Stepping into the house, I can hear Mamă scurrying about in the kitchen. How can I tell the difference between her and Tată is through their footsteps. Mamă’s footsteps are a lot more rushed, and closer together, hinting at her impatience to get things done. Whereas Tată’s footsteps are a lot more drawn out and slower, showing how much more calm and easy-going he is compared to Mamă. I guess you could say I’m the observant type.

“Elena,” Mamă says as soon as I step foot into the kitchen after taking my shoes off by the front door.

“Bună Mamă.” Hi, Mom.

“Bună. Cum a fost la școala?” How was school?

“Foarte bine. Eu am un nou prieten.” Very good. I have a new friend.

“Bine! Cine e?” Good! Who is it?

“Adelia.”

“Ea este drăguță?” Is she nice?

“Da!” Yes.

“Sunt fericit pentru tine. Trebuie să merg la muncă acum. Ne vedem mai târziu?” I’m happy for you. I have to go work now. See you later?

“Da. Pa-pa, Mamă.” Yes. Bye, Mom.

“La revedere.” Bye.

After washing the containers I used for lunch and packing my lunch for tomorrow—this time some German schnitzel with rice–I head up to my room.

Obviously, there’s no homework, as it was just the first day of school, so I get out my crochet stuff and continue to work on the shruggie I’m making, this one a simple forest green one with the mesh stitch.

As I work, my mind wanders back to the conversation I had with Sarai in history class, just after gym.

I’d been worrying about Adelia since we entered the gymnasium–something seemed off–and when she returned from the bathroom, looking completely wilted like a flower that hasn’t been watered in weeks, I knew something was terribly wrong. I tried talking to her about it, but she didn’t want to talk about it and kept insisting that she was just very tired.

Though, tired can have many different meanings.

One can be tired because they didn’t sleep well. One could also be tired because everything has just gotten to be too much, so they’re tired of it all. I think Adelia was, or maybe still is, experiencing the latter.

She also probably didn’t want to share anything because we just met.

Anyway, in history class, we got to pick our seats, and the only other person I knew in that class was Sarai, so I sat with her.

After we were given time to work on our slides, which we were going to put into a slideshow tomorrow. Each of us is going to present our slide, describing who we are and our interests and stuff. We never did this in Romania, so I actually enjoyed this activity.

“Sarai?” I question.

Not looking up from her slide, she replied with an “mhm?”

“Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

I take a deep breath, unsure of how to exactly phrase this, let alone know how to go about this. “Do you know what’s going on with Adelia?”

“What do you mean?” Sarai turns her to look at me, her pretty dark brown brows furrowed in confusion.

“I mean…she seems so sad…maybe because of what happened last year?”

Sarai freezes for a moment. Uh oh. Did I strike a nerve?

“Well,” Sarai begins after some time, shifting in her seat. She lowers her voice, so I have to lean in to hear her. “It’s not really my thing to talk about, but…there was some unnecessary drama that occurred last year that wasn’t even Adelia’s fault.” Sarai draws in a shaky breath. This seems hard for her to talk about. “She also went through a bad breakup. I can’t say much else; it’s not my story to tell.”

“Oh,” is all I say at first. I take in all of the information, especially the important parts of it: bad breakup, unnecessary drama. I might not know the details, but, seeing that Adelia is still affected by it, it must have been very bad. I shudder at the thought.

“Elena?”

Sarai snaps me out of my little trance. Her eyes practically frown at me. She seems kind of upset that she told me anything, but now there’s no taking it back.

“Are you upset with me?” I ask, though I’m pretty sure she isn’t.

“What? No! Why would I be?” Sarai questions, laughing it off. “I’m not the type to get mad easily. I just get protective, that’s all.”

“Over Adelia?”

Sarai pauses, taking a sip out of her hydroflask. “Yes. Especially over her. She’s like a sister to me, Adelia. She’s helped me so much…I need to help her with her struggles, too.”

“Makes sense,” I reply, tucking my hair behind my ear. It’s a nervous tick, but what’s nice about it is that it’s pretty subtle, or at least I think so.

I go back to the present now, when I’ve realized I’ve messed up the part of the shruggie I’m working on. Ugh. Du-te dracu. I think to myself.

I pull the yarn a bit too aggressively, my anger getting the better of me, and I end up breaking the yarn–which is the exact opposite of what I’m trying to achieve. I was just trying to undo the disaster I created, but I did a little more than that. Whoops.

In the end, I give up on the crochet project, and instead, I go and take a nap.

 ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

Turns out, my nap was more than a nap; I slept a whole twelve hours.

I woke up at around four in the morning, not because of my alarm, but because that’s when my body decided to wake up.

I stayed in bed for about two hours, since I don’t have to get up and get ready for school until six. I ended up going on my computer and rereading Heartstopper Volume 4 on a website for what’s probably the tenth time at least. I know I should have my own copy of the book. But if my parents found out I had queer-romance books, they’d kill me. I shudder at the thought. They’d probably send me away to a Christian school or something.

Once it hits six o’clock, I, groggily, roll out of bed and primly make it, tucking in the dusty pink sheets and the floral blanket in the right places, folding the top edge and placing my two crochet stuffed animals right in front of my pillow, which I’ve fluffed up nicely and set in a standing position right in front of the white wooden headboard.

