The first real gift from a boy.
And not just any boy—a cool, good-looking one. A rainbow-colored scrunchie. Not the flimsy kind, either. This was a thick, high-quality one. You could tell just by looking at it—it was well made. And when you touched it, it felt completely different from the cheap ones. Like a pleated skirt, full of tiny folds that made it seem like it was constantly changing color. It popped in her blonde hair, easy to spot from across the room. It was beautiful—and priceless. Because it was from him. Her first love.
And first love… that’s something else entirely. It’s when a girl first feels those butterflies flutter in her stomach. When, for the first time, she really longs for a touch—a hand to hold, a hug. Maybe even a kiss on the lips. It’s when spring suddenly smells sweeter, and she wants—really wants—to be liked. Not in a cute way. In a real way. Because cute isn’t enough anymore. That’s when the woman inside her starts to wake up.
Every girl in class noticed the scrunchie. Of course they did. You couldn’t buy something like that in town.
She wished she could say who it was from.
But she couldn’t. Because officially… they weren’t even dating.
If she told anyone, they’d all rush to the boy to ask if the rumor was true. And then he’d totally panic and back off.
Still, wouldn’t it be amazing to just casually say, “Oh, it’s from him. Who else would it be from?”
But they weren’t dating. He hadn’t even held her hand. And that’s the rule, right? A boy and a girl aren’t really a thing until they hold hands. So she couldn’t really say they were together. Then again… he had given her a birthday present. And he had walked her home. Twice. Did that count for something? Was that basically the same as holding hands? Ugh.Being twelve is so hard.
The year-end ceremony—normally the most dreaded event of the school year—felt different this time. Special. The graduating eighth graders, including him, stood facing the younger classes. And guess what? She was first in line. Which meant she could look at him the whole time. That lovely face. That babyish smile that no one else had. He was always smiling. Always cheerful.
But she couldn’t wear her usual dressy blouse today—not with that ridiculous oversized collar. It made her look like a clown. A silly little girl clown. And today, she needed to look… good. Really good. So what now? Hair down to her waist? That was definitely cool. But the scrunchie—his scrunchie—meant something. It meant commitment. She had to make sure he knew just how much it meant to her. How much he meant to her.
So she stood there in the blazing sun, eyes squinting and watery, wearing a borrowed blouse from the older girl who lived upstairs. Hair down. Scrunchie on her wrist. Like it was just there in case she needed to throw her hair up in the heat. And if anyone said something? She’d shrug and say, “I was just about to tie it up.”
ʺWait a second…His mom. His little sister. His older sister. And his two tiny nieces. They are all standing in the front row of the parents’ section. And—what?! His mom has the exact same scrunchie. So do the little ones. And the sisters. So… is this like… a family thing? Does that mean… we’re dating?ʺ