If

I sit up and stretch, yawning enormously. I look around my bedroom before swinging my legs over my bed and standing. Then I glance at my desk and do a double take. My sketchbook sits alone on my otherwise perfectly clean desk and my heart lurches to my throat. I forgot about the note. I forgot that I'm giving Alden a reply note. Today. As in, in a few hours from now.

I leap up and throw a white-and-navy-blue striped polo with long sleeves, light blue jeans, my pair of white socks, and a clean bra. I rush to the shower and try to get ready as fast as possible. It's funny, because I'm not even late. I didn't even sleep in. I woke up five minutes before my alarm went off. But it just feels like if I relax for even a minute, I'm gonna show up to school late. And I can't start the day off with a bad beginning. It'll be a sign from the universe that I should never have found Alden's note because he has a girlfriend, or he's gay, or some kind of deal breaker.

I apply my dark, forest green eye shadow with a hint of dark red and purple, bat at my eyelashes with my mascara wand, and stroke my eyelid, leaving a thin line of eyeliner. I blush my cheeks slightly and slip in some small, golden hoop earrings and a couple of little diamond ones into my other holes along my earlobes. I thrust on my dirty Converse and run downstairs, stomping down the staircase, simply out of stress. Even though it's literally seven in the morning and school doesn't start for another hour.

I plop two slices of bread into the toaster and dart to the fridge to grab the butter. Just like every morning. Except for the fact that I am stressed out of my mind and can't think about anything except Alden's reaction.

I hear a door creak open and footsteps stepping lightly on the hardwood floor. Matty slinks into the kitchen, rubbing one eye stupidly with the heel of his hand. His hair is a wreck and I'm so thankful he's the kind of teenage boy who takes his time to get ready in the morning, or else I would have never met Isabela. Not a chance. "What are you doing?" he asks thickly.

I turn on my heel to him, feeling like I can finally catch my breath as I hear the toaster slowly and quietly ticking away. "Happy birthday," I say, totally suspiciously, avoiding his question completely.

He raises an eyebrow. He's wearing those traditional, classic plaid pajama pants and a worn, purple-gray over sized tee. He sits down at the counter and rests his head in his arms. "Thanks?" he asks.

"Eighteen years old!" I say, trying to sound a little more convincing. "Do you realize that you're an adult now? Like, for real, for real." I shake my head, seriously thinking about it for a moment. "That's insane."

Matty nods. "It is."

I smile. "You can vote, you can join the military, you can skydive." I pause. A sly grin spreads across my face. "You could sue someone! You could sue that jerk, Tommy Laurence for pushing you down that hill in fifth grade!"

Matty snorts. "What would I sue him for?"

I shrug. "Breaking your arm and spraining your ankle maybe? I dunno, maybe that isn't a good enough argument." I cross my arms and grin at my brother.

He smiles. "But seriously, what are you doing?"

Crud. He's backed me into a corner. I can't take too long or respond too quickly with my response. That'll make things too obvious.

"I have a big test today." Crap. Why do I do this to myself?

"What? Why haven't I known about it?" Matty asks.

I'm repeatedly imagining myself running out the door, down the street, and eventually to Mexico where my brother won't be able to catch me in my lie. Okay, it's going to sound really, really weird, but Matty helped me study for a test once in ninth grade and I failed. Mom punished him by grounding him for a week, which, for our mom, is very generous. After that, Matty has been determined to never fail me again. So, I guess in order to do that, he has to help me with every single test I ever have. That involves quizzes and sometimes just assignments. It's weird because Mom never put him up to it. He made this choice himself, and I'm honestly surprised he's still going through with it. So, in situations like the one I've put myself in just now, he gets really upset when I don't tell him about it or I just forget to. He feels like he should be taking responsibility for my grades or something. I feel bad, but it's also just easier if I keep him happy and get good grades at the same time. It's simple and he volunteers. Where's the harm?

I shrug. "I just found out about it."

Matty shakes his head and lets out a heavy, sharp exhale. "Well, what do we do?"

I shake my head. "It's your birthday, Matty, enjoy it. I'll just get a ride with Julian."

Matty scoffs. "I'm way better at helping you study than Julian. He'll probably try to make it all a game."

I shrug helplessly. "I mean, it does make it a little more enjoyable."

Matty shakes his head. "You know what else is enjoyable? You know what else is more enjoyable?"

"What?"

"Getting good grades. And you don't need even more joy before that. Getting the A-plus makes up for all the un-enjoyable work."

I can't help but smirk at my brother. "You're hilarious."

