The night feels like the longest of my life. I can’t sleep at all. Strangely, I’m not even thinking about the math test tomorrow. All I can think about is Oliver – his sweet, flirty message and our plan to meet. I keep imagining what to wear, how to do my hair, and what we might talk about, but I can’t seem to settle on anything.

As soon as I hear the first bird chirp, I jump out of bed and rush to the washroom. Even though I spent the whole night mentally going through every outfit in my closet, I end up throwing on a plain white tee and blue shorts. I still have a couple of hours before the school bus comes, so I pour myself a bowl of cereal, but I barely eat half of it.

Mom’s working another double – she’s a PSW at the hospital – so at least I don’t have to sit through another lecture about wasting food or the value of money. Time crawls. Unlike most days, when I purposely show up last, I’m the first one at the bus stop.

Julie’s already on the bus when it pulls up – her stop’s a couple before mine. She waves. She’s my best friend – really, my only real friend – but she’s got her own group on the bus and in class. She’s the only one from that crowd who talks to me. The rest either ignore me or hate me, so I usually don’t say much to her while in school. Most of our friendship happens after school, either at her place or mine. Our houses back onto each other, so I just have to take a turn and walk a bit.

When the bus pulls up to school, I spot Oliver near the bike racks in blue jeans and a yellow tee. He’s talking to his friends, his back to us. As we start getting off, he turns, his eyes scanning the girls. When he sees me, his search comes to a halt.

I do that awkward, self-conscious walk toward the entrance. He’s still watching, but there’s no wave, no nod, not even a smile.

I swallow the smile I’d been saving for him and head straight to class. I wait, hoping he’ll say something when he walks in. But he shows up right before the teacher, heads straight to his seat next to Tom, and doesn’t even glance my way.

That’s when it hits me. Maybe the whole thing was a joke – some dumb prank from his group to see if I’d fall for it. And, of course, I did. How could I be so naive to think the most popular guy in school would be into someone like me?

By lunch, I’m convinced. We’ve been in the same room for three hours, and he still hasn’t looked at me. Not once.

The math test is in the afternoon. I finish early and leave the hall before anyone else.

I grab my backpack and head outside.

I make my way to the back of the building, to my usual hiding spot. In Oliver’s words, my secret spot. I wait for him, even though I know deep down he’s not coming. It’s 3.30. He’s still not here. I wait anyway. Then 3.40 rolls around. Then 4.00. I’d left my phone at home in all the excitement this morning, so I can’t even text to ask why he did this to me.

At six, I finally get up and start walking home. My home is a mile from school, but I’ve walked this route plenty of times. Just as I’m about to turn onto my street, I see him riding toward me on his bike.

I freeze. I don’t know whether to stop and say something or keep walking and pretend I didn’t see him. My steps slow as he gets closer, my heart hammering in my chest.