The worst thing that can happen to a girl in the middle of the night is having a period. Well, maybe not the worst thing—there could also be a burglar or a serial killer. Anyway, the pain that woke me up a few minutes after midnight is indescribable, and although an hour has passed since then, I'm still curled up in my bed, unable to fall back asleep.

Of course, there are no painkillers in the first-aid kit, and I blame my father's evening migraines for that. I can't wait until morning. The pain has now been joined by nausea, and if I don't take something soon, I'll just die. In my small town, a 24-hour pharmacy doesn't exist; besides, I wouldn't even have a way to get there. After school, I prayed for a miracle as I tried to start the Toyota about three times. I had to face the fact that miracles don't happen, at least not for me.

It hurts like hell. It hurts so much that I can feel cold sweat running down my back. If I get on my bike now, I'll reach the gas station by the exit from Berkeley City in twenty minutes. A sudden cramp is enough to make the decision. In theory, my father forbade me from leaving the house at this hour, especially when he's on duty. However, I'm sixteen now and dealing with a condition no man would want to endure regularly every month.

A bike and I aren't in a good relationship. It's not that I can't ride; I just haven't done it in a long time due to my hatred of sports. I wipe the dust off the handlebars and seat. I try not to look at the bright pink frame of the bike that still recalls my Barbie doll obsession.

The sleeping town smells of rain that's been falling all day. It's also quite cool, but pleasant for April. I pass cars parked along the road, stare at the shuttered windows of houses, and try not to think about how much my stomach hurts. A few streetlights flicker uncertainly, reminding me that I've watched too many horror movies. Maybe this was a bad idea? Maybe I could have just called my father and asked him to bring me some painkillers if he happened to drive through our neighborhood?

Fortunately, I don't encounter anything suspicious on the way, except for a raccoon rummaging through someone's trash can. I feel a sense of relief when I finally see the light illuminating a small gas station, with nothing but trees beyond it. I lean my bike against empty canisters and rush to the store door, eager to relieve my pain as quickly as possible.

Pills, tampons, and a small bottle of mineral water—that's all I need to feel better tonight. I approach the counter, but no one is there. After a long minute, I begin to feel slightly impatient.

I clear my throat loudly. Nothing. I clear my throat again, but it still doesn't bring any result.

"Hello?" I call out into the void. I look at the spot where the camera is located. The red light blinks ominously, but it's not like a crazy thought crossed my mind to just leave without paying. It's just a reflex, as if the person on the other side is watching me and having a great time. I swallow. My subconscious is giving me silly visions straight out of horror movies. Deep breath, Sadie, count to three. "Hello! Excuse me?"

Still nothing. The silence is only broken by the hum of the refrigerator in the corner, from which I just took the cold bottle of water. At one point, even it makes a strange sound before falling completely silent, and I start to wonder if I really need these pills that badly.

Damn it. Did Mom experience this feeling of hearing voices in her head at the beginning of her illness? Like I do now? That vague rustling sound coming from the air? Dear Lord, I don't want to end up in a mental institution. If I told anyone about this, the doctors would already be preparing a room without windows for me. Mental illnesses are genetic, and schizophrenia especially...

Thanks a lot. Until now, I've been living quite well with my apparent normality.

The rustling noise suddenly becomes a bit louder. It's clear enough that I breathe a sigh of relief, knowing it's coming from the slightly ajar door with a round Venetian mirror on the right side. If this is what I think it is, I'm playing Powerball tomorrow. I mean, I'll tell Dad to play for me because I still need two more years to legally buy lottery tickets.

I walk slowly to the passage separating the store from the back room. Maybe I shouldn't be doing this, but damn it, my stomach hurts, and I want to pay for my purchases already.

"Hello?" I call out again, this time standing in the doorway of a small room, packed to the ceiling with crates of soda, windshield washer fluids, and cigarette cartons. Taking a step forward, I feel like I'm in one of those movies I so passionately watch in the evenings. The narrow corridor ends with a left turn, and as soon as I reach the place where the staff restroom is located, I see another tiny room with a sink, a table, a mini-fridge, and a chair.

