Chapter Twenty-Nine

When I rise on Sunday morning after a long night of rest, the sun is shining, the birds are chirping, there are some scarlet maple leaves dancing in the breeze through my window, and I can still feel Isaiah’s fingers on my hips— firm , but gentle.

In that dreamy, not- st ill- sleeping-but-not- qu ite-awake state, I imagine what it might be like if his hands had lingered on me, if they’d slowly trailed up my back, encouraged by the shaky breath I let out. One might slip its way toward the nape of my neck, palm warm and soft, before gingerly cupping my chin. Heat between us, skin touching, our heads would start to close the gap and

My phone buzzes.

With a sigh, I open my eyes to grab it off my nightstand.

Marisol: Excited to go apple-picking today with your boo? , ,

Me: I am, actually. , ,

Marisol: Will you just tell him you like him already??

Me: Leave me alone and let me have this crush!

Sophie: You do you!!!

I smile to myself, reaching down to grab Patch off my feet and rub his head.

“I have a crush, Patchy,” I whisper to him. He purrs in return.

Truly, I haven’t felt this giddy since Aiden and I started dating. And I’d forgotten how much fun it is.

I like the constant state of butterflies in my stomach, of hoping against all hope that I’ll bump into Isaiah. The thrill that rushes through me when it actually happens. The explosion of nerve endings at every accidental touch. Making up excuses to talk to him. Sneaking glances even when he’s right next to me. Feeling my heart dance when that easy smile comes across his lips. Savoring the huskiness of his voice when he speaks, the way my name sounds when he says it. Imagining. Wondering. Daydreaming.

And with my revelation that perfection is not a thing I should be looking for, I scribble over what’s left of Whit’s Totally Definitive Guide to the Perfect Senior Year. I don’t need it.

Once I’m showered with my teeth brushed, I take an ext ra-long time doing my makeup; embarrassingly, I need to cover up a tiny nick I got on my neck while shaving my face. I still haven’t gotten this daily shaving routine down, but YouTube and TikTok tutorials have helped.

For my outfit, I tuck an oversize cable-knit sweater into my rust- colored corduroy A-line skirt. Opaque black tights are underneath, paired with dark brown Doc Martens boots Abuela and I scored while thrifting months ago. (Thrifting for clothes may sometimes be tough as a fat girl, but at least there’s shoes!) A lig ht-wash denim jacket completes the look.

As my long, dark curls air- dry, I join Abuela and Lily in the kitchen for breakfast.

“Good morning,” I chirp, grabbing a plate and forking an omelet Abuela made with ham, onions, peppers, and tomatoes onto it (alongside some raspberries).

“Morning,” Abuela murmurs. “Don’t you look pretty?”

“Thank you.” I take a seat beside her at the table and give her a kiss on the cheek. “I feel pretty.”

A smile sweeps across Abuela’s face at this. “Big plans today?” she asks, eyebrows rising.

“Just some Fall Fest stuff with Isaiah.” I pop a raspberry into my mouth. “We’ve got a few more businesses to visit to see if they’ll offer donations or sponsorships.”

“Zay, huh?” Abuela casts a knowing look my way, a faint smile on her lips. “That sounds fun.”

“Honestly, I think it will be. And speaking of fun . . . Li ly, how was your date?”

Lily’s cheeks go crimson and she looks away from me. “It was good.”

But I’m dying to know more. “What did you and Ruby do?”

She rubs her hands together excitedly, leaning in. “We went to the arcade downtown. They were having a really cool Animal Crossing pop -up show! Lots of cool art and amiibos you can buy for your Switch and all,” she explains. “Abuela gave me some money and I bought Ruby an Isabelle plushie. That’s her favorite character in the game.”

“Oh my gosh. You guys are so cute!” I gush, reaching over to squeeze Lily’s hand. She tugs it away from me and rolls her eyes, but she can’t hide the smile starting at the corner of her mouth.

“It sounds like you guys had fun,” Abuela says.

“We really did.”

“And that proposal?” Abuela puts her hand over her heart. “Ruby did good for our nena. Although I could do without the enormous Intonation cutout. I have no idea where we’re going to store it.”

“Did you bring it home?” I ask Lily.

“Of course I did! It’s going to be my Halloween costume,” she replies, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

I laugh. “Right, of course.”

