I'm walking down the hallway of the 200 building, pass in hand, whistling the Jurassic Park theme song. No one else is out there, so it's only my footsteps and my voice echoing on the tiled floors. It's a sure bet that some irate teacher is going to step out of his or her classroom and tell me to keep it down, so I'll enjoy my freedom of expression as long as it lasts.

I feel good. It's raining today, and the smell of wet earth and ozone makes me want to run around and splash through puddles. The school administration frowns on that, though, so I siphon off some of the energy by executing a jump and twirl, right there in the hallway.

Someone laughs. My head jerks toward the sound, and I see a boy leaning against the doorway of room 237. I turn a little red when he asks, "Practicing to be a ballerina?"

This is embarrassing. Not only did someone see me twirling in the hallway, but that someone happens to be a guy who is totally my type. He's tall and dark, and he has the slim, toned build typical of basketball players. I like his eyes immediately: they're light brown, almost amber, the color and warmth of caramel.

"What's wrong?" he asks, when I continue to stare at him. "I know I'm hot, but I can't be that hot."

"I--um--"

Luckily, I'm saved from having to answer when someone inside the room--the teacher--calls out, "Mr. Alvarado! Are you quite done admiring the view yet?"

"Yup," the guy calls over his shoulder. He turns back to me, and looks me up and down in a way that makes me turn even redder. Then, in a voice only loud enough for me to hear, he says, 'It's a really nice view," smirks, and walks back into the classroom.

I'm left standing in the hallway. My cheeks are flushed, and I feel like I've just run a couple of miles, the way my heart is beating so quickly.

*

I don't know if he's been looking for me or if it's just a coincidence. I do know that I've been looking for him, but in as discreet a way as I can manage: just keeping an eye out for caramel-colored eyes. Either way, he's the one who finds me, sitting in my favorite place behind the gym. From here, I can lean against the wall and look out onto the soccer field, that expanse of green grass.

"You eat like a squirrel," he says conversationally, lowering himself into a crouching position in front of me.

I start, nearly choking on my peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

"Whoa, easy there. I didn’t mean to scare you." He comes closer, until there's barely an inch between our bodies, and pats me on the back firmly until my coughing subsides.

"Thanks," I manage to gasp out. I'm looking at the ground, and I keep it that way, so maybe he won't notice how red I've become.

Unfortunately, he has other ideas. He grips my chin and tilts my face up, towards his. "Are you all right?" he asks. His eyes--the ones I can't stop thinking about--are concerned.

"Y-Yeah," I stammer. "Yeah. I just--the peanut butter got stuck going down and--" I really wish he would stop looking at me so directly. I turn my eyes away, so that I'm looking at a roly-poly crawling on the ground.

He chuckles. He's still got my chin in his hand, and his skin is really warm against mine. "Do I scare you?"

I squeak, "No! No, of course not--why would you scare me?"

"Maybe it's because of my incredible good looks."

"Yes," I admit, before I realize that he's joking. Oh god. I jerk my face away and hide it in my hands. He's going to call me names now, or ridicule me--worse yet, he's going to walk away.

He doesn't do any of that. Instead, he says, "I was just kidding, but…thanks." He pats my cheek. "I don't want you to be scared of me, though, for whatever reason. Come on. Stop hiding your face--I'm not going to bite you."

I don't say anything. I just shake my head.

"Hey, seriously: I'm all bark and no bite. I'm a friendly dog."

"You're not a dog," I mumble, from between my hands.

"Sure I am. Woof woof."

I can't help laughing a little and uncovering my face. He's smiling at me. It makes my heart start up a staccato rhythm again. "I like dogs," I say shyly. "I have one at home."

"Oh yeah? What's his name?"

"Atticus."

"Like Atticus Finch?"

I nod, even though I know that he'll probably think I'm a nerd now (if he doesn't already).

He surprises me again. "That's cool. Atticus Finch was my favorite character in To Kill a Mockingbird."

"Really?" I ask, eyes widening.

"Yeah. I like how fair he is, and that he stands by what he believes in," he explains. "So, is your dog anything like that?"

I shake my head, regretful. "Atticus steals food from the table when nobody's looking. He likes to drink from the toilet, and he's clumsy, so he knocks over furniture a lot."

"Sounds like a handful. What breed is he?"

