I woke up before my alarm, my heart already beating faster than usual.
For a moment, I lay still, staring at the pale light slipping through my curtains. Then it hit me.
I was thirteen.
The thought made me sit up slowly, like if I moved too fast, I might scare the feeling away. Nothing about my room had changed. My walls were the same soft color, my school bag still hung on the chair, and my notebook rested where I'd left it the night before. I was still Cherish.
But something felt different anyway.
Before I could think too much about it, my door flew open.
"Happy birthday!" my parents sang, clapping and laughing like it was the most important day of the year.
I groaned, pulling my blanket over my face, but I couldn't stop smiling. My mom hugged me tightly, and my dad took way too many pictures. There were pancakes for breakfast—my favorite—and a small cake with candles shaped like the number thirteen.
"Make a wish," my mom said softly.
I closed my eyes.
I wished for courage.
For understanding.
For whatever this new year was bringing.
School felt strange that morning.
Not bad—just louder. Sharper. Like I was suddenly noticing everything. My friends rushed toward me the moment I stepped into the building. Zara nearly tackled me with a hug.
"You're officially a teen!" she said. "How does it feel?"
I opened my mouth, then closed it again. "I don't know yet."
She laughed. "Give it time."
As we walked to class, I caught myself scanning the hallway without meaning to.
Looking for Roy.
I told myself it was nothing. Just curiosity.
Then I saw him.
Roy stood near his locker, talking to one of his friends. He laughed at something, his smile easy and warm, and my chest tightened in that familiar, confusing way. As if he felt me looking, he glanced up.
Our eyes met.
For a second, the hallway noise faded.
Then he smiled—small and shy—and lifted his hand in a quick wave.
My heart jumped so hard I thought it might give me away. I waved back, hoping my face wasn't as red as it felt.
In math class, I couldn't focus.
Every time Roy shifted in his seat, I noticed. Every time he turned a page, I looked up. Once, he dropped his pen and leaned down to pick it up, and when he sat back up, our eyes met again. This time, he didn't look away right away.
The butterflies in my stomach went wild.
At lunch, Zara leaned across the table, her eyes sparkling. "Okay," she whispered. "What was that?"
"What was what?" I asked, even though I knew exactly what she meant.
"You and Roy," she said. "You smiled like you'd just won something."
I shook my head. "It's nothing."
She grinned. "Sure."
But it didn't feel like nothing.
After school, as I packed my bag, I felt someone stop beside my desk.
"Uh—happy birthday," Roy said.
I looked up, surprised. He stood there awkwardly, his hands shoved into his pockets.
"Thank you," I replied, my voice quieter than usual.
He nodded. "Zara told me."
"Oh," I said, smiling.
There was a pause—not uncomfortable, just careful.
Then he added, "Thirteen's kind of a big deal."
"Yeah," I said. "I think so too."
When he walked away, my heart felt light.
That night, as I lay in bed, I replayed the day in my head—the smiles, the wave, the way Roy had said my name.
Turning thirteen hadn't changed everything.
But it had changed something.
And somehow, I knew this was only the beginning.