And here's the best part.

On the table, I see a plate with an unfinished sandwich with dried-out cheese. Next to it is an empty cup, and in front of them is the head of a sleeping guy. It's none other than my favorite classmate—Aiden Woods. I'm not mistaken. The noise I initially thought was a sign of my mental illness is just plain old snoring.

Is it even legal to work at night and then go to school during the day?

"Don't sleep, or you'll get robbed." I nudge Aiden in the shoulder, and he suddenly jolts awake, looking around confusedly. A few crumbs of bread have stuck to his cheek, and he looks completely different in the white polo shirt with vertical navy stripes and the gas station logo than he does in his everyday clothes. Honestly, from this perspective, he's even quite handsome, but that's probably the hormones temporarily distorting my view of the male gender.

"Fuck" Woods instinctively looks at his wrist, though there's nothing there. "What time is it? What are you doing here?"

I pull out my phone and glance at the display.

"It's one forty. I came for a walk," I reply sarcastically.

"Fuck"

Aiden brushes past me and rushes out of the back room, and, lacking a better idea, I follow him. I stand at a distance from the counter, watching as Woods feverishly counts the cash, looks around for missing items, and quickly rewinds the security footage to check if anyone filled up on his tab today. When, a few minutes later, he is reassured that somehow everything is fine, I see a wave of pure relief on his face, and for some reason, this relief also washes over me. It's almost as if I'm responsible for the gas station too.

Aiden closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and runs his fingers through his hair for the umpteenth time. I can definitely say that Aiden Woods nearly had a heart attack, and I witnessed it.

What the hell, I probably even saved his ass.

When he finally realizes that his lapse in responsibility won't have any consequences, he turns to me with an unreadable expression and then glances at my pitiful purchases still on the counter.

"Is that all?" he asks.

I step closer, my cheeks are definitely flushed red. Buying tampons from a stranger is one thing, but buying them from a guy from school is such an embarrassment.

"Are you sure everything's okay?"

I can see it. Just moments ago, Aiden's expression was completely neutral, but my question makes him instantly switch to his defensive mode, adopting his usual mask of coldness and indifference.

"None of your business. Six dollars and twenty-nine cents."

Excuse me, none of my business? If it weren't for me, Aiden would still be sound asleep, maybe even until morning. Why does he have to be such a jerk even now?

"Well, I was expecting a polite word like 'thank you.'"

"Thank you. Six dollars and twenty-nine cents."

Ah, so that's his best. Well, I guess that must be enough.

My hands instinctively reach into the pockets of my favorite spring jacket. When I find them empty, I start patting my back pockets, check the front pockets of my pants, and even check if I might have tucked my wallet into my hoodie, but nothing. There are two possibilities: either I left the money on the kitchen table while focusing on my pain, or I dropped my wallet somewhere along the way.

Damn.

Inside was a small fortune: three five-dollar bills, so I'm really upset.

"Are you paying, or are we going to stand here staring at each other?" Aiden asks as I stand frozen, staring at him and trying to figure out how to explain that I would really like to pay, but I can't.

"I think I lost the money," I say with a trembling voice, nervously checking all my pockets again. Only Sadie Parker could have this kind of luck. Do you know anyone who always seems to have the wind blowing in their face? No? Now you do. "I really need these pills. Can I pay you tomorrow at school?" I ask uncertainly, then correct myself. "I mean, today."

"If I liked sponsoring everyone in Berkeley City, I'd open a charity. Pay now or get out."

"You're lucky I just saved you from going bankrupt. Is it really such a problem for me to pay you at school?"

"I already said 'thank you.' You ended up here and helped me by pure coincidence, so I don't feel obligated to be your debtor."

"I'm not asking you to be a debtor. You could just be a little nicer." I sigh. "Listen, I had a rough day, my car broke down, I got my period, and I lost my wallet..."

"I sympathize and welcome to the club of people who've had a rough day."