"A golden retriever. He never retrieves anything though, so I can't play fetch with him."

The bell rings. He smiles at me, patting me on the cheek again. I flush as he says, "That wasn't too hard, was it?"

"Wh-What wasn't too hard?"

"Talking to me."

I don't say anything, but he offers his hand to me as he stands up anyway. "I'm Derek," he says. "What's your name?"

I take his hand. "Thien," I mumble.

He tries pronouncing it a few times. "Thien? Like that?"

"Close enough." I don't know why, but I add, "It means 'sky.'"

"Cute name, for a kid with your height."

He grins when I finally understand what he means: I'm shorter than him by at least three inches. "I'm not--"

"See you, short stuff," he says, and walks off. Even after he's rounded the corner of the gym, and is out of sight, I don't have a comeback.

*

Derek, for some reason, begins visiting me at lunch. He shows up behind the gym and sits next to me. I'm always quiet at first, because I'm still shy around him, but after a while he succeeds in drawing me into conversation. I talk about anything, once I've overcome my shyness for the tenth, hundredth, thousandth time. I talk about Atticus, about how I like the rain and the way it smells, about how Jurassic Park is my favorite movie, about how I like to let go of all the energy inside me sometimes by dancing.

"Like the way you danced in the hallway, the first time I saw you?" he teases.

"That wasn't dancing," I protest. "That was just--that was just twirling."

"Dance for me," he says.

I think he's joking. "Only if I have music," I say. It's not true. I can dance with or without music.

He sighs and says, "Well, damn. But if I played some music, then you'd dance for me, right?"

"Maybe," I mumble. "I don't really--I've never danced for anyone."

"How about with someone?"

I shake my head.

"Not even a slow dance?"

I shake my head again.

"That's sad," Derek says. "I should take you to winter formal with me."

Now he must be joking. Still, my heart does that staccato dance again. "Don't tease me."

He laughs. "But you're so cute when you're embarrassed!"

I don't know what to say to that, so I turn away from him, to hide the blush on my cheeks. He surprises me by wrapping his arms around me and resting his head in the crook if my neck.

His voice is soft. "Hey. I didn't make you mad, did I?"

My heart rate kicks up several notches. I'm sure he can feel the heat that's invading my skin, feel it because of the cheek he's got pressed against the side of my neck. My voice is lost somewhere in the back of my throat. I want to say, "No, you didn't make me mad. You just made me nervous, and I now don't know what to say to you." Instead, I choke out, "No, I'm--"

He pulls away, turning me around to face him. "You look like you just ran the mile," he remarks, as casually as if he wasn't the cause of that. "Is that my fault?"

I freeze. If I say, "Yes," then he'll ask, "Why?" Assuming, of course, that he doesn't figure it out immediately--that I like him, have since I first saw him.

He sighs when I don't answer him. "If it is, I'm sorry. Sometimes I just like being an affectionate puppy." He smiles, charming.

"You're not a puppy," I say lamely. At least he's making jokes, and not demanding to know why I'm always so embarrassed when he gets near me.

"I thought we already went over this," he says. "Sure I'm a puppy. I'm your puppy."

"I already have a dog," I say. I can't help smiling, especially when he makes a sad face at me.

"There's no room in your heart for another one?"

"Atticus is enough trouble."

"I promise to be a good dog," he says, patting my cheek. "I won't make a mess, I won't bark too loudly. I'll be loyal and affectionate."

"There's not enough room in my house for a dog as big as you."

"I'll sleep outside in the yard?" he offers.

This time, I laugh. "No, don't do that. It's cold outside. You might get sick!"

"Then you'll let me sleep inside?"

"Yes."

He smiles. "You're a real softie. I could persuade you to do anything, couldn't I?"

Yes, I think. "No!" I squeak.

"No?"

"No," I repeat, trying to sound more firm.

"How about lunch?"

I blink. "What?"

"Could I persuade you to go out to lunch with me?"

I look at the unfinished tuna sandwich in my hands, the one I stopped eating when he wrapped his arms around me. "I already have lunch."

"Not now," he says, chuckling. "I mean tomorrow, maybe, or some time during the weekend."

I'm surprised that he wants to go somewhere with me, outside of school. Is he joking? "Are you joking?"