Once I’m done, I take a step back and admire my work. Such a small, silly thing I did, yet I’m still proud of it. I cherish and celebrate the little things in life more often than the big ones.

I go to the bathroom and get ready, and then I go change out of my spongebob pajamas into a new dress I got from Hollister: it’s a sage green with minuscule white floral prints. Pairing it with my white cardigan and air forces, I’m pretty much set for the day. The only thing I have to do now is fill up my water bottle and eat breakfast.

Grabbing my backpack, which was pre-packed last night, I head downstairs quietly, careful not to wake anyone up. My parents get up just a few minutes before I leave, and my brother is lucky enough to have school start an hour after me. But I don’t mind; I actually really enjoy going to school Especially early, when it’s just the perfect temperature and I can listen to my music in peace on the relatively-quiet bus.

In the kitchen, I go over to the sink to wash my water bottle, which is a pink hydroflask. Not an obnoxiously pink one; it’s not some ugly magenta or hot pink. Instead, it’s a pastel pink, and I’ve put some pressed flower stickers I made with forget-me-nots. If you can’t tell, I clearly have taste, and my favorite color is pink.

Now filling up the bottle with water, I turn my thoughts to Adelia. I wonder if she’ll be okay today?

 ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

Sure enough, she is. She’s doing a lot better today, actually. Or, at least, that’s how she appears on the surface. She’s all smiley when I walk into the classroom, and she looks well-rested.

“Hi,” I say shyly to her as I take my seat next to her in chemistry.

“Hi!” she replies energetically. There’s a new energy to Adelia; she’s a lot more enthusiastic today. And besides, it’s currently block 1; no one should have the amount of energy Adelia seems to have. Even I don’t.

“How are you?” Adelia questions, sing-songing her words. Yep. Definitely a different vibe here.

“I’m doing good! You?”

“I’m a lot better today.”

“That’s good! What changed?”

Adelia’s smile falters a little, but it’s still there. Yet, it’s just a shadow of what it was just a few moments ago. “I mean, uh, I don’t know. Just happy, you know? Maybe the rush of making a new friend?” she teases, poking me in the ribcage with her elbow.

I can feel the butterflies in my stomach, and some shade of rouge creeps up on my face. Instinctively, I reach for my water bottle in an attempt to cool down my face. 

“You’re red.” Adelia noticed. Whoopsies.

“Oh, really?” I ask, trying to look as if I have no idea of what she’s talking about.

“Mhm,” Adelia replies dramatically, looking me up and down, twisting her hair on her finger.

I look–really look–at Adelia. I notice her outfit for the first time. She’s wearing a black skirt with torn tights, Doc Marten boots, and a gray t-shirt with a skeleton and flowers on it. The t-shirt was clearly cut by Adelia to make it cropped, but it looks good. The neck also appears to be cut. But again, it looks good. It reveals her bare shoulders, the straps of her bra. I can feel myself heat up when I picture her in her bra. Stop it.

Her luscious, extra-shiny blue hair is exceptionally pretty today–she must’ve styled her curtain bangs–and I can’t help but reach out and take a piece of her hair between my fingers, really looking at it.

Adelia blushes noticeably, but I don’t say anything. A glimmer of hope rises in my chest. For what, I’m not sure. It’s not like I fancy Adelia or anything, right?

Or do I?

I just find her really attractive–why, I have no idea. Maybe this is like what happened with Maria. No. That wasn’t a crush. Besides, it’s way too soon to get feelings for someone.

I snap back into reality and realize that I’ve been twirling Adelia’s hair in my fingers for a while, so I drop the hair and awkwardly say, “I, uh, really like your hair.”

“T-thanks,” Adelia stammers, smiling. She looks a little confused right now. “I…also think your hair is pretty. It’s a nice reddish-brown. And, your outfit is very nice today, actually,” she blurts out. As soon as she says it, she closes her eyes and sighs softly. She probably thinks I can’t hear her sigh, but I can. She seems to be just as flustered as I am. She also probably can’t believe that she just said that. I don’t think she intended to say that.

“Why thank you,” I reply, smiling softly.

Adelia immediately looks away from me, suddenly self-conscious, staring down at her hands, which are clenched together in her lap. I want to reach out and unclench her hands, but I have enough restraint to not do so. Too soon.

I try, and fail, to look away from Adelia. Though her head is facing down, I can still see her impeccable makeup, how her eyeliner isn’t too big, yet it’s not too small either, making it just the perfect amount of eyeliner to suit her eyes. She also has on this brown eyeshadow, which makes it look like she’s going for the grunge aesthetic–I’m sure she is–but the only thing that doesn’t match the aesthetic is the fact that her cheeks are a pink color, and her lips are pretty pink, too. For the record, her face has cooled down a bit, so she’s not red anymore; that’s why I think she put blush on her cheeks. And I don’t think her lips are actually this pink?

Before I can stop myself, I ask, “Are your cheeks and lips naturally that color? Or did you put makeup on them?”

Just as soon as the heat went away, I can feel it creep back into my neck, my face, and up to my ears. Adelia seems a bit taken aback.

“Uh, yeah, I guess it’s natural. I only did my eye makeup today.” She laughs it off.

Okay. That’s enough. She probably thinks you're flirting with her, which is the exact opposite of what you want to come across as.