I take a deep breath through my nose, trying to stay calm. I guess I'll never get along with Aiden. Just seven hours ago, I managed to persuade him to help us, so why can't I convince him to let me pay later?

"You're the most selfish person I've ever met" I say through gritted teeth.

Aiden doesn't seem at all offended. He shifts his weight from one foot to the other and gives me his typical, emotionless stare.

"Fine, take it, but you owe me ten bucks tomorrow. You know, interest."

I widen my eyes in disbelief at his ridiculous suggestion.

"You must be joking."

He raises an eyebrow.

"Either that or get lost. Don't call me selfish."

Ha, so it did sting after all.

I clench my fists and grab the pills, tampons, and water from the counter. I can't stand being here any longer, and tomorrow I'll shove those ten bucks right up his—well, you get the idea. At worst, I'll get a second punishment. What else can we remodel around school? The third-floor restroom?

"I hate you," I mutter rather to myself when I reach the door.

Aiden clears his throat, causing me to instinctively turn around, though I quickly regret it.

"Just so you know, if you tell anyone I work here, you'll regret it."

Oh stop it, Aiden.

"Sure."

➿➿➿

I'm so sleep-deprived that by the time I reach my trigonometry class, my vision is barely functioning. It's a good thing they canceled P.E. today, because I would have definitely skipped it anyway. My head hurts, I've caught a cold from those late-night drives, and this morning I had to dig out my old jeans because my period made me bloat horribly. On top of that, I overslept and didn't have time for breakfast.

Luckily, Dad came back from his shift before I left, so I could tell him about the broken van and beg him for those damn ten dollars. On the way back from the station, I looked everywhere for my beloved wallet, but it's likely some homeless person has now acquired my life's savings. As if that weren't enough, Jen's mom seems to have made it her mission to set my father up with someone, as today's hot topic is Harriett—a thirty-something pastor's daughter who has a strong and pure love for all the neighborhood cats.

Of course, I have nothing against Harriett, but I'm allergic to cats. So that's a no-go.

"Miss Parker."

I lift my head. In trigonometry, I feel like I'm at a debate about the placement of municipal garbage bins in a small town in central China. It seems necessary, but for what purpose? I can't grasp all these formulas, and I keep wondering if there will ever come a day when sine, cosine, tangent, and cotangent will actually be useful to me.

Dad says no, and I believe him. After all, he's an adult.

Professor Chandra looks at me with an expression that clearly says—I just asked a question, and you didn't pay attention. I'm in trouble for sure. It's no coincidence that the trigonometry teacher is nicknamed Snape. No one likes him, and he doesn't seem to have any affection for anyone either. We exist in a symbiotic relationship, perpetuating a negative aura around us.

"Pardon?" I ask stupidly, feeling obliged to break the awkward silence.

"I see you're bored, so I asked you to go to room three hundred and twelve and bring our school star to us."

I breathe a sigh of relief. It's unbelievable—I wasn't paying attention in class and didn't get scolded for it. Just yesterday, I was saying that miracles don't happen.

"Are you referring to Robert Campbell?" I clarify. Robert Campbell is the captain of the school lacrosse team, so when I hear "school star," his face is what comes to mind.

Professor Snape sighs with irritation, as if I've said the most ridiculous thing in the world.

"No. Bring Kyle Chew. He's supposed to present our new math project. Mrs. McDowell knows all about it."

I rush out of the room before the teacher can even utter the word "trigonometry," but halfway there, I realize the unfortunate situation I'm in.

So, here's the thing—I look like a puffed-up dough ball, I have dark circles under my eyes, I didn't have time to wash my hair this morning, so it's sticking out in all directions thanks to dry shampoo. And my nose is running. I'm supposed to face Kyle like this and actually talk to him? On one hand, it's another chance to remind him of my existence, but on the other hand, damn it, why do I always have to look terrible in these moments?

Room three twelve is the English classroom. I stand in front of the door and, before raising my hand to knock, check how my breath smells. I know I'll wow Kyle with my appearance, so I don't want to add more misfortune. I swallow and finally gather the courage to enter the classroom and face my destiny.