"Why would I be joking?" he asks. "I want to take you out to lunch."

"But…why?"

"Because, er, I want to?" He looks bemused, like it's a funny thing that I'm asking him why he wants to take me out to lunch. "What do you think about this weekend?"

"Um…" I fiddle with my shoelaces, take a bite of my sandwich to buy myself some time. "Where…where do you want to go eat?"

"Anywhere you want. It's my treat."

"I'll think about it..."

"About where to eat, or going to eat at all?"

I nibble on my sandwich. "About where to eat," I say quietly.

He smiles widely, and I wonder if he's that happy about my answer. "How about Saturday? I'll come pick you up in the afternoon."

"Okay," I say, and hide my smile in my sandwich as he pats me on the head.

*

I don't figure out where I want to eat until Friday night. I've given Derek my address, and the two of us have exchanged phone numbers, too. I call him. "Umm, Derek," I say. "This is Thien."

"Yeah, I know." He chuckles. Over the phone, his voice sounds deeper, and I can feel my knees going a little weak. "I already put you on my contact list. What's up?"

"Not much," I say. "I was just wondering if you could pick me up a little earlier tomorrow…maybe around ten?"

"Yeah, sure. Did you figure out where you want to go eat?"

"Uh-huh. Um, I was thinking about dim sum. That's why I asked you to come early."

"Oh, okay." Derek pauses, then says, "Hey, think I could persuade you to show me your room when I come over?"

"Wh-What?" I stutter.

On the other end, Derek starts laughing.

*

Derek shows up at my house early, and it's my mom who opens the door. I'm in the kitchen, shooing Atticus away from the table, and I can hear the confusion in her voice as she says, "Hello? Who are you?"

"I'm Derek Alvarado. I'm here to pick up Thien to go to dim sum."

I walk to the front door, putting a hand on my mom's arm and smiling at Derek. "Hi," I say. To my mom, I add in Vietnamese, "Don't worry, Mom. This is the friend I told I about."

She frowns at me, but only says. "All right. Tell me when you're leaving."

She walks to her room, and I look back at Derek, who's still standing in the doorway. He looks a little uncomfortable, which is unusual. "You're a little early. Um, do you want to come inside? I need to help with some cooking, but I'll be done soon. Oh, and you can meet Atticus!"

"Okay." Derek steps inside and follows me as I lead him into the kitchen. When I'm there, he lowers his voice and says, "I'm guessing, from your mom's expression, that most of your friends who come over are Asian."

My mom doesn't mind who I'm friends with, as long as they don't get me in trouble. The reason for her surprise is embarrassing to admit. "Um, well…it's not that, really. I haven't had a friend over since um…elementary school."

Derek looks disbelieving. He doesn't laugh, though, like I thought he would. Instead he just nods, and laughs as Atticus licks his hand. "Hey, it looks like Atticus really likes me."

"He's looking for treats. Don't give him any, though," I warn. "If you do, he'll never stop asking you."

"I haven't got anything on me," Derek reassures me. He pats Atticus with one hand, watching as I stir some things in a pot on the stove. "What are you making?"

"Banh canh," I say. "It's a soup. This is just the stock, though."

"Smells good."

"You can come back for some later. We always have extra and save it." I taste the stock, then set the ladle down. "I think that's good," I say. "I just need to tell my mom that I'm leaving." I find my mom and tell her, then walk back to the kitchen.

Atticus whines when Derek stops petting him and stands up. "Ready to go?" Derek asks.

I nod. "Yes."

Derek walks with me to the front door and opens the passenger door of his car for me. I slide in, twisting around to look at his backseat. There's a duffel bag on the floor, and several shirts and shorts scattered in the back. A basketball is half hidden underneath the driver's seat. "Excuse the mess," Derek says, chuckling. "I'm kind of a slob, but I clean things up when they become too much."

"I don't mind," I say, drawing the seatbelt across myself.

"No? Even after I said I'd be a good puppy and not make a mess?"

"As long as you clean up after yourself, it's fine," I say, and reach out to pat him on the head. It's a light touch, and I take my hand away almost immediately. I don't know what to expect from him, but I'm sure--I'm pretty sure--that he won't stare at me, or tell me to get out of his car.

He doesn't. He just laughs and starts up the car. "So, where to?"

