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taken a shower. They chose the coolest spot in the place, though—I had to give them props forthat. They were nestled under a huge 50- or 60-bulb chandelier dazzled with yellow crystals. The chairs were straight out of a music video. All sleek and mod, those yellow pincushion chairs were super fun! Actually, I hadn’t even noticed that little room before then. This was my second year at the Saloon. My first year meeting a guy there.
    So my gut said I’d probably see Dimitri in the evening if I went to that party. How fortunate I was to have a full day of Dimitri.
    â€œWould you like to taste mine?” Merek asked.
    â€œSure,” I smiled. He passed me his oversize mug. “Should I guess?”
    â€œSmell,” he said.
    â€œPumpkin.”
    â€œAn acute sense of smell …” he said.
    â€œYum.” I turned his mug around to the side, opposite of where he had taken a sip. I took a slow, cautious sip. Judging by the steam coming out of the mug, it was piping hot. “Pumpkin and toffee?” I asked and took a second sip. “Marvelous! Was that off menu?”
    â€œNo need for menu. I create flavors at home for fun. My sisters love espresso. So our mother has taught us how to make it sweet,” he said.
    â€œWow!”
    â€œI can make you one, one time?” he asked.
    â€œAbsolutely! I’m going to this party tonight at Cara’s house. Do you know her?” Maybe he could tell me something more about her than I knew—which was nothing.
    â€œNo, but I would like to take you if I could,” he said.
    â€œYeah!” It just came out. I mean, was this okay? Why had I just agreed to go with this guy?
    â€œWhat’s your number?” he asked.
    My friend, Winter, was always so cool and put-together around guys. She had a mystery about her, and she never said too much of anything. I wished I could be like that. I was always confused about how I should be. Myself was a good start, but then was that the right thing? “646-222-6666,” I said.
    â€œI’ll text you. So now you have my number. Save me.”
    â€œI’ll be sure to throw you a life raft,” I said. He smiled. I was tempted to put him in my phone as Jughead. “How do you spell your name?”
    â€œM-E-R-E-K,” he said.
    â€œMilan and Merek”—it went pretty well together. Unlike Noel, I would never be able to tell him my secret. There was something about the way he looked at me.
    â€œIs it ‘Milan,’ like the city?” he asked.
    â€œIt is.”
    â€œHow ironic we met. Milan is one of my favorite cities in Europe,” he said. Though I couldn’t hear him, his mannerisms and the slight smirk across his face made me feel like he was speaking sweetly. He seemed like the kind of guy that sent a girl letters in curly cursive just because.
    A girl walked through the Saloon doors. Her style was sort of plain, but her long, erect back and the way she walked with calm determination through the crowd made you look. Her large-framed black Urkel-like glasses skewed things a bit. They were probably Haan, but still not cute.
    I watched keenly as she approached Sierra. This girl must have been interesting. Sierra never invited anybody out. “So check you later?” I asked.
    â€œI’m going to dip. I’ll hit you up around 7,” he said.
    â€œText me.”
    â€œWorship you.” He laughed. Yikes. “You know you are the kind of the girl who should be worshipped,” he added.
    â€œWe’ll see about that,” I laughed. He slowly backed away from me. I turned around while he was still watching. Mystery—I had to remind myself.
    â€œWhat are you shaking your head about?” Sierra asked.
    â€œNothing.” Had I been shaking my head?
    â€œThis is Cece,” she said.
    â€œHey, I’m Milan.”
    â€œYes, I’ve seen you … in Times Square. Everyone in this room probably knows your