Alright, Sadie, stop dramatizing.

"Good morning, Professor Chandra asked for Kyle. Apparently, it's all set or something," I say in a trembling voice, cracking each of my knuckles one by one. I might be brave, with my bright pink hair, nose piercing, and quirky reputation, but I'm still standing in front of a group of fourth-year students, including the love of my life. Anyone would be nervous.

As soon as Mrs. McDowell lets Kyle out, he opens the door for me. A real gentleman. I walk out ahead of him, feeling my heart race like a freight train. Please don't stare, Kyle; I look like I was playing zombie in Walking Death.

"Rough night?" he asks as we walk down the school corridor.

I groan inwardly.

"Is it that bad?" I manage a pale smile.

"No, you just look a bit tired."

A bit. That's a good one. I'm about to laugh.

"Just...." My vague answer seems to suffice for him. I know Kyle is nice, friendly, and polite, but I'm not going to tell him I have my period.

"Listen, Sadie..." He suddenly stops, and I notice a moment later. I turn to him, not believing he even remembers my name, but it's his next words that shock me. "What are you doing tonight? I mean... it's Friday, so I thought maybe you'd like to go to the movies with me..."

This isn't really happening. Did Kyle just ask me out on a date and even seemed a bit nervous about it? I need to pinch myself. I'm more than certain this is some sort of joke. That Vivienne Campbell and Alex Stone will pop out from around the corner and start calling me crazy, weird, fat, and whatever else they can think of, then mockingly ask how I could have thought someone like Kyle Chew would want to go out with someone like me.

But the longer I stand there, mouth agape, staring at the guy in front of me, the more I realize that there's no horde of stupid girls waiting around the corner to film this pathetic scene. I have to face the fact that I'm alone in the hallway with Kyle and that all my dreams are coming true.

"So, you want to go with me?"

Jen will die when I tell her. This is Kyle Chew, and it might be a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.

"I don't have any plans," I manage to croak, as my throat suddenly feels exceptionally dry. I don't even care that I'm grounded. It's Kyle!

"Great. I'll pick you up after seven. Send me your address later." He smiles at me, adjusts his backpack on his shoulder, and casually heads back to trigonometry class.

Dear God. Is this really happening?

I swallow, staring in disbelief at the back of his head.

I'm going on a date with Kyle.

A. Date. With. Kyle.

"Are you coming?" His voice cuts through the fireworks going off in my head. I can only nod, then follow the love of my life.

A date. I just agreed to a date. A date with Sadie—what an oxymoron.

But how am I going to tell my dad?

➿➿➿

USER @PinkGirl🌸 IS ONLINE NOW!

12:37PM
PinkGirl: I hope you're not mad.

PinkGirl: Yesterday I was a bit emotionally unbalanced, and I'm blaming it all on hormones. Don't be mad. I really don't want to stop talking to you.

PinkGirl: Especially since I have something important to tell you. Plus, I need to ask for advice.

USER @MoodKiller🕷 IS ONLINE NOW!

12:38PM
MoodKiller: Give it to me baby. 

PinkGirl: Oh, great, you're here. 

PinkGirl: Do you still think Kyle Chew is a loser? 

MoodKiller: Of course 🙃 

PinkGirl: Can I ask you something, and will you answer me honestly? 

12:40PM 
MoodKiller: If it's not about my name, then sure. 

PinkGirl: No, I won't ask you that again, I promise. 

MoodKiller: I still don't believe it. 

PinkGirl: Okay, never mind. 

PinkGirl: Tell me. 

12:45PM 
MoodKiller: I don't think I'll ever get to that question. 

MoodKiller: What should I tell you? 

12:47PM 
PinkGirl: Sorry, Professor Allen almost caught me with my phone under the desk. 

PinkGirl: Tell me. 

PinkGirl: BUT PLEASE don't laugh at me. 

PinkGirl: Because I thought ...

PinkGirl: typing...