I duck my head, feeling shy and happy, and give him the directions.

*

The dim sum restaurant isn't very crowded when we get there. I stand close to Derek, and hum along to the song playing on the speakers. "Aoi, aoi, sora ni tsuki no hikari wo tomosu--"

Derek chuckles at me, and takes a seat across from me at the table. "Just order whatever you want," he tells me.

"Are you sure?" I ask, eyes wide.

"Yeah, of course. It's my treat, remember?"

I fiddle with my chopsticks. "What are you eating?"

"I'll have whatever you're having. Or I'll order my own stuff. Don't worry," he says, smiling at me. "I've had dim sum before. I know the food."

"Okay…"

I order shrimp dumplings and chicken feet. "It--it tastes better than it looks," I mumble, when Derek raises an eyebrow at the chicken feet. "Um…"

"I'm not questioning your taste," he says. "Chicken feet are just new."

"You should try some!" I put one on his plate. "Um, just use your hands."

Derek looks a little reluctant, but he takes a dutiful bite of the food, chewing on it for several moments. "It's…good," he says.

I beam at him, then realize that I must look like an idiot. Ducking my head, I hide my face and pretend to be busy eating. It's not that hard: the food is good, and there's so much of it. I manage to make it through several moments of silence, and then Derek picks up a dumpling and presses it against my mouth: "Say ahh."

I open my mouth, surprised, and he feeds me the dumpling. I can't hide my face this time, how red it's become. Derek smiles at me, and when I've swallowed, I mumble, "Why did you do that?"

"I just wanted to feed you."

I push around some of the dumplings on my plate. Then I pick one up, and, before I can stop myself, I hold it up to Derek's mouth. "I should be feeding you. You're my puppy."

He laughs and eats the food. The two of us begin feeding each other, then, little pieces and samples. I can't help looking at Derek's mouth once in a while; his lips are very red, and I think about the way they'd feel against mine. It makes my heart start up; my skin feels hot. Derek raises an eyebrow at me and asks, "You okay?"

I nod. "Yeah. It's just…a little hot in here."

Derek pays the bill, even though I protest and pull out my wallet. "It's my treat," he reminds me, gently smacking my hand aside as I try to place my money on the tray. He puts a couple of bills down, then stands up and smiles at me. "Come on, short stuff. Let's go."

"I'm not short!" I protest, but I smile back at him. The two of us walk out to his car side by the side. I'm aware of the height difference; it doesn't bother me much.

That is, until he backs me up against the side of his car. He places both hands on either side of my head, trapping me, and there's a smile on his face as he leans in, pressing his lips against mine. He's kissing me, I think in shock. Derek is kissing me. He tastes like chili, hot and sharp. I open my mouth when he coaxes me to, and his hands start running up and down my sides, slipping under my shirt, stroking my skin. I make small, breathy noises. They turn disappointed when he pulls away.

He's breathing hard and his face is flushed. Still, he flashes me a familiar, cocky smile. "You've never been kissed before, have you?"

"Umm…not…really.

"Thought so."

I don't know what to think or say. Why did Derek kiss me? Does he like me? Is that possible? Was this a date? The questions tumble around in my head, confusing me. They all still, though, when Derek takes one of my hands between his and kisses me again. This time, it's gentle, and he lingers in it for a long moment. "I like you," he says quietly when he finally pulls away, leaving me breathless. "You like me too, right?"

This can't be real. This must be a dream. But if it's a dream, it's a good one, and I don't want it to fade into morning. So I lean my forehead against Derek's, twine my fingers with his, and say, "I like you too. Of course I like you too."

*

Derek starts walking with me to my classes at school. I know that he notices people staring at both of us, because he tells me once, "You should ignore them. They're just surprised. They'll get used to it."

I try to ignore it. It's hard, though, because the stares keep reminding me how different Derek and I are, how impossible it is that he drops me off at my English class with a smile and a "See you later." He still comes to see me at lunch; sometimes he doesn't, but I don't miss him much, because he's always with me between classes, or after school, when he drives me home.

Despite how impossible everything feels, I can't help being happy. Derek says he likes me. He spends time with me, and I don't have to be afraid to touch him. He asks me to come to his basketball games, too, and I go. He's always surrounded by friends and teammates after the game, but when he's said his goodbyes, when he's left the crowded gym, he's all mine. He holds my hand and kisses me, and I mumble something about how good he was.

