Ethan Rivera considered himself a “casual flirt.”
Everyone else considered him “a man who tried way too hard.”

Tonight, he was at a friend’s birthday party, leaning against the kitchen counter like he was posing for a magazine called Mediocre Decisions Monthly. He had practiced his “cool guy lean” in the mirror earlier. It looked better in the mirror.

Across the room, he spotted her.

A girl he’d never seen before.
Curly hair. Bright eyes. Laughing at something on her phone like it was the funniest thing she’d ever witnessed.

Ethan straightened up.
This was his moment.

He walked over, trying to look confident but mostly looking like someone who wasn’t sure how legs worked.

“Hey,” he said, leaning on the wall next to her.

The wall was not actually there.

He fell straight through the open doorway and landed on the carpet.

She blinked down at him. “Are you… okay?”

“Yep,” Ethan said, popping up like this was all part of the plan. “Just checking the structural integrity of the floor. It’s… very supportive.”

She snorted. “That’s one way to enter a conversation.”

“I like to make an impression.”

“You did,” she said. “A concerning one.”

He grinned. “I’m Ethan.”

“Lila.”

“Nice to meet you, Lila. So, uh… what are you laughing at?”

She turned her phone toward him.
It was a video of a raccoon stealing an entire pizza box off someone’s porch.

Ethan nodded seriously. “That raccoon has ambition. I respect that.”

“Honestly,” Lila said, “he’s doing better than me. I can’t even commit to finishing a salad.”

“Salads are a scam,” Ethan said. “They’re just leaves pretending to be food.”

Lila burst out laughing — loud, unfiltered, the kind of laugh that made other people turn their heads.

Ethan felt victorious.
He had made her laugh.
He was in.

“So,” he said, leaning casually against the actual wall this time, “can I get you a drink?”

“Sure,” she said. “Surprise me.”

Ethan marched to the kitchen with purpose. He was going to make the best drink she’d ever had. Something classy. Something impressive.

He grabbed a cup.
He grabbed ice.
He grabbed… the wrong bottle.

He returned proudly and handed it to her.

She took a sip.
Paused.

Stared at him.

“Ethan,” she said slowly, “did you just give me… pickle juice?”

Ethan froze. “I— what— no— maybe— yes.”

Lila laughed so hard she had to put the cup down.

“Oh my god,” she wheezed. “You’re dangerous.”

“In a mysterious way?”

“In a ‘you should not be allowed near beverages’ way.”

Ethan put a hand over his heart. “I accept that.”

She wiped her eyes, still giggling. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you’re laughing,” he said. “So I’m doing something right.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Or I’m just easily entertained.”

“Either way,” Ethan said, “I’ll take it.”

Lila smirked. “Alright, Smooth Guy. Try again. One more drink. No pickles.”

Ethan saluted. “I will not fail you twice.”

“You absolutely will,” she said, “and I’m excited to watch.”

Ethan stood in the kitchen, staring at the bottles like they were a multiple‑choice test he had not studied for.

“Okay,” he whispered to himself. “No pickles. No disasters. No… whatever that thing was last time.”

He grabbed a bottle of lemonade. Safe. Harmless. Impossible to mess up.

He poured it into a cup, added ice, and felt proud of himself for accomplishing something toddlers could do.

When he returned to Lila, she eyed the drink suspiciously.

“Is this… normal?” she asked.

“As normal as I am,” Ethan said.

“So… questionable.”

He sighed. “Just drink it.”

She took a sip. “Okay, this is actually good.”

Ethan puffed up slightly. “I told you. I am a man of many talents.”

“Name one.”

He opened his mouth.
Closed it.
Opened it again.

“I can whistle the entire theme song of The Office.”

“That’s not a talent,” she said. “That’s a cry for help.”

Ethan pointed at her. “You’re mean.”

“You fell through a doorway earlier,” she said. “I’m allowed.”