PinkGirl: You know how I look, who I am, and what my reputation is at this school, yet you still talk to me, and sometimes I even feel like, even though I don't know you, I know almost everything about you, and that you even like me a little. 

PinkGirl: We've been talking for a year, and believe me, I trust you and I share with you all my biggest secrets

PinkGirl: And I thought that when I tell you who I like, I would get some kind of support from you, whatever it is. I definitely didn't think you'd start mocking my taste in men

PinkGirl: And now my question. 

PinkGirl: Are you jealous? 

12:53PM 
PinkGirl: Hello? 

12:56PM 
MoodKiller: Do you really want to know the answer? 

PinkGirl: Yes, really. 

12:58PM 
MoodKiller: Okay, honestly, yes. I'm a little jealous. 

PinkGirl: I KNEW IT!!! 

MoodKiller: I'm glad. 

PinkGirl: That makes no sense. 

PinkGirl: I mean, I don't even understand how I could be liked by anyone. 

MoodKiller: Well, you're no Megan Fox, that's true. 

PinkGirl: And you're no master of flirting. 

MoodKiller: But if I had to compare you to an actress... 

MoodKiller: Probably Saoirse Ronan. Like Saoirse with pink hair. 

PinkGirl: But she's skinny as a stick. 

MoodKiller: Please, don't start. She's pretty. 

PinkGirl: So, according to you, I'm pretty? 

MoodKiller: I didn't say that. 

PinkGirl: But you like me. 

MoodKiller: I didn't say that either! 

PinkGirl: You said you're jealous of Kyle.

MoodKiller: Let me explain, Sadie. I'm not jealous of Kyle. I'm jealous of the time you could be spending talking to me but are spending thinking about him. 

PinkGirl: Got it. 

PinkGirl: I think. 

1:04 PM 
MoodKiller: You said you wanted some advice. 

PinkGirl: I don't think I want it anymore. 

MoodKiller: Why? 

PinkGirl: Just because. I'm fine. 

MoodKiller: Sadie, are you on your period? 

PinkGirl: Y E S 

PinkGirl: That's why you could say something nice to me. Right now, I don't even know if the Saoirse thing was a compliment or what. 

MoodKiller: It was a compliment. 

PinkGirl: I feel better already. 

PinkGirl: Well, okay. 

PinkGirl: What do you think I should wear for the first date? 

MoodKiller: Oh hell, who's the brave soul? 

PinkGirl: Kyle, of course! Didn't I tell you? 

MoodKiller: Guess you missed that part ;) 

PinkGirl: Ugh, I hate that emoji. 

PinkGirl: But seriously. 

PinkGirl: I'm considering jeans and a sweater, and my favorite jacket on top. 

MoodKiller: Sadie...
PinkGirl: OR black skinny jeans, plus that T-shirt he bought me. Do you think he'd think I'm crazy? 

MoodKiller: Well, everyone already thinks that about you, hehehehe. 
PinkGirl: You're seriously jealous. 

MoodKiller: Damn. 

MoodKiller: Dress in whatever makes you comfortable. Be yourself. 

PinkGirl: You think? 

MoodKiller: I know it. But please, I don't want to talk about that loser anymore. 

MoodKiller: What are you doing? 

PinkGirl: Pretending I'm really interested in amphibian reproductive systems. 

MoodKiller: Wonderful. 

MoodKiller: What did you do last night? I thought you'd reach out to me. 

PinkGirl: Well, I was dying. Period, did you forget? 

MoodKiller: I sympathize and forgive. 

PinkGirl: And I lost my wallet yesterday 😭 Goodbye stamps for free coffee at Cafe Angelo and loyalty points from Walgreens. 

MoodKiller: That's the worst. 

PinkGirl: Professor Allen looks unusually happy today. Maybe someone invited her on a date too? 

MoodKiller: I'm out, bye.

EUSER @MoodKiller🕷 IS OFFLINE

PinkGirl: Ok, bye?

USER @PinkGirl🌸 IS OFFLINE