Where was the student ambassador who talked about how it was okay to be nervous and sweat too much and accidentally walk into the boys’ bathroom like I had before assembly? Because that was the ambassador for me.
Ruth was so excited for orientation she’d drafted a list of questions and kept squirming in her seat, waiting for some kind of Q&A. She’d even brought her own name tag, with custom gold foil that glinted in the auditorium lights, while everyone else used the stickers provided by the school. Meanwhile, Fabián ignored all the speakers and answered questions from his zillion social media fans. I don’t think he looked up from his phone once.
“Being a high school freshman can be intimidating, for sure,” a guy on the football team was now saying. “But it’s, like, so much more chill than middle school, you know?”
No! I wanted to scream. I don’t know! So tell me what I don’t know!
“It’s, like, way harder, but also, more relaxed?” he went on. Oh my god. Of all the students they could have chosen for orientation, they went with the vaguest person ever. When were we going to go over the important stuff? Like, when did we have to take the PSATs (and were they optional)? Was showering/being naked in front of my classmates after gym class mandatory? And did the vending machines have Hot Cheetos (and where were the vending machines)?
But most important, where was Wesley? We needed to start plotting our next prank, like swapping all the ketchup dispensers in the cafeteria with hot sauce or something equally romantic. I glanced around at the auditorium full of five hundred kids, hoping to find him.
James K. Polk was so big I wished it showed up on Google Maps. Ruth, Fabián, and I got lost just trying to find the auditorium. I honestly wished my parents were here for once so they could ask embarrassing questions that were secretly helpful. All of Ruth’s questions in her binder were about the arts and crafts closet and whether you could use the industrial-size paper shredder in the front office. Her obsession with crafting was out of control, and I hoped she’d keep it together so everyone could assume we were just as popular and cool as the ambassadors onstage. If only for a couple hours, at least.
“And, like, there’s a new squat rack in the gym? So. There’s that.”
“Thank you, Kyle!” Principal Saulk started clapping enthusiastically. I didn’t think Kyle was actually done speaking, but then again, Kyle was clearly useless.
Fabián unglued himself from his phone. “Do you think he’s why our football team is so bad?”
“All right, everyone, we’re going to go ahead and break out into tour groups. Outside the auditorium are student ambassadors in blue and red shirts—please line up next to one. No more than ten people per group, please!” Principal Saulk shouted before shimmying offstage.
“Finally,” I groaned.
Ruth whined, clutching her binder. “I didn’t get to ask any of my questions!”
“Come on, Parvin,” Fabián said, holding out a hand adorned with rings in the shape of snakes and skulls.
And then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw Wesley. His sandy-colored hair had been chopped off in favor of a buzz cut, but he still looked cute, despite his white polo and khakis. That was strange, since he usually wore a T-shirt and jeans. But at least I could finally introduce him to my friends.
“Wesley!” I waved. “Hey!”
Wesley turned around, and I almost swooned then and there. His braces were off (gasp!), and he looked like a completely new person. He gave me a small wave from where he was sitting next to some students I’d never seen before, and I dragged Ruth and Fabián over.
“Hey, Parvin,” he stuttered, getting up quickly. He herded me away from the people he’d been hanging with, clearly wanting to have me all to himself.
Gosh, it had only been a couple days since we’d last seen each other, but I’d missed the shy, nervous way Wesley talked. I couldn’t stop staring at his braces-free teeth. Just smelling his brand of soap again made my lips tingle from that night at the beach.
“Wesley, these are my friends,” I exclaimed proudly. Hah! Now I had proof that Wesley wasn’t made up! “Meet the Fabián Castor,” I began.
“Charmed,” Fabián purred, sticking his hand out, palm down, like he was a duke or something. Fabián had high standards for boys, and he didn’t hold his hand out to be kissed by just anyone. I could tell he thought Wesley was handsome, too.
Instead of taking Fabián’s hand, though, Wesley just stared at the black nail polish and rings Fabián wore. I watched as his eyes tracked up Fabián’s frame, noting the motorcycle boots, the frayed black jeans, and the smoky eyeliner. I thought Fabián looked amazing today, but from the way Wesley cringed, maybe I’d been wrong.
“Hi,” Wesley squeaked, keeping his hands in his pockets.
“And I’m Ruth Song.” She gave a quick wave, trying to gloss over that awkward moment, but Wesley took a step back. Ruth dropped her hand, self-conscious.
What was going on? Why was Wesley acting so weird?
“Wes? Are you feeling okay?”
“These are your friends?” he asked. Then he glanced back to the group he’d been sitting with. They all wore the same kind of Polite Youths outfit Wesley had on and were just as pale as his white polo. I followed his gaze and was met with a wall of frosty looks.
“Do you know her?” one of them called, gesturing to me. He wore a button-down shirt and something my dad called “slacks.” He looked like he was preparing to run for senate—or at least student-body president—both of which could be possible here in Northern Virginia. His name tag said HUDSON.
“A little bit,” Wesley replied. A