Before he could respond, someone bumped into him from behind. His lemonade sloshed. A single drop landed on Lila’s shoe.

She gasped dramatically. “You’ve ruined me.”

“It was one drop!”

“I’ll never recover.”

“It’s literally evaporating.”

She lifted her foot. “Look at this. Look at the tragedy.”

Ethan squinted. “I don’t see anything.”

“That’s because the pain is emotional.”

He laughed, shaking his head. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And yet,” she said, “you’re still here.”

“Yeah,” he admitted. “I am.”

She smiled — a small one, but real. “So what now, Smooth Guy?”

“Well,” Ethan said, “I was thinking we could—”

Before he could finish, the music changed. Loud. Chaotic. The kind of song that made people suddenly believe they could dance even if they absolutely could not.

Lila’s eyes lit up. “Oh no.”

“Oh no what?” Ethan asked.

“I need to warn you,” she said. “When this song comes on… I become a menace.”

“A menace how?”

She didn’t answer.

She just started dancing.

Not good dancing.
Not normal dancing.
But the kind of dancing that looked like she was trying to fight invisible bees.

Ethan stared. “Are you okay?”

“This is my signature move,” she said, flailing her arms. “It’s called ‘The Windshield Wiper Having a Breakdown.’”

“That’s… something.”

“You have to join me.”

“I really don’t.”

“You do,” she insisted. “It’s the law.”

Ethan sighed. “Fine. But I’m warning you, I dance like a malfunctioning Roomba.”

“That’s perfect,” she said. “We’ll match.” So they danced.
Badly.
Spectacularly badly.

People stared.
People laughed.
Someone recorded them.

Ethan didn’t care.

Lila was laughing so hard she could barely breathe, and honestly, that made the embarrassment worth it.

When the song finally ended, they collapsed onto the couch, panting.

“That,” Lila said between breaths, “was the most exercise I’ve gotten in months.”

“I think I pulled something,” Ethan said.

“Your dignity?”

“That too.”

She nudged him with her shoulder. “You’re fun.”

He blinked. “I… am?”

“Yeah,” she said. “In a chaotic, unpredictable, ‘should probably be supervised’ kind of way.”

Ethan grinned. “I’ll take it.”

She leaned back, smiling at the ceiling. “You know… I wasn’t planning on having fun tonight.”

“And now?”

“And now,” she said, “I’m having a stupidly good time.”

Ethan felt his heart do something weird.
Like a hiccup.
Or a tiny cartwheel.

“Well,” he said softly, “so am I.”

When it was time to leave, Ethan walked up to Lila.

"So, want to do this again some time?" he questioned. She stared long and hard at him before answering.

"If you don't give me pickle juice this time." Ethan relaxed.

"Tempting," he responded, "but I'll try not to." She laughed again. The unique laugh that made Ethan's heart do cartwheels. He held the front door open for her.

"Ladies first," he said, with a sweep of his arm.

"Thank you good sir," she stated in a British accent.

That night, Ethan didn't get any sleep thinking about Lila. What did she think of him? Why didn't he get her number? How come all squares are rectangles, but not all rectangles are squares? Okay, the last one wasn't about her, but it was a good question. Finally, Ethan fell asleep, but her face didn't leave his mind, and he swore that he could hear her laugh in his dream.

The next day at school, he walked up to his friend who had had the birthday party.

"Hey," Ethan greeted Michael, "Do you know a girl named Lila?"

"You talking about the one at the party?" Michael asked in response.

"Yeah, that one," Ethan said, a far off look in his eyes, "Do you think you could give me her number?"

"Anything for you, man," Michael told him. And that was when Ethan got Lila's number. Hey, are you thirsty? he texted.

Who is this? she responded.

Pickle juice! was all he said.

Then she caught on.

Do you want to maybe meet up and go out to eat sometime, he asked her.

She didn't respond at first, then texted, Yes!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

So the date was on, and Ethan couldn't have been more ready.