, and we threw our trash before heading back into the building. He thanked me again for the mini cakes, and then we went our separate ways.

I almost skipped my way to the classroom. Despite knowing that Michael wouldn't come to the dance, I was still so happy that I thought I heard the angels singing. He gave me hope. Not too much hope, but a little glimmer that if I kept seeking my dream for the future, I could grab it.

It was funny. He had been the reason why I had almost lost hope before. Now, he was the reason why I had hope for my future. That was what he always did. Destroying and rebuilding.

And that's one of the million reasons why even now, I still can't forget him.