"I'm just glad I came to see me," he'll say, chuckling, and kiss me again.

One night, he's especially excited about something. I ask him what, but he just holds a hand up to my lips and says, "Wait. You'll see tomorrow. It's a surprise, okay?"

I'm confused, but I nod. I'm still thinking about it the next morning, when I come to school. It's the week of finals and I've been cramming for all my classes. It's left me feeling a little sleepy, so at first, I don't notice the card in my locker. Then it flutters to the ground, and I pick it up. Opening it, I read what I realize is Derek's handwriting, bold and slashing:

Hey short stuff, I won't be walking you to your classes today, but that doesn't mean I won't be with you. Don't worry if you're confused. You'll figure it out when you get to first period.

The card is decorated with a large, sloppy heart, and two stick figures holding hands. The description, again in Derek's handwriting, says, "My little sister drew this for me. She said she wants to meet you sometime, because she wants to see you eating like a squirrel."

I tuck the card inside my backpack and walk to first period, mystified. There's some sort of commotion going on when I get there, and it's centered around my desk. There are students crowded around it, but they step aside when they see me. "You've got a delivery," a girl says, smiling at me.

I stare at my desk. On it is a large stuffed squirrel holding a sign: "This is what you remind me of when you eat. It's not the only present, and you'll probably need a basket by the end of the day. Of course, you could always have me carry everything for you. P.S. Your first clue is underneath this." I pick up the squirrel and see what looks like a piece of a puzzle. The words on it simply say, "Will you."

"Dude, that's not from Derek Alvarado, is it?" I can hear someone mutter.

"Well, they are always together now…"

"I thought he was straight."

I sit down at my desk, hugging the squirrel. I don't know why Derek is doing this, but I know it's something that will make me happy; he always makes me happy.

There are presents left in all of my classes. A box of chocolates, a pillow shaped like a cloud, a bag of "tokens" for hugs and kisses, a picture of me that I don't remember him taking, and finally, a mix tape. All of the presents come with another puzzle piece, each with a word or two written on them; when I put all of them together, they read: "Will you go to Winter Formal with me?"

I feel lightheaded; my heart is doing its little dance again, and I can barely sit through sixth period. I want to find Derek right away and say, "Yes!" but I wait until the bell rings before rushing out of the classroom. I have a feeling about where Derek will be waiting for my answer. I'm right: he's waiting behind the gym, in our usual spot.

I run up to him, my arms full of his presents, and lean up to kiss him. "Yes," I say breathlessly. "I'll go to Winter Formal with you."

Derek laughs and wraps his arms around me. Our bodies are pressed so closely against each other, and for the first time, I notice something: Derek's heartbeat, thudding against his chest, matches my own.

*

Derek asks me, a few days before Winter Formal, "What color is your tie?"

"Um, white," I say. I don't own a lot of semi-formal clothes, and I don't really enjoy wearing them. But the tie was my dad's, and I like it. It's simple and understated, the same way I remember my dad.

"Oh, cool." Derek chuckles. "That'll be easy to match."

Derek agrees to pick me up at my house and drive me to The Reef, where the dance is going to be held. My mom helps me with my clothes, knotting the tie expertly and not asking any questions about why Derek is taking me to the dance. I think my mom already knows that I don't like girls, but like everything else, she doesn't talk to me about it. I don't mind: silence is her approval, her acceptance.

She surprises me, though, by smiling when she's done with the tie and saying, "You look more like me than your dad." I must look a little mortified, because she adds, "It's all right, Thien. I'm not saying you're like a woman."

"I didn't think that," I mutter.

"You look handsome," she reassures me, just as the doorbell rings. "I'm sure your friend will think so, too."

In fact, Derek looks a little stunned when I open the door. He leans down, like he's about to kiss me, but then he spots my mom and stops, making an awkward transition to putting an arm around my shoulder. "I'll bring him home safe," he tells my mom. She nods and watches the two of us leave.

"You look really good," Derek tells me in the car. He finally kisses me, and I blush.

"Thanks…"

"Nice tie."

"It was my dad's."

"Was?"

