Roller Coaster

You know the feeling when you drop on a roller coaster?

Or when you jump into the deep end in the pool?

Or when you realize you forgot to study for your test?

Your stomach plummets to your toes and then shoots back up to your throat, choking you and crippling you at the same time. Your insides feel jumbled and your mouth goes dry. Your heart races and your face reddens.

At least that's what happens when I look at Alden Clegg.

The name Alden means 'old friend.' It's ironic because I've never spoken to him in my life even though I've gone to school with him since fifth grade and I've looked at his face so much, I know it like the back of my hand.

His last name, Clegg, means 'haystack.' Sometimes I feel like the needle in his haystack because despite the years of school we've spent together, he'll never find me, buried in the hay.

I flip the page slowly in my yearbook from 2013, when I was seven. Everyone, including myself, was obsessed with the layer-upon-layer clothing trend. Yes, even second graders. At our age, we were all probably trying to look like the top three teen celebrities we knew, probably from some cheesy kids' show.

Alden's face is on the next page, and I know it before I even see it. It's ridiculous how many times I've gone through this thing. I gaze at his chubby, dimply, freckled face and his curly red hair that flows out of his head so perfectly it looks like he didn't even need to style it. His bright green eyes would stand out in a green, grassy field in the summertime and his dimples are to die for.

And that was when we were seven.

I hear dishes clattering downstairs and then footsteps stomping on the wood. I shove the yearbook quickly under my bed and scramble to get up from the carpet. I look in the mirror and fuss with my sort-of-wavy sort-of-curly dark brown hair. I'm wearing a hand-me-down long sleeved black-and-white striped polo and a plaid, pleated skirt. I bend down to tie my laces of my dirty used-to-be white sneakers as the door flies open.

"Blanca!" Mom screams. "You need to get going! You're going to be late!"

I roll my eyes. "Mamá," I sigh, "I'm not going to be–" I glance at my alarm clock and do a double take. "Oh." I grab my backpack and push past Mom and sprint down the stairs.

"Do you want a ride?" Mom calls from the top step. I stop my train of thought to admire her. That might sound weird, and this might sound weirder, but my mom is drop-dead gorgeous. She's only thirty-five, so she's not that much older than me. Only about twice my age, so I can't help it if I can realize that she is so beautiful.

"No, no, mami," I yell back, grabbing an apple from the basket on the granite counter. I push up my gold, metal glasses up the bridge of my nose. "I'll make it on time!"

I hear my mom sigh loudly as her feet clomp down the stairs. "No, mija, let me give you a ride. Go get in the car."

I'm about to argue when I hear a door open down the hall. I peek around the corner and roll my eyes. "Mami, Matty is home!" I shout in a sing-song voice.

"Matías!" Mom growls. She stomps loudly down the stairs and glares in my direction. Matty stares at me with wide eyes.

"She's still home?" he mouths at me.

I nod like it's the most obvious thing in the world.

"Matías!" Mom repeats. She groans and rolls her eyes. "Vamos! Before you're both late."

I raise my eyebrows at Matty who reluctantly trudges out. He's fully dressed, his curly brown hair styled perfectly and everything. He's clearly been up for hours. He comes to my side and runs his long fingers through his curls. "Blanca, you snitch," he says, nudging me playfully.

"What were you planning on doing this morning?" I ask.

"Nothing," he says, looking up through the corner of his eye, his hand still in his hair.

It's adorable, the way he lies.

"Come on!" Mom says, making every syllable longer than it should be. Matty and I swing our backpacks over our shoulders and go out the garage door to the car.

"Shotgun!" Matty says loudly, reaching for the passenger door handle.

"Matty, get in the back," Mom says without missing a beat. "Blanca, sit wherever you want."

I slide into the backseat with my older brother, the black leather seats squeaking against my bare legs. The seats are already boiling hot and I wince as I feel the back of my thigh burning.

