I sighed the moment I stepped into school.
It wasn't a poetic, wistful sigh. It was the kind of sigh that said, I would rather be unconscious than vertical right now. And naturally, there was my best friend, Tiana, practically bouncing on her feet at the school's entrance like she'd been injected with a triple shot of espresso. At 7:42 a.m.
"There she is! The queen of doom!" she chirped, waving both arms like I was returning from war and not just from my bus ride.
"You look way too energetic for someone who has a test today," I muttered as I trudged up the steps and fell into step beside her.
"And you look like someone who crawled out of a crypt and forgot what joy feels like," she replied, flipping her braids with the flair of a Disney villain. "It's Friday, Dali. The sacred day. We worship it."
I gave a slight shake of my head. "Worship canceled. I'm emotionally unavailable."
Tiana narrowed her eyes. "What now? Did your foster parents finally get tired of raising a teenage disaster and ask you to pack up and hit the road?"
"Wow." I deadpanned. "Remind me to nominate you for Most Supportive Friend next time the awards roll around."
She gasped. "Don't play. I'd give the best 'I always knew she had potential' interview if you ever ran away and became famous. But seriously—what's wrong?"
We made it to our lockers. The familiar metal clang of students slamming doors open and shut echoed through the hallway. I spun in my code, and the locker clicked open, revealing an uninspiring pile of barely surviving notebooks and my emergency bag of Skittles.
I stared into the locker for dramatic effect.
Then I said it: "Raven is coming back."
Tiana slammed her locker so hard the kid next to us flinched. "Raven??? As in your Raven? Foster family Raven? Tall, mysterious, 'accidentally walked in on him shirtless once' Raven?!"
I blinked. "Okay, first of all, I never walked in on him shirtless. That was you. That was your intrusive fantasy with bad aim."
"Oh, don't act like you didn't look." She arched a brow. "But wait—what do you mean he's coming back? Since when? For what? And WHY haven't you texted me in all caps about this?!"
"Because I knew you'd react like this."
"THIS IS RESTRAINED," she hissed, yanking her hoodie over her head like she needed a hood to process this emotionally. "When is he coming?"
I dropped my voice. "Today."
She gasped like I'd told her Beyoncé was downstairs. "TODAY?"
I nodded, pressing my forehead to the cool metal of my locker. "A week early. He's back to get furniture and set up his apartment for college. Which means he's staying at the house until next weekend. Which means—"
"You're gonna combust."
"I've already started. My organs are shutting down one by one. My pancreas tapped out at 7:15."
"Oh my God, this is so much better than the test today." Tiana turned fully toward me, her face alight with wicked excitement. "Dali, this is your moment. You are no longer a skittish little fourteen-year-old watching him from behind throw pillows."
I glared. "That was one time and I was reorganizing the couch."
"You were lurking. Like a Victorian ghost child."
I groaned and leaned harder on the locker door. "He left because of me, T. He thought I felt uncomfortable around him."
"Well… you did act like he carried an infectious disease."
"I liked him! That was the problem!" I hissed. "It wasn't discomfort, it was full-body panic because he smiled at me like… like…"
"Like a hot older boy who didn't know he was ruining your emotional stability?"
"Yes!" I exclaimed. "Exactly that! Every time he said my name, I forgot how legs worked. And then, of course, he went and did the noble thing—'Oh no, I'm making the orphaned girl anxious'—and left the continent."
Tiana let out a long, low whistle. "He Australia'd out of your life."
"Can you not turn that into a verb?"
"No promises."
She was smirking now, the kind of smirk that promised chaos and commentary in equal parts. "Okay, let's focus. You're seventeen. He's what—twenty-one now?"
I nodded.
"You're legal in some countries."
"Stop."
"This is your chance to be cool. Be chill. Be the mysterious, sarcastic, stunning young woman you've grown into."
"You mean the girl who panic-sweated through her fitted shirt just because she thought she saw his Instagram handle pop up on Fiona's iPad?"
Tiana burst out laughing, nearly choking on her gum.
I sighed again. "I can't do this. I can't be in the same house. What if he's even hotter now? What if he's all…manly and confident and—oh God—has facial hair?"
"Dali. Breathe. It's fine. You're just having a casual, non-life-threatening heart spiral."
