I knock on Julie’s door, and that familiar voice calls out through the small crack. “Come in, Scarlet.”

My heart jumps.

I had hoped the whole way here that he would be home. I even caught myself praying for it. But now that he actually is, I freeze. My feet will not move. It feels like I have forgotten how to walk.

He watches me step inside, and just like that, I am aware of everything. How I move. How I breathe. I start wondering if I walk funny. I probably do. The embarrassment comes fast, and I can feel my face heat up.

“She’s in the bath. Will be here in a minute,” he says, his eyes dropping to the phone in his hand.

I stay near the door, awkward and unsure what to do.

Usually, when I come over, Julie is the one waiting either at the door or out on the porch. We always head straight upstairs without thinking about anyone else. Still, I always glance around, hoping to see Oliver. But it is always the same. He is hardly ever home.

I have known Julie for about a year now, ever since I moved into the neighbourhood. But we only became close friends a few months ago.

I have had a quiet crush on her brother since the first time I met him at school. I was carrying my backpack and a stack of library books when he came rushing around the corner and bumped into me. He said sorry but kept going. I was annoyed, but I did not say anything. I crouched down and picked up my books without even looking at him.

He had only made it a few steps before he turned around and ran off. The next day, he came over and apologized properly. He said he had been late for baseball practice. He even gave me a chocolate. That is when I started liking him.

I have always been the quiet type, the girl who lives in books. Julie is the complete opposite. She is outgoing, confident, and always surrounded by people. We became friends when I started helping her with math. That is actually why I am here today. We have a test tomorrow.

Julie and I both do well in school, and I usually score higher. Oliver does not study much, but he still does alright. His grades are not as high as ours, but he does not seem to mind. He is fine with it. Baseball is more his thing. He is the kind of guy every school seems to have. Everyone knows him.

“You can sit,” he says, noticing I am still playing with the straps of my backpack.

I glance around their small living room. The house is modest. There is only one couch, and he is sitting right in the middle of it, leaning to one side. Sitting beside him, even with a bit of space between us, is something I have imagined way too often.

But instead of going for it, I walk to the far end and sit down at the edge, holding the armrest like it might help me stay calm.

He picks up a cookie from the table and takes a bite. I sneak a glance at him, and he looks up. “Want one?”

I shake my head. “No.”

Too quick. Too stiff. Why can I never act normal?

He does not seem to notice. He goes back to his cookie and leans a bit deeper into the couch. Now he is almost turned toward me, and that somehow makes it worse.

Still, he stays focused on his phone. He does not seem to notice how tense I am. I start wondering what he is watching. I am curious.

A few minutes go by, then I hear footsteps upstairs. Julie’s voice follows. “Oh, you’re here. Come up.” After a short pause, she asks Oliver, “You didn’t leave yet? I thought you were heading out.”

“Waiting for Tom,” he says, still looking at his phone.

I have to walk past him to get to the stairs. I tell myself not to overthink it. Just walk like a normal person. He is not even watching.

I stand up slowly and do my best to walk like I have not spent the last ten minutes freaking out inside.

As expected, he does not look up. He does not say anything.

I head upstairs.