We pull up to the school parking lot in two minutes and pile out of the air-conditioned car and into the hot, sweaty, sticky San Diego morning air. Mom rolls down the passenger-side window and grins at us. "Have a good day!" she says loudly even though we're only feet away.

"Bye, mami!" I say, waving and smiling.

Matty turns around, waving at Mom without saying anything. Mom rides away to the exit of the lot as we turn to the school entrance. Mom really didn't have anything to be worried about; we still had ten minutes before the warning bell. I expect Matty to go and find some friends or something, but he sticks by my side as we wander around the blacktop, eventually heading towards the doors.

Matty is pretty handsome when it comes to boys at our school. He's got great hair and apparently really nice eyes, or so I've heard from the majority of the senior girls. He does have a really good smile, though, I must admit. He has big, white pearls and pink lips. I wish that I got Dad's freckles like he did.

"What were you really doing?" I ask out of the blue.

"What?" he asks, opening the door for me. I walk through and wait for him to come.

I look up at him with an unconvinced face. A sly smiles spreads across my face. "Isa?"

His cheeks blush a light red and he looks straight ahead. "Who?" he asks stupidly.

"Isabela has been your girlfriend for two years and you're really going to play dumb now?"

Matty rubs the back of his neck uncomfortably. "Yeah, but what about her?"

"Were you gonna sneak out with her or something?" His Adam's Apple bounces up and down and he bites his bottom lip nervously. "You were!" I cross my arms triumphantly. "Did you let her know you were caught?"

Matty nods. "She was pretty disappointed. We were gonna go eat and then… Whatever. It was gonna be fun."

I smile. "I hope your plans were very romantic."

The warning bell rings and we wave goodbye.

"Hasta luego."

"Adiós. Tell Isa hi for me."

I turn on my heel and head down the hall. My heart drops to my toes and I lose all the breath in my lungs. His hair stands out like a sore thumb. And I'm probably being the most dramatic person right now, but I want something to happen like they do in the movies; something that I would never expect, like Alden asking me to junior prom in the middle of the crowded hallway and swooping me up in his arms.

I stand there in the middle of the hallway, gazing at the red mass of hair.

Nothing happens. No dramatic music, no grand gesture.

Nothing.

* * *

I drop my backpack on the floor almost immediately and scream at the walls. "Mami!" I wait as my shriek echoes slightly around me.

The door opens behind me and I feel my spirits fall instantly. I turn around and make a face at Matty. I cross my arms and wrinkle my nose. "You couldn't leave me alone for more than five minutes?"

Matty shrugs. "I didn't walk today." Matty usually walks and I take the bus.

"Why not?" I ask, wandering into the kitchen and grabbing two slices of bread. I stick them into the toaster and pull down the handle.

"Theo offered to drive me," Matty says, opening the fridge and handing me the butter. I grab a knife from a drawer and a plate.

"Huh." I wait at the counter, tapping my index finger on the granite impatiently. I don't know a lot of Matty's friends because, well, he has so many. So I guess Theo was observant enough to know how slow of a walker my brother is and take pity on him.

There's a knock at the door and Matty and I exchange a quick glance before attempting to race to the door. Unfortunately, Matty is at the fridge, which is closer to the hallway to the door, therefore, he has the advantage, so he makes it there first. I grumble and make a face at his back before returning to my all-done toast. I take out the slices and spread butter on them carefully, listening to Matty's muffled voice.

A minute later, Matty comes back to the kitchen. I look up and there's a wicked grin on his face.

"What's up with you?" I ask with wide eyes. I bite into my perfectly burnt toast. "Who was at the door?" Matty takes an apple from the fridge and bites crisply into it.

"Some kid in your grade."

I wait, giving Matty an expectant look. "And…? What did they want? Who was it?"

"Uh, his name was weird. It was, like, Aaron or something."

My heart skips a beat, and not in a good way. The way when you loop on a roller coaster, but you're worried you're going to fall out. That way. "Alden?"