"Easy for you to say! You don't have to go home and sit across from your ex-foster-brother-almost-crush-turned-Greek-god over dinner while pretending mashed potatoes are more interesting than his cheekbones."
"You've thought about this a lot."
"I've prepared speeches."
Tiana made a face like she wanted to frame this entire conversation.
The second bell rang, cutting her off before she could launch into another performance review of my love life (or lack thereof). We grabbed our books and started walking to class, and she slipped her arm through mine like she always did when I was spiraling.
"You got this," she whispered. "And if you don't got this, I'll be on standby with chocolate and an emergency distraction plan."
"What plan?"
"I fake a medical emergency. You cry into a hoodie. Boom. Classic misdirection."
"You're terrifying."
She grinned. "And loyal."
There's a specific kind of anxiety that comes from knowing you're about to be trapped in the same space as your longtime crush, who is both technically your foster brother and a walking complication. It sits in your gut like a poorly timed burrito.
That was me, all through second period.
Mr. Hawkins was going on about the Cold War, waving a dry erase marker like he was directing a symphony no one asked for, and all I could think about was whether Raven would still have that little dimple when he smiled. And if I was going to humiliate myself by dropping a fork at dinner just because he passed me the butter.
"Dali," Mr. Hawkins called.
I snapped to attention, realizing he had asked me a question. Something about the Cuban Missile Crisis? Or maybe tacos?
"Yes?" I offered, trying to play it off like I was just incredibly pensive and not one mental step away from a full-blown crush-induced psychotic break.
He raised an eyebrow, then mercifully moved on to someone else. I turned my notebook to a fresh page and wrote:
Operation: Raven Survival Plan:
1. Don't speak unless spoken to. Limit syllables. Grunt if necessary.
2. Avoid all eye contact. His eyes are weapons. Pretty, pretty weapons.
3. Keep clothing PG-13. No accidental cleavage or outfits that say "I put effort into this."
4. Do NOT smell him.
5. Under NO CIRCUMSTANCES should you recall the hug from the funeral.
6. Stop calling it The Hug™ in your brain.
7. Absolutely no making out. Not even in dreams.
I closed the notebook with a snap, as if shutting it could also silence my spiraling brain.
By lunchtime, I was a twitchy mess. Tiana found me sitting on the cafeteria bench, stabbing a carrot stick like it had personally offended me.
"Wow. You look like someone just told you your soulmate was dating your aunt," she said, plopping down across from me.
I just groaned and rested my forehead on the table.
"You know," she added, poking at her fries, "if you faint tonight, maybe he'll catch you in his arms. Super romantic. Super movie moment."
"If I faint, it'll be because I forgot how breathing works and passed out like a Victorian debutante. Not exactly swoon-worthy."
"You're underestimating how hot dramatic medical events are to some people."
I lifted my head just to squint at her.
"Look, I'm just saying," she said with a shrug, "he's probably not expecting you to still be the awkward little freshman who tripped over a doormat and said 'thank you' to a lamppost."
"That happened once."
"Twice."
I shoved a piece of bread into my mouth and glared at her.
All afternoon, my brain ran highlight reels I didn't ask for:
Scenario One: Raven walks in, now six-foot-something with a jawline that could slice marble, and greets me with, "Hey, Dali. Long time no see." I faint. Tiana is vindicated. Emergency room.
Scenario Two: I open the front door and he's there with a duffel bag and a beard. I say, "Hi," and he says, "You've grown." I immediately combust.
Scenario Three: He doesn't even remember me. Mistakes me for the neighbor's niece. I start therapy.
By the end of the day, I had chewed off one thumbnail, sweated through my shirt, and started mentally drafting my will.
As I got off the bus and walked toward the house, everything went eerily quiet in my head.
No music. No thoughts. Just the overwhelming knowledge that his car might already be in the driveway.
I turned the corner.
Two cars.
Two familiar cars.
Parked. Waiting.
He was here.
I stood at the base of the driveway, clutching the strap of my backpack like it was going to save me from cardiac arrest.
This was it. The moment of no return.
My feet moved before my brain fully caught up. Up the walkway. One step. Two. My hand hovered over the doorknob.
I took a breath, the kind you take before being electrocuted.
And then I opened the door.