"Oh, yeah, college is so hilarious." I know he's not actually so passionate about Julian quizzing me instead of him. I know he really couldn't care less. He's just stressed about me getting a bad grade.

I guess another reason why he helps me study that I forgot to mention is that Mom stresses him out like crazy about his grades. I've heard her say to others or to herself that he'll never get anything done or amount to anything. She told me once that he'll probably end up living in his bedroom until he's thirty. I mean, Matty has ADD, so learning doesn't come easy for him. He gets distracted very easily and it's hard for him to focus. Testing is an absolute nightmare for him. Mom hasn't really been hard on him for his ADD until I was twelve, a year after we moved to San Diego. It was his freshman year and his difficulty with learning really started to show. She started making him stay at school for an hour everyday to ask every single teacher he had for help. Most didn't help. And if he finished before the hour was up, he was instructed to stay in the cafeteria with the chess club and finish up on homework. I mean, the homework part was a great idea, but asking every teacher for help? I think we all know that at least half of those teachers are either going to refuse to help or just give meaningless, useless answers.

My guess is that Matty goes crazy for helping me because he doesn't want me to go down the same path when Mom is driving me crazy about grades and working me to the core. But I think we both know that Mom is only worried about Matty. I've always been in honors and gifted classes. Straight A's always, et cetera. I've never really had much trouble in school. Everything came pretty easy to me. I could probably do without Matty's study sessions, but, hey, I'm not complaining. They're a nice refresher and I know it keeps my brother's stress level on the down-low.

I hug my brother briefly and head to the door. "Love you, Matty, see you later."

"Bye!" he calls.

Before I shut the door, I shout, "Happy birthday!" one more time, just for good measure, and head down the road.

Julian waits at the bus stop, absorbed in his phone. He looks up as I sidle up next to him. "Oh!" he puts his phone away almost instantly. "What are you doing here?" he asks.

Okay, Julian is the most adorable person I've ever met. He's so innocent and cute, I forget that he's older than me by six months (he got held back in first grade). He has dark, curly locks of hair that sprout of his head like crazy, so he needs to cut his hair like every two weeks. His face is pale and freckles are scattered everywhere like sprinkles on a cake. He has bright blue eyes that shimmer like the ocean on a sunny day and his ears poke out just a little bit. Today, he's wearing a pale tan hoodie with a worn Levi's jacket over it. He said he stole the jacket from his dad in freshman year and never gave it back. Obviously, his oblivious dad never noticed. He's the kind of dad who works nine to five, asks what the best part of your day was, and then eats dinner in bed. It's kinda nice to think of a parent that isn't always on your case about everything. Of course, the only thing Julian wants is to spend more time with his dad. The number one thing he's ever wished for has been to play ball with his dad.

I guess the grass is always greener on the other side.

I shrug. "I wanted to hang before school."

Julian raises his eyebrows. "Blanca, are you serious right now?"

"What?"

Julian scoffs playfully as the bus pulls up. We pile inside, squeezing into one of the last booths available. "Okay, for one, I know that you always want to sleep in until the last possible minute, and for another thing, I know you're a very bad actress."

I blush and weave my fingers together. I actually don't sleep in. I rarely do. I always wake up at five thirty. I get ready, and then have thirty minutes to spare, which is usually spent skimming through the number of yearbooks hidden under my bed.

I get it, I'm creepy.

"What's going on inside your head?" Julian asks in a teasing, sing-song voice, poking me softly in the shoulder. I rub my arm and stare at my lap, but I crack a small half-smile out of the corner of my mouth.

"Okay." I sigh and avoid Julian's eyes, looking literally everywhere and anywhere in the bus. I lock eyes with this one old dude who sips slowly on a coffee cup, and it's very awkward as I tear my eyes from his. "You know Alden Clegg?"

Julian bursts out laughing. "You don't have to say his last name," he says after a moment, finally calmed down. "Of course I know who your ridiculous forever-crush is." He raises his eyebrows. "Why?"

I glance at his eyes, and he looks so intrigued it's sickening. My stomach drops and I suddenly reconsider if I should really tell Julian. He's known I liked Alden since elementary school, and I always talk about how much I want to know him better, or how much I want to talk to him, but what if he thinks my note is cheesy or stupid? What if he thinks it's crazy that I'm actually trying to make this work? I take a deep breath before I overthink too much. Julian is my best friend. He's like, my only friend, really. I can tell him. I can tell him.

"So, he wrote me a note."

Julian goes silent, which doesn't happen too often, so I take my chances and keep talking. "And I wrote back."

