The lunch rush at the ice cream shop was finally fading. Robin Buckley leaned her elbows on the counter, chin in her hands, watching Steve Harrington stare across the room for the fifth day in a row.

There she was again. The girl in the corner booth, notebook open, straw between her lips. She was cute. Very cute. Robin could admit that. It did not matter. Girls like that do not like girls.

Steve sighed dramatically. Robin nudged him with her elbow. “Steve, you are fogging up the freezer glass.” He startled. “What? I am not staring. I am observing.” “You observe her every day,” Robin said. “With your mouth open. It is tragic.” “She’s out of my league,” he whispered. “Like way out.” Robin rolled her eyes. “Great. Keep pining. Grow moss. I’m giving her your number.”

She grabbed a napkin, scribbled a number, and marched toward the girl before Steve could protest. Her heartbeat did a traitorous flutter she pretended not to notice.

The girl looked up, her smile soft and curious. “Hi.”

Robin froze for a half second, then set the napkin on the table. “Hey. This is for you. From someone who thinks you are cute.”

The girl glanced down at the napkin, and a slow smile spread across her face. “Oh.”

Heat crept up Robin’s neck. She cleared her throat. “Right. Okay. Enjoy your milkshake.”

Robin turned and hurried back behind the counter, ready to tell Steve she had accomplished the impossible. But before she could speak, she noticed the girl looking at her again, cheeks faintly pink as she tucked the napkin into her notebook.

Steve whispered, “So? Did you give it to her? What did she say?”