Matty nods confidently. "Yeah, that was it. The redhead?" he asks for confirmation.

I nod, but my brain feels like it's bouncing around in my skull. I feel like my legs have turned to mush. "What did Alden want?" His name coming out of my mouth suddenly tastes bitter. What does he want? I can't think of anything that would give him a good reason for coming to my house. He doesn't even know me! We haven't talked since third grade, and that was only because he asked for a pencil. What if he was mad at me for some reason? No, he couldn't be mad at me, I never talk about him to anyone and I haven't talked to him.

The thought hits me like a bullet. What if he wanted to ask me out? That was always on the table. Everyone was always wondering if someone liked them. Why do humans always want someone to admire them? Why can't people just be happy with themselves? I feel like that would make things a lot easier. But, no, Alden hasn't looked at me since elementary school. But. Maybe he had. If he knew it was my sketchbook, he must have seen me holding it at some point.

"He said you left a book in the classroom or something." I blink a few times. Alden and I don't even have any classes together. Matty reveals a sketchbook out of nowhere, and surely, it's my brand-new sketchbook I got last month, no drawings in it yet. How did he know it was mine? I haven't even written my name in it yet. There's no way that any random kid in the school would know it was mine. There's no way for anyone to tell. I snatch it from his hands and hug it tightly to my chest.

"Did he say which classroom?" I ask curiously, trying to seem casual.

"Oh, wait, not a classroom," Matty said hesitantly. Matty wasn't very good at paying attention or remembering information. "No, he said it was left in the cafeteria."

I bite my lip. Matty finishes off his apple and tosses it in the garbage can across the hall. "Whoo!" he whoops. I glance down at my toast and sigh. I take the plate and retreat to the stairs.

"I'll be in my room!" I call down the hall. Matty doesn't respond as I jog up the stairs and into my bedroom. I place my toast on my desk and press the sketchbook tightly against my chest. I sit down at my desk and take a bite of toast as I open the sketchbook. Drawing helps me focus and get back in the game. I can just put the pencil to the paper and it does the rest of the work for me. It's as if the pencil is the one guiding my hand rather than vice versa.

I fan through the numerous pages in the book and do a double-take as something flickers by, catching my eyes. I flip through the pages slowly, looking at each page carefully. I see markings on one page at the back. I open the book fully and my heart rate quickens. It might have even stopped beating altogether.

It's writing.

It's a note.

I gulp and I feel like there's nothing to swallow. My mouth is as dry as the desert. As sandpaper. As a drained swimming pool. I try to read it but my eyes are all messed up and everything looks blurry. I blink multiple times and stare at the page, furrowing my eyebrows.

Blanca Perez,

Oh my gosh. Oh my gosh. Oh my gosh.

That is my name

My name.

Okay, that takes a big weight off of my shoulders: the note is for me. It wasn't a mistake. Whoever wrote this didn't think that I was someone else. So far, so good.

If you've found this, good eye :) I think we should get together sometime. I love burgers and movies! I heard from some friends that there's a really good new restaurant downtown. I'd love to take you. Let me know when works for you.

Alden Clegg

This can't be happening. Like, this legit, for real, for real cannot be happening. Alden hasn't talked to me, much less looked in my general direction since we were kids. And all of a sudden, he's giving me this note in my sketchbook (incredibly romantic and very rom-com of him, I feel like a proud mother) to ask me out? It doesn't fit. It doesn't add up. It's totally random and we haven't socially interacted in forever.

Why would he reach out now?

Why would he reach out at all?

I don't know if I'll ever find out for sure.

I take another big bite of toast and stare at the page. I narrow my eyes. It's suddenly occurring to me that Alden Clegg, the hottest guy (in my opinion) maybe ever is asking me out. My elementary, middle, and high school crush is actually asking me out. It's literally my dream come true. But it doesn't feel right and it feels so out of place. This whole situation feels out of place.