"He died when I was twelve," I say. It hurts a little to talk about it, but I'm older now, and I don't have to swallow any lumps in my throat. "It was cancer."

Derek presses his lips to my temple and lingers there for a moment before pulling away and starting up the car. The two of us are silent on the way, but Derek drives with one hand and uses his free one to hold mine. I feel comforted, sitting in the dark car close to Derek, the warmth of his hand seeping into mine.

I gasp when we arrive at the building. The Reef is a performing arts center perched on a cliff overlooking the ocean. The steps leading up to it follow the natural curve of the cliff, spiraling gently towards the top. The building itself is no straight, rigid rectangle; designed to look like the billows of a sail and with the front made almost entirely of glass, it swells out into graceful hills and sinks again into valleys. The lights inside the building make it glow, like some large lantern placed on top of the cliff.

"Your mouth is hanging open," Derek says, chuckling. He taps my jaw up, and I close my mouth.

"It's beautiful…"

"It is. I heard if you go up to the second story, there's a really great view of the ocean."

"Can we go there, please?" I ask. I look up at Derek, excited, and he nods. "Okay!" I take his hand and almost run up the steps, passing other people who turn to look at me strangely.

When I'm inside, I see that the staircase leading up to the second floor winds around in a gentle spiral that mimics the one outside. There are people walking up and down it, and others who just stand there, talking. As Derek and I go up, he has to pause and talk to several people who recognize him. I'm impatient to get to the top, but I can see that Derek is being as perfunctory as he can with his greetings, so I wait quietly. Maybe he wants me to let go of his hand, because it seems too obvious; but his fingers are laced through mine firmly, so I don't loosen my grip, either. Several people look at me with curiosity or surprise, or even skeptical disbelief; I avoid their eyes by looking at the carpeted stairway.

At the very top of the stairs, Derek and I run into two boys who don't stare at me or ignore me. "Oh hey, Derek," one of them, the taller one, says. "Is this your date?"

I don't know how Derek is going to answer. But he smiles and says, easily, "Yeah. Miles, this is Thien. Thien, this is Miles."

"What, you're not going to introduce me?" the other boy asks. He rolls his eyes and nods at me. "Hey. I'm Damien."

"My date!" Miles adds brightly.

Damien gives him a baleful look. "You're too excited about that."

"It's because I adore you."

Derek laughs. "I'll see you guys around later, yeah? Thien wants to go look at the view and I don't want to keep him waiting."

"Oh, sure," Miles says, and he and Damien head down the stairs, bickering good-naturedly.

"Are they really dating?" I ask Derek.

"Yeah. Man, it was really awkward when Miles asked Damien out in Spanish class. Damien totally rejected him at first, and I had to sit behind Miles and watch him emo."

Derek walks hand in hand with me over to the glass wall and chuckles when I practically flatten myself against it to get a better view of the ocean. The lights on the second floor are dim, to avoid any glare on the glass walls. I can see the ocean stretching out into the horizon, endless, dark and calm underneath the night sky. When I angle my gaze up, I can see the very faint stars and the moon; it's only a sliver of a crescent tonight, but it stands out more brightly than all the stars put together. I try to memorize it, so later, when I'm at home and this is all over, I'll be able to call the image to mind again.

When I finally turn away from the wall, Derek is standing next to me. He's not looking out the window. He's looking at me, and I blush. He pats me on the cheek when he sees it, and asks, "Want to go downstairs now?"

I realize for the first time that there's music playing. The vibrations reach up to the second floor as dull beats and echoes. I nod, and Derek takes my hand again. There are less people on the stairs now. Nearly everyone has gathered on the dance floor at the foot of the stairs. They comprise a large, crowded mass that makes me nervous. Derek smiles at me, the same smile he gave me when I first saw him, and says, "You going to show me how you dance now?" Before I have a chance to answer, he's pulled me over to the crowd, then into it, and I am engulfed by the mass.

The dance floor is packed. I'm used to dancing, but not to being crushed against other people while I do it. It's hot and sticky. It doesn't take long to get caught up in the rhythm though. I can feel my body responding almost automatically, and I close my eyes, relaxing. The music throbs inside my head, my body, and I let it set the rhythm, tell me how to move. Gradually, my body loosens; I feel fluid, like the water in the ocean, and the crowd is a wave, moving together in a concentrated force.