"Holy–" Julian is speechless. He chews on his bottom lip thoroughly for a moment, then whips his head to me. "What did he say? What did you say?"

I crack a small smile. "He said he wanted to go out sometime."

"Oh my– What did you say in response?"

I pull out the letter from my pack and hand it to him slowly. He takes it in a second and hesitates as he's about to open it. "Are you sure? Is it personal?"

I scrunch up my nose and shake my head. "No, why would I let you hold it if it was?"

He grins a toothless smile and opens the card, he squints his eyes flits left and right like someone trying to follow a gnat with their eyes. His toothless grin turns into a very toothy one. Julian's teeth all have a little gap in between them, so it's even cuter when he smiles. "This is freaking adorable, I'm going to cry," he says, handing me back the note. His hand is cupped on his cheek in awe and satisfaction and probably some other emotion that even he can't describe.

Self-doubt creeps its way back into my brain, seeping into me slowly. "You don't think it's a little much?" I ask.

His eyebrows shoot up his forehead like a rocket. "No! But what do you mean by 'I do have a good a good eye?' That was adorably very rom-com of you."

Duh. Julian is definitely the person I watch all my favorite romantic comedies with.

"In his letter, he said 'if you found this, good eye,' with a smiley face."

Julian lets out a chuckle. "You literally have had glasses since we were five."

I push up my glasses and grin. I can feel my ears burning under my hair.

When we get to school, all the questions hit Julian at once. "When are you going to do it? Are you going to give it in person or slip it into his locker? Are you going to have a messenger? Because if so, I so call dibs. What are you going to do when he replies?"

"If he replies," I warn him, giving my first response.

He smiles. "He will."

"I don't know when I'll do it," I say softly, scratching gently at my hand.

He smiles and shrugs. "I'm here if you need help doing it." The warning bell blares at us from the speakers in the hallway and Julian turns on his heel, heading in the opposite direction of me. "See you at lunch!" he calls, waving before running off.

Every single class feels like sixty hours instead of sixty minutes. I stare at the clock, ticking away as slowly as possible, and I swear, I see the big hand go over the twelve twice. When the lunch bell finally rings, I heave myself up from my desk and dart out of the U.S. History classroom. We just finished learning about the Adams and Jefferson Administration.

I swerve into the lunchroom, and even though the bell rang a minute ago, the cafeteria is packed with kids, jumping, yelling, throwing random stuff that varies between footballs, food, and I don't even know what. I can barely hear myself think in here.

I'll admit, our school has a serious clique problem. We've got all the classics, and it's so cliché, I want to barf. There's jocks, along with their accessories, the cheerleaders and popular, rich kids, the nerds, which include the math, band, D&D, and just regular weirdo nerds, emo kids who all have dark clothes and thick eyeliner, jamming out to something like My Chemical Romance or some other emo rock band, the 'groupies,' as my school calls them specifically, which are mostly the girls who have always stuck with the same other three to four girls since sixth grade, and then the loners, who are one or two kids who sit alone and eat their lunch, watching every lunchroom drama go down from the sidelines. Julian and I are loners. It's a love-hate relationship. Sometimes it really sucks to be a loner because you watch all the other groups with their bazillion friends, but then it's really great because you just get to suck in all the drama and watch how pathetic and stupid some kids are, and you can say anything, because they don't know who the heck you are.

I feel a soft tap on my shoulder and I feel my legs turn to jelly. I turn and see that it's just Julian. I punch him lightly on the arm, but he still winces. "What?" he asks.

"I thought you were him," I mutter, leading the way down to our usual table. No one sits there because it's right by the old hangout where druggies sold, well, drugs. No one goes over there anymore since Principal Clemmens found a plastic bag with weed in it last year, worried that they'll get in trouble for just standing there. But Julian and I sit there every day for two reasons: one, no one's there, and two, it's like, the place where you can see everything. It looks over the whole cafeteria, and it's so easy to see every little piece of drama that goes down.

Julian chuckles behind me as I sit down. He sits across from me and whips out his lunchbox he's had since first grade. It has Thomas the Train on it, and the paint is peeling and scuffed. I love that Julian doesn't even care if the most popular guy in school or some random new kid could come up to him right now and bully him for his literal Thomas the Train lunchbox. He's probably threaten them or just freak them out by saying some weird gibberish. That's Julian for you.

I pull out my brown paper bag from my backpack and unfold the top, reaching inside and grabbing my plastic bag. I open it and take out my sandwich, taking a bite into the sweet and salty peanut butter and jelly yumminess. My eyes flutter closed and I lick my lips with satisfaction. I feel a soft tap on the toe of my shoe and open my eyes. Julian smiles and nods his head to the side. "He's here."