A text from Isaiah asks for my address. I send him my location, the butterflies I’ve learned to welcome flapping their wings in my stomach.

Vámanos, mariposas.

I’m not one for cars, but I am absolutely tickled when Isaiah pulls into our driveway in an old- school red Volkswagen Beetle, complete with black polka dots on the exterior and long, dramatic eyelashes on either headlight.

I duck down and through the cracked window say, “Um . . . add this car to the long list of things I didn’t know I needed.”

“Don’t get me started. Camila took my car because it was parked on the end and left me with hers. When I texted her about it, she said I was a spoiled brat for not remembering that she had plans. When I pointed out that I, too, had plans, she said hers had been made first, and I was being disrespectful.” He shakes his head. “Sisters.”

“I’m honestly okay with all of this because it means I get to see this delightful ladybug car.” I reach for the handle and let myself in, sliding into the passenger seat. “Thanks for picking me up. And for getting an early start with me.”

“Of course,” Isaiah says while I buckle myself in. “I mean, it’s the least I could do, considering you’re so behind and all. My reputation is on the line, too, you know?”

“Oh my God, shut up!” I laugh. “I’ve been busy!”

“Too busy for Fall Fest?” Isaiah shakes his head, but he’s smiling. “Who even are you?”

“It’s been a weird last few weeks, okay? And I’ve been working a lot,” I admit. “But we’re going to make up for lost time today. I present to you . . . Wh it and Isaiah’s Autumnal Adventure.”

He arches a brow at me. “Excuse me?”

I reach into my bag and pull out my notebook, which I used to make a rough outline for the day’s events. It’s not nearly as elaborate as my plans usually are, but it’s probably still A Lot by most people’s standards. I wanted to make sure I could live up to my end of the deal, so I organized the list based on proximity to my house and when each location closes.

With the help of Google Maps, I’ve managed to sketch out a giant loop around our town, starting with a small farm stand just down the road and ending with my beloved Santiago’s Orchard. It’s just a few miles from home and therefore a place we visited a lot when I was growing up— so much so that the owner became a family friend known to me and Lily as Tío Sebbie.

The orchard has pick-you r- own fields, like strawberries and peaches and pumpkins, as well as homemade pies and baked goods. But it’s the dizzying array of apple trees that makes it really special, at least to me.

My family has visited this orchard every single year for as long as I can remember, making a daylong adventure out of it: apple cider donuts in the morning, walking the fields in the afternoon, taking our sweet time filling up our baskets and secretly sampling an apple or two as a reward for our hard work. Abuelo would lift me and Lily up on his shoulders as if we weighed nothing, just so we could reach the branches.

We got really good at learning to spot the best apples. By the time the day was through, we’d be dirty and sticky and carrying more apples than we knew what to do with. And then came the bak ing— apple empanadas, apple butter bars, apple pies, all of which we helped Abuela wit h— and she’d sell them at her store as a fall treat.

Knowing how special that place is, I don’t think anyone would blame me for saving it for last. We probably won’t be picking apples or anything, but it seems like the best way to end the day.

“I have everything all laid out in my notebook,” I explain. “I’ve completely optimized our day so that we can get the most out of it and you can still make it home in time for dinner or whatever else you might want to do later.”

“What, no binder this time?” Isaiah teases.

I stick out my tongue. “I know my binders can be a bit much. So I’m trying to dial back on some of that intensity. Just a page in my notebook today.”

I don’t mention the several other pages of notes I have on each place we’ll be visiting, complete with facts like the owner’s name, what I could dig up on them on social media that might help us curry favor with them, and what I hope they might donate versus what I think they’ll realistically donate. A girl’s gotta keep a little mystery, right?

“All right, hit me. What’s our day look like?” he asks.

I turn the notebook toward him and show all six businesses I’m hoping we can visit and in what order. His eyes scan the page and he lets out a low whistle.

“Well, damn. We better get going, then.” Isaiah starts to ease the car out of the driveway. “Be my copilot?”

I know he means this platonically and all, but the way he says my makes my heart skip a beat, as if there could be a universe in which we could be each other’s.

Smiling, I pull out my phone and type the farm stand into Google Maps.

“Yeah,” I say, keeping my voice light. “I’m yours.”