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4:45 P.M.
I’ve always believed in love at first sight.
It was my favorite beat of any romantic movie—the crowds parting, the couple seeing each other, both people falling at the same time. That undeniable, ineffable spark, the feeling of knowing someone you just met. A look of shared destiny, of sudden understanding.
Whenever it was my turn to pick for movie club, I always went for romances. I didn’t care if they were tragic and doomed, or earnest and sappy, or dramas, or comedies. As long as there was love in it—love that was never in doubt—I was in. Katy and Didi complained about this, since Didi always chose horror and Katy liked action and animated films—but I endured their haunted dolls and rat chefs and Tom Cruise endlessly running. When it was my choice, I wanted longing glances and dancing and banter and kissing in the rain. I wanted autumnal walks through Central Park, and racing through the airport, and shattering realizations in Paris. But mostly, I wanted that first moment.
And though I would have never shared this with Didi or Katy, I had always held tight to the feeling that someday it would happen for me, too. One day, I’d see someone and just know. Everything would be clear and simple.
I went to every middle-school dance hopeful for my own crowds-parting moment. (According to Didi, both Romeo + Juliet and West Side Story had a lot to answer for when it came to this particular idea. Which made sense, since they were from the same IP.) I’d come home from all these dances disappointed but still believing that at some point—at the right point—it would happen for me. It had to, right? That’s what all the stories had told me.
And I kept on believing this despite the fact it had never come close to happening for myself. There was Brent Perkins, my first kiss at the slightly embarrassing age of fifteen. And then I’d dated Alex Petrosyan, my chem lab partner, for a month last fall before we both realized that we were better as friends. (“There was just no… chemistry,” I explained to Katy and Didi, who groaned and yelled at me about puns.) There had been guys I’d kissed in the dark of backyard parties, slightly buzzed on warm beer, and guys I’d crushed on from afar, waiting for the moment in which they would finally notice me (a moment which, sadly, never seemed to arrive).
And while I’d had fun with guys, I had never slept with anyone, and I was more than fine with that. I wanted what I’d been promised—the fairy tale. Running to meet your true love across windswept moors. Eyes locking across a crowded room (or high school gym, or resort in the Catskills, or illegal underground dance club).
I wanted weak knees. I wanted the feeling of being swept off my feet. I wanted to know, from the first moment, that it was love. Meant to be.
I wanted that one perfect night.
And so I’d decided years ago that I would just hold out for that—knowing that at some point, it was bound to show up.
All of which to say, the first time I really saw this guy, and my heart temporarily forgot how to work, it seemed like the moment I’d been waiting for my whole life had—when I’d least expected it—shown up at last.
I was annoyed at myself that it had taken me so by surprise—how had I not been on guard for this possibility? But then a second later, I realized that this was exactly how it was supposed to work.
The guy standing in front of me was seriously cute. He was maybe an inch or two taller than my 5'7", and wiry. He had curly brown hair, sharply parted and pushed back, like he was a forties movie star, or Tom Holland. He had light blue-green eyes and cheekbones that honestly should have been illegal. He was wearing white Chucks, jeans, and a black T-shirt that fitted him perfectly. His ears stuck out the tiniest bit, which I was actually grateful for, since they were keeping him from being too intimidatingly perfect. He was smiling politely at me—he clearly had no idea that my stomach had started doing somersaults.
Pull yourself together, Milligan! my inner Didi yelled.
“Right,” I said, trying to gather my wits and focus. “Sorry. What?” I cringed. That was what I was leading with? My moment of destiny arrived, and that was the best I could do?!
“Uh.” The guy, looking politely confused, pointed at the couple with their tablet. “They said you were looking for me?”
I nodded as I tried to get it together and act like a reasonable human being.
But why start now? the Didi in my head chimed in unhelpfully.
“Yes.” I knew my face was probably the color of a strawberry, but I also knew there wasn’t anything I could do about it. “They mentioned that you have an iPhone?”
He shot a wary look at the couple, like he was suddenly worried they had been casing his belongings. “I… do.”
“I just needed to borrow a charger,” I explained. “I asked them, but they’re androids.”
His eyes widened in comedic horror. “They are?”
I laughed. “Android people.”
“That’s the most dangerous type of android,” he said knowledgeably. “I’ve seen the movies. When robots can walk among us undetected, that’s when we’re in big trouble.”
“But if they’re undetected, how will we ever spot them? They could be here right now and we’d never know.”
He looked at me for a moment, his eyes widening. “Well, I didn’t really need to sleep tonight anyway. No big deal.”
I laughed. “But um—do you have a charger that I could borrow? Just for a little bit. My phone’s about to die.” I pulled it out of my pocket just in time to see the little white dash-circle light up once before the screen went black—the iPhone death rattle. “And… it’s dead.”
The guy’s smile dropped quickly, like he understood the gravity of my situation. “Oh man. I’m really sorry—I don’t have a charger.”
“Ah.” I wasn’t sure how this guy had gotten through three days at a festival without one, but he was probably wondering the same thing about me. Maybe he’d also attended with a flaky gym-class acquaintance who’d made off with his stuff. “I guess you lost yours too, huh?”