Of course, right as Julian says that, I swallow my bite. It gets stuck in my throat, slowly sliding down the narrow canal. I gag, and Julian immediately hops up, ready to do the Heimlich. I hold up my hand as my sandwich finally makes its way through my esophagus. I caught a glimpse of his red hair in the line for pizza. I stare at Julian with wide, nervous eyes. "What do I do?"

Julian shrugs. "It's up to you, Blanca," he says, holding up his hands and leaning back. "I'm only here to support you."

I look back at Alden, who's just gotten his pizza and is walking over to some friends. My throat sort of ties itself in a knot. I cough and my face turns really red. "I think I'll slip it in his locker," I say, not looking at Julian.

Julian smiles and lets out a light laugh. "Do you even know where his locker is?"

I dart my eyes to him, but I smiled a little. "Yes," I say.

After sixth period, I spot Alden at his locker. Thank everything pure and good in this world! I suddenly slow my pace, trying not to pass him before he walks off. Luckily, I'm about a foot away, which sent my heart flying through the roof, and he turns on his heel and walks off. I rush to his locker, digging through my backpack. I pull out the note and slide it carefully through the vent in his locker before anyone can see what I'm doing. I swing my backpack over my shoulder and keep walking like nothing happened.

After school, I feel more exhausted than I ever have, just because I had to wait until Alden was away from his locker to slip a little three by five card into it. I trudge down the sidewalk, waiting at the edge of campus for Matty. Julian slides up beside me and is practically bouncing with anticipation.

"So?" he asks. "Did you do it?"

I nod discreetly. "Lower your voice," I mumble, darting my eyes around the other students around us. I smile a little as he gasps softly.

"When?"

"After trig," I say.

He nods. "Just in his locker, right?"

I nod as Matty strolls up, sticking at the other side of me. "Yeah, the trig lesson was brutal," I improvise, because there's no way that Matty's finding out about this. At least not anytime soon.

"Just wait till next year," Matty says, sounding somehow even more tired than I am. And that's saying a lot, considering I just slipped a note to my crush I've had since first grade. "I'll help with your homework if you want," he says solemnly.

I raise an eyebrow. Okay, tests are one thing, but homework? That's just unnecessary.

Julian waves as he skids off to his twenty-three year old brother's rusty, peeling brown pickup. He tugs at the passenger door and it makes a horrific scraping sound. The car makes a squealing noise as it peels out of the parking lot. Julian heaves his whole body out of the window, waving insanely at me, specifically. I feel my cheeks flush tomato red.

"What a weirdo," Matty says jokingly, nudging my elbow. I glance at him. His smile fades away before I can even see it by the time I look over. I open my mouth to say something, but at that exact moment, because Theo's all about terrible timing, he pulls up. I raise an eyebrow.

"Where's Isa?" Isabela usually picks us up on Wednesdays because our house is on the way to the home she takes piano lessons at.

"She couldn't pick us up today," Matty says, heading towards Theo's parents' expensive-looking silver convertible.

"Oh." I slide into the backseat with Matty. Theo and his girlfriend (I think her name is Angela Mull?) sit in the front. I'm about to ask why Isa couldn't make it, but again, Theo interrupts.

"Bro, where's your house again?" Theo asks loudly as the wind whips around our ears. Even though we're literally in the school parking lot, he's going thirty miles per hour. A car trying to pass us skids to a stop, flipping Theo off angrily. Theo shrugs and rushes through the parking lot into the road.

"Straight!" Matty yells back.

"Why?" I ask in a normal voice because I know Matty can hear me.

"Turn left at the stop sign!" Matty continues giving Theo directions.

I sigh loudly, hoping Matty hears me, but he doesn't move. He tells Theo to turn right, then straight for two blocks, and then left one more time. Theo's car squeals to a stop at the curb outside our house. I get out as quickly as possible and stand uncomfortably at the side of the car as Theo and Matty exchange some complicated hand-shake that consists of fist bumps, high fives, and some weird finger formations. Matty finally waves goodbye and we head to the front door. We drop our backpacks near the coat rack at the door and stroll into the kitchen.

"So why couldn't Isa make it?" I ask, leaning on the counter and sliding into a bar stool. Matty gets a glass from the cabinet and fills it with cold water at the sink. He ignores me as he strides to the freezer and grabs a couple of ice cubes from the grid.

"Are we out of oranges?" Matty asks, looking at the woven basket on the counter top. He clicks his tongue disappointingly and shakes his head. "Wanna run to the store?"

