Across the Pond

The digital glow of my phone cast a harsh light across my room. 8:29 AM. Too early for most, but not for Mom. Her voice, a cheerful chime, drifted up from downstairs. “Bella, almost ready?”
I glanced at my reflection in the vanity mirror, scrutinizing my olive skin. No makeup. My standard, comfortable uniform lay waiting on the ottoman: white shorts, a basic tank, and my well-loved, mud-splattered high-top white Converses. “Just a minute!” I called back, the lie tasting familiar. Today was the day I returned to Wilmington, to summer, to… Nico. And I had to be as close to perfect as possible, even if that meant convincing myself my worn-out shoes were peak fashion.
Nervous excitement buzzed beneath my skin, a feeling I’d known for nine years. Nine years of crushing on the same guy, mastering the art of playing it cool. The words of my best friend, Remi, echoed in my head, 'You make your infatuation obvious.' She had no idea. Or maybe she did, and I was just really good at convincing myself otherwise. After all, I’d perfected the casual nod, the perfectly timed laugh, the nonchalant ‘hi, how are you?’ that never betrayed the somersaults in my stomach. The truth was, Nico Bradford was everything. My first friend. My first crush. My first love, even if he didn't know it. And I was terrified he never would.