A number of knocks rap at the door. I jump and close my sketchbook immediately. I hop up and try to get to the door, but it opens before I reach it. "Hey," Matty says, letting himself in.

"Hi," I say awkwardly. I'm standing up straight with my hands stiffly at my sides. Totally weird position to be in right now. Especially at home, with my brother, in my bedroom. So unnatural and I know it. It makes me look totally suspicious.

"What's up?" Matty asks hesitantly, raising an eyebrow.

I shrug, trying to relax. "Nothing." I sit down on the bed and look up at him. "What's up?"

Matty sort of laughs. "I just asked you."

"I just asked because I was wondering why you came in here," I say, trying to sound normal.

"Oh." Matty looks confused, but lets it go pretty quickly. "Well, Mom called. She said she's gonna have to work a late shift tonight. She might not get home until after one."

I nod understandingly. Mom works as a certified nursing assistant at a hospital in a few towns down, so it takes about twenty minutes to get there without traffic. She usually works from three o'clock (she has to leave at two to make it on time) to eleven o'clock, and gets home around twelve or one, depending on traffic or if she stops for dinner. One a.m. is usually the latest she's ever home, so being home after one could mean a lot of things.

"Got it," I say, fumbling with my fingers. After a long pause, I take a breath. "Anything else?" I want him to leave so I can process the whole Alden situation, but I don't want to sound desperate and blow my cover.

Matty shakes his head and shrugs. "No. Do you wanna watch a movie tonight?" he suggests.

"No, that's okay," I say slowly, trying not to sound too dismissive. "I've got tons of homework. You could invite some friends over if you wanted."

Matty smiles. "Okay," he takes a couple steps out the door. He turns back and shoots me a look that says I'm-totally-joking-but-I'm-actually-really-serious. "And, just so you know," he says, "I'm inviting Isa over. So no coming downstairs unless you plan on going back upstairs at some point within ten minutes."

I raise my eyebrows. "Isa loves me!" I say defensively, throwing my hands up. But I'm smiling. "I'm coming down when she comes."

Matty shakes his head. "Just don't be bothersome."

"Hey," I say. Matty turns around. "Don't have too much fun down there," I say cautiously.

Matty blushes like crazy. "Blanca," he groans, closing the door behind him.

I leap off of my bed and slam into my chair, sending it squeaking across the wooden floor. I stomp my feet on the ground to make it stop and take a deep breath. How do I even respond to this? In another letter? Do I tell him in person? Do I email him (not that I have his email in the first place)? I don't know what to do. I feel like another letter would be too unoriginal. You don't want to reply in the same way the other person sent it. Plus, sending it a different way shows creativity.

So what do I do?

I open my laptop from my backpack pocket and bounce onto my squeaky, springy bed. My fingers fly across the keys like bullets. I type into the search bar rapidly:

romantic grand gestures

I delete every character almost immediately. Definitely not a good idea to go big. Not yet. I start typing again, flicking the keys more cautiously.

subtle romantic gestures

It takes a minute to load (our internet sucks) and then a handful of website links pop up. I click on the first link. The title of the article is 365 Ways to Wow Your Sweetheart this Valentines Day. I scroll through and scan the gazillion tiny letters, looking for anything useful. My eyes flick to the word collage. Too mushy. Too early. Another. Note. Taken. I do a double take after scanning for a minute and my eyes widen. Duh! Calligraphy. Of course it should be in calligraphy, he literally gave me the note in my sketchbook for calligraphy. Calligraphy is one of my favorite hobbies and the one I'm most good at.

Google, you're a lifesaver.

I close my laptop softly, tossing it lightly across the bed. I get up and migrate to my desk, flipping open my sketchbook again. I find the note again and bite my lip. What are the key words he uses?

Burgers.

Movies.

Restaurant.