I sigh. "Sure." This will give us more time to talk about Isa.

And Alden?

I watch as Matty pathetically leans over to tie his shoe laces, struggling like a three-year-old on the floor. He almost falls over as he finally ties the knot.

Maybe not yet.

I follow Matty to the garage. Dad's old car sits in the echoey room (is a garage a room?), paint peeling at the sides, dust collecting on the hood. I'm surprised that Matty is volunteering to drive Dad's car. He has only driven it once, and he had a major panic attack on the freeway. Not what you would think. He wasn't scared of the other cars or driving or anything. I honestly don't know what emotion to use to describe his feelings. But the cause of his panic attack was thinking about the fact that the car was Dad's. I guess he didn't like the idea that the old owner of this car was now in a fancy house in Los Angeles with a wife (probably an additional girlfriend) and three unwanted children. It's only a matter of time before he leaves those poor kids too.

I eye Matty as he slides into the front seat without hesitation. I climb into the passenger seat and pull my seat belt over me as he opens the garage door and backs out into the street. He peels down the road, making sharp turns here and there. After about ten minutes of silence, we pull into the neighborhood grocery store parking lot. Matty unbuckles and walks down the road in long strides.

We go inside and he goes straight to the fruits and vegetables section, which is right by the entrance. He grabs two bags of oranges and a shopping cart. He drops the oranges carelessly into the cart and takes the handles, gripping them so tightly, his knuckles turn white. "Do we need anything else?" he asks, looking around.

I shake my head. "We only came here for oranges."

He nods, taking the two bags out of the cart and pushing it aside. He strides to the self-checkout and scans the bags. Halfway through scanning, he reaches into his back pocket and his face pales. "Crap," he hisses to himself, looking down. "I forgot my wallet," he says, not looking at me.

I reach into my pocket and pull out my debit card. I hand it to him and he buys the bags.

We go back to the car, and I keep catching myself looking at Matty with worried eyes. I suddenly remember the panic attack. It was a year ago, and nothing like it has happened since, but maybe that's what's happening again.

As we pile into the car, he tosses the oranges into the backseat and backs out of our spot.

"Matías," I say cautiously, "what's going on?"

Matty keeps his eyes on the road, gripping the steering wheel. He slows to a stop at a red light. Without even trying to cover it up, he takes a breath. "Isabela and I broke up."

My heart freezes and cracks, just like when you fill a cup of ice with water, shattering and falling into the depths of my body. I feel like all the air has left my lungs and I feel like I'm choking. I squeeze my thighs. "What?"

Matty swallows, not answering. I need to hear him say it again, though. I can't go on thinking I just imagined him saying that him and Isa broke up.

After a moment, I finally decide I heard him right. "What happened? I saw her yesterday. At our house. You two were cuddling on the couch–" I stop as I see Matty wince. I might as well not let him go through what he's missing again.

Matty shuts his eyes. "Isa's going to college this year," he says slowly, still not looking at me. "She didn't want to do long-distance. I didn't want to move to Ohio."

I widen my eyes. "She's going to Ohio?"

Matty nods. "I know."

"Did you want to do long distance?" I ask after a minute.

Matty pauses. "I don't know."

I bite my lip and stare straight ahead for the rest of the drive. One thing I don't understand with couples is when they'll break up because they can't be apart from each other. Like, why not try to do something about it? Or why not try long distance out? I just don't feel like moving to another state is a valid reason to end a relationship that means so much to you. But I guess I can't say anything since I've never been in a relationship.

Matty parks the car in the garage and heads inside so quickly, I don't get a chance to unbuckle myself before he shuts the door. I follow after him like a stray puppy and watch as he tries to open the bag of oranges. He's struggling like crazy. I walk over to him and take his arms. He stops and looks down at me. He's a lot taller than me.

"Matías, lo siento," I say softly, looking him right in his red eyes that are trying so, so hard to hold back tears. "And on your birthday, too." I sigh heavily. "Get some sleep, amor."

Matty finally bursts into silent tears. I watch helplessly as the tears roll down his cheeks. He wipes his face with the heel of his hands and wraps his arms around me. "Gracias," he whispers before brushing past me and going down the hallway. I frown as his bedroom door shuts quietly.

I put the oranges in the fridge and wipe off my hands. I stand there for a minute, feeling like there's something I should be doing. At that moment, a knock comes from the front door. I raise an eyebrow and slowly walk to the door. I open it and gawk at the visitor.

My visitor.

"About that movie…" Alden says, rubbing the back of his neck nervously, smiling.