almondine felt confused sometimes.

she’d notice the little things, write about the little things, ruminate on the little things that no one else cared about. her brain almost always morphed reality into fiction and fiction into reality. almondine liked when things were measured and unspoken, usually only existing in the world of her head. she spent a lot of time with her nose buried into jenny han’s latest romance novel, specially sized small earbuds trickling the sweet familiar tune of brown sugar by d’angelo into her ears; wishing her frizzy brown hair was longer so it could hide her face more sufficiently for when she ran into minty on the 7:44 train.

minty on the platform, stringless earbuds in each of his ears wearing a periwinkle colored sweatshirt, his designated sweatshirt for the week, this one was way too big for his body. he hunched over zulu in admiration on that rainy friday morning, neither of them holding umbrellas, allowing the rain to dribble through their thick opaque sweatshirts. almondine wondered what made zulu so pretty. almondine wondered if she could ever be pretty in the same way as zulu. minty and zulu had grown to represent an iconic staple to almondine. the connection one aspired to have, she was the one every girl wanted to be; as zulu reached to brush up against the skin beneath minty’s weekly sweatshirt.  

minty would never acknowledge almondine with zulu within eyes reach. almondine resigned herself to watching, conducting her own unfortunately awkward anthropological experiment on romance. the girl watched in fascination, at the way the droplets hit minty’s sweatshirt, the way he stared lovingly at his zulu, speaking too quietly for her to hear; the way they both playfully pushed each other and giggled. it was so craveable yet unknown and forbidden. almondine loved to watch and feel the pang of beneath her stomach as she imagined what her’s would be like. her first jenny han, brown sugar. the thought crossed her mind curiously and almost gleefully: what if minty’s relationship was all a farce? she wondered what minty and his girlfriend would laugh about, talk about, how did they really excite each other, morning after morning on the train?

almondine always imagined her most romantic experience to be in the rain. a rainy friday morning. she practiced the butterflies she’d feel, her heart fluttering as a mystery boy with a mystery face held an umbrella over her hair and wiped the dribbles of dew from her cheeks. almondine knew she shouldn’t dare fall for a cliche like that, but almondine didn’t know what else to imagine. almondine had never loved a boy. she wasn’t sure if she’d even liked, all she knew was the way her heartbeat suddenly quickened at 7:44 on that rainy friday. almondine wasn’t sure if she’d ever let herself like, let alone love, someone in real life. in real life, everything became foreign and scary.

“c’mon train girl,” minty had called to her after he’d safely dropped zulu off at her locker. almondine was about to close the door to first period class in his face; they were almost five minutes late, an unlikely occurrence for the girl. “hold it for me.” almondine was invisible yet vulnerable. the girl didn’t hold the door for him, and instead, watched through the window of the door as it slammed in minty’s still dewy face. he hadn't acknowledged her the whole train ride, and now he expected her to hold the door? she was glad she’d dropped it in his face. she hadn’t known why she’d done it exactly, but the motion had felt right. she’d been noticed that morning, finally, in spite of her graceless guise.

almondine thought about the interaction. she replayed it over in her head, the now infamous periwinkle cotton brushing against her arm, wafting light smell of cocoa butter and breath mints, whether it had been really there or all in her imagination like usual. how both of them wore white sneakers but hers were way more scuffed. most curious of all was the fact that he hadn’t called her by her name, even though he knew it well.

minty and almondine had quickly grown to know each other surprisingly well, although it was a fact they thoroughly ignored. they’d laughed and shared childhood stories, the secret stories during behind the scenes moments that he wasn’t clutching zulu or frollicing with his trail of line-up girls. minty had acknowledged almondine with the intentional tap of their sneakers, recognition for a split second as a friend and a long charismatic smile that had made her foolishly imagine that there was something more.

as almondine met minty’s eyes, playfully annoyed by the door that had been slammed in his face, she was happy enough for the mutual understanding that she could make him laugh. almondine didn’t need zulu to be her muse of the girl she needed to be; because it had never really been about minty. almondine knew she had all the depth she needed to be truly loved one day.

almondine realized she had shared parts of herself with a boy that she never had before. almondine wished she could share more and more of herself with someone, a bottomless honey pit of her richness; not with minty but with someone that would be real. and she couldn’t wait.  

almondine felt confused sometimes. even so, she was comforted by the thought that she would get her jenny han one day, albeit likely not on a rainy friday. maybe the nights she spent alone, awake, waiting; pining after a boy she hadn't yet met, was the most exciting part of romance.