Okay, I adore the guy, but I also adore rom-coms, and this kid needs to work on his romantic note-writing skills. None of these words scream 'romantic.' None of them even whisper it (maybe movies, but it would have to be a rom-com). I sigh and take my calligraphy pen pack from my desk drawer. I open it and take the finest pen, which is just like a regular ballpoint pen. I position it my hand and write careful, print writing. Nothing fancy. Yet.

Dear Alden,

When I write his name, my fingertips tingle on the pen.

I'm absolutely– I grab a couple sizes thicker of pen and take my calligraphy to work. I write in loopy, elegant letters. –flattered. I trade out pens and go back to the first one, writing in print again. I love movies too! I hope you love– Change. –rom-coms. Back to ballpoint. Those are my favorites.

After far too long, I finally have my letter written out.

Dear Alden,

I'm absolutely flattered. I love movies too! I hope you love rom-coms. Those are my favorites. What restaurant were you thinking? I'd love to go eat, that sounds so fun. I hope you write me back!

Blanca

P.S. Thanks for the compliment. I do have good eyes.

I take a deep breath and lean back, rereading my note over and over and over again until my heart is buzzing with excitement. I exhale sharply and tear the page out carefully. I fold it in half cautiously and stuff it into a small pocket in my backpack. A safe one. I never use it, so I know it's not dirty or filled with sticky notes and candy wrappers.

I skip downstairs and forget that Matty has company. I swerve into the living room and luckily I'm quiet enough that Isabela and Matty don't notice me. I gaze at them from behind the couch. Matty's arm is around Isa's back and his hand is rubbing her shoulder contently. Isa rests her head on Matty's shoulder lovingly and they both whisper sweet nothings to each other as they watch the movie in front of them on the TV. The TV is quiet so I know they're not actually paying attention. It's just an excuse to get as close to cuddling as possible if they're not in Matty's bedroom (Mom won't even let them in there with the door open). The scene is adorable, like from a legit romantic comedy. Or maybe just a straight up romance. Love is in the air and the scent is sweet.

Matty suddenly turns around like his Spidey-senses have activated. "Blanca!" he says in an annoyed, irritated tone. Isa whips around, beaming.

"Blanca!" Isa exclaims in a much happier tone than Matty's she jumps out of her boyfriend's arms and leaps over to me. She wraps her arms around my shoulders and gives a gentle squeeze. She pulls back and smiles at me. "How are you?"

Isabela is probably the most beautiful person I've ever met. Her lips are full and always a shiny reddish-pink color that makes her dark brown skin pop. Speaking of her skin, it glows and it's always smooth and shining. Her hair is short and blunt, but still silky and soft. It goes to her shoulders and she usually has it straight or gorgeous waves. Her fashion is beyond anything I could ever accomplish. I don't know where she gets her clothes, but even if I did, I couldn't pull them off like she does.

"Good!" I say cheerfully, smiling at her. Matty climbs over the couch and rests his chin on Isa's shoulder (which, he has to lean down about a foot at least to reach her shoulder). Isa lies her head on Matty's casually, still staring at me.

"Good!" she repeats.

I take a step back as she turns ever so slightly towards Matty. They grin at each other and Matty straightens up, taking her fingers in his hands. I walk the other way to the counter and reach up. I open a cabinet and pull out a glass, filling it with cold water from the sink. I open the freezer and grab a couple ice cubes from the ice-making machine box. I plop them into my glass and wait a minute for the water to cool properly. I glance back at my brother and his amazing girlfriend, who have wandered back to the couch, huddled in the corner. I raise an eyebrow and clear my throat. "Still here," I warn.

"Relax, Blanca," Matty says, and I can tell he's rolling his eyes.

I take my water back to my room and shut my door behind me. I still can't believe that I wrote a letter to Alden. I wrote a letter to Alden. This is too real. Except it's not. It's all too fake. This has been in my fantasies forever. I collapse onto my bed, and let a cheesy, cringeworthy giggle slip out of my lips.

This is actually, legit, insane.

I can't believe it's happening to me.