Derek is behind me, his arms wrapped around my waist. His hips press against mine, and I can feel him dancing, too. His heartbeat thuds against my back, matching mine, matching the beat of the music. He's so close, and my entire body is flushed, not just my cheeks. Derek presses his mouth against my ear and says, "You're really enjoying yourself."

I nod, but I realize with a sudden start as he kisses my neck that this isn't how I want him to remember my dancing. The crowd is a wave, yes, and that's why there's nothing personal about it. There's nothing on this dance floor I can give Derek that won't be taken up and absorbed by everyone around us. "Let's go outside!" I say, too softly at first, then more loudly.

If Derek replies, I don't hear him. But he takes my hand and pulls me off the dance floor. The two of us inch towards the door; now we're at the edges of the crowd. Once I'm outside. I breathe in the cold night air and feel my head clearing. I stand still for a few minutes. Derek stands a little way behind me. I can feel him there, waiting, but I try to fight the nervousness seeping up through my feet. Relax, I think. I need to relax, if I want to dance for him. Slowly, my body loosens again, and I turn to smile at Derek. Then I start to dance.

This time, it's not the music inside the building that's guiding me. It's something else. I don't know what to call it; it's a coiled ball of energy, the same one that made me do a twirl in the hallway the day I met Derek. It has a rhythm, too, and it guides my movements as I extend my arm, my leg, do a small spin. My moves are a mix of instinct and things I have seen, things as eclectic as ballet to break dancing. I have never danced in front of anyone before, so I don't know if everything is too different to mesh together well; but to me, it feels fluid, right, perfect.

When I begin to slow down, when the dance begins to end, my steps take me towards Derek, as naturally as if it was supposed to be that way. I stop right in front of him, my head tilted up to his. Derek is almost perfectly still for a moment. Then his arms are going around my waist, pulling me up against him, and he's kissing me. It's fierce and desperate. It's the same way he kissed me when we went out to dim sum together, and I kiss him back, no longer afraid to show him that I feel the same way--that I need him this much, too.

*

My bed is warm, and I don't want to wake up. But my eyes open anyway. The first thing I see is a shoulder, a bare shoulder. I smile, because there's something good about that. I just can't remember what. For a moment, everything feels perfect. Then I remember with a jolt in my stomach: that's Derek's shoulder, Derek is in my bed, Derek is in my bed naked, and did we-- I jerk upright, panicked.

Derek stirs a little and mumbles my name.

"Derek--" I stutter.

He shifts, turning onto his other side so he can look at me. His eyes are sleepy. "Hey," he mumbles, reaching out and stroking my arm. "Morning…"

I realize that I'm not wearing any clothes either. I freeze, looking at Derek helplessly. This isn't real. Derek Alvarado and I didn't go to Winter Formal together, didn't come back to my house, didn't have--oh my god, I think, I had sex with Derek Alvarado. My mom is two doors down. This is definitely not real, and I remember what occurred to me last night when I was falling asleep: that I was afraid for the morning to come, because I might wake up and find out that everything was a dream. It was too good to have happened to me.

Then Derek pulls me down, gently, to lie next to him. He throws an arm around me and murmurs, "Thien, what's wrong?"

I close my eyes. "I'm afraid," I say, hesitant. "I'm afraid that this is a dream…"

Derek doesn't say anything for a moment. Then he kisses my forehead, gently. "It's not a dream. It's real."

I bury my face in his shoulder.

"I don't feel like a dream, do I?"

Slowly, I shake my head. "No…"

"Then I'm not, and you're not, and last night wasn't. It's not going to disappear." He kisses the top of my head, and I start to relax a little. It's not a dream, I tell myself. It's not a dream. My heart is still racing, but it's not in fear anymore. It's not a dream. "Thien?" Derek says.

I look up at him. "Yeah?"

"It's February first," he says, smiling. "And it's never too early to ask… will you be my Valentine's?"

I stare at him, and then I wrap my arms around him and kiss him. "Yes," I whisper, "of course I'll be."

It's not a dream. After all, the morning light is streaming in through my window, and Derek is still here--with me.

*

Author's note: The title is from The Postal Service's song, Be Still My Heart. Also, Miles and Damien have a story all to themselves in Sonreirse, if you're interested. Check it out? (: