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He smiles back, eyes bright. “Well, thank you.”

“Wait, where are we going anyway?” I realize I’ve been following him blindly. Down the promenade, into the ship. It’s easy to just let go with him.

“Well, we’re here.”

He gestures in front of him to the entrance of the ship’s arcade. Which, I didn’t even realize that the ship had an arcade, but I’m not surprised—this place is basically a floating Mall of America. I walked past a movie theater, an escape room,anda go-kart track on the last sea day. The arcade has black walls with neon geometric carpet and flashing lights from a line of machines. It’s filled with tweens and kids who should definitely be asleep in their rooms already, or at least in the daycare center, not here wildin’ out with their hands full of tokens.

“The arcade?” I ask.

“The arcade!” His face lights up, but then flashes with worry. “Oh no, did I totally screw this up? Do you have beef withPac-Man? A dark past withDance Dance Revolution?”

“Oh, no! It’s just that I was expecting...” What was I expecting? A stroll to watch the sun set? A candlelit dinner at the bougie restaurant on Deck 7?Get out of here with all that, I tell myself, shaking my head as if I can physically make those thoughts go away. That’s not what this is. “It’s perfect! And get ready to get your ass kicked inDance Dance Revolutionbecause my past with that game is filled with victories.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yes, I am a pro at dancing with my legs, exclusively.” I do a few kicks and a jump to prove my point, and he laughs.

“I’m prrrrrretty sure you’re supposed to move your arms, too, in that game.”

“Ha! Rookie mistake.” I bump him with my shoulder as I run past into the room, and he follows after me, calling, “DDRDiva coming through!”

Two hours later, we’re sweaty and giggly and token-less, staggering into the bright light outside of the arcade. My ears are still ringing from all the beeps and buzzes of the machines, and my cheeks ache from smiling so much. My lies about myDDRprowess were exposed right away, after a kid who looked like he was barely out of Pull-Ups challenged me to a dance duel and beat my score by an embarrassing amount. So, we skulked over to this motorcycle driving game, where I reclaimed mypride by beating Alex in ten straight races. It was only because he wasn’t willing to run over the grannies and little big-eyed bunnies on the side of the track. But still. They’re not real! And then we played a few rounds of air hockey, where we gathered a bit of an audience because our yelps and shouts were so loud.

“That was fun, Alex. Really, thank you,” I say, squeezing the off-brand orange-and-hot-pink Pikachu he spent a good twenty minutes trying to win me from the claw game. “I don’t usually like my birthday much, but this... it was just what I needed.”

“You think we’re done?” he asks, his brown eyes locked on mine.

“I mean, I assumed,” I sputter. “You probably have other stuff to do tonight...”

“Yeah, I’ve got big plans to watch the same two English movies they cycle on the TV and sit alone on my balcony, staring out at the ocean and contemplating my existence.”

“Hey, that sounds like a wild night. I wouldn’t want to keep you away from that—”

“Come on,” he says, taking my hand. An electric charge shoots up my arm, and I hope he can’t feel me shiver. “Let’s go.”

We take the elevators down a few floors to Deck 2, where I haven’t been yet. Alex is still holding my hand, acting like this is a perfectly normal thing friends do, when he leads me to a little fifties-style diner, sitting there all anachronistically, like it was plopped down by a time machine. Because even in the freakin’ Mediterranean, Americans need their burgers and fries, with a side of rose-colored nostalgia.

“Ta-da!” He holds his hands out, dropping mine. I fight the urge to reach out toward it, because apparently my brain is going all haywire and sending weirdo messages to my body. “I feel like we need a late-night snack after all that professional-levelDDR-ing.”

“That kid was a plant. Word got out about how good I am, and they needed to bring me down.”

“They?”

“The DDR suits, obviously.”

“Yes,obviously.”

We claim a mint-green pleather booth, and order fries and milk shakes piled high with whipped cream—cookies and cream for me, salted caramel for him. As we laugh and trade jabs, I study him. The way his full lips slowly curve into a smile. The flutter of his long, dark lashes. How his curls bounce when he throws his head back and laughs, usually just once, “Ha!” And how my stomach does that floppy thing and my brain tells me to keep going, keep inspiring more of those, because each one feels like an achievement.

I’m not stupid. I know where these feelings are heading. I’ve felt this way before in the beginning with Jay and Marcus and all the other unworthy boys. But Alex isn’t like them. At least, I don’t think he is, though clearly my judgment isn’t great. Heseemsdifferent. Respectful and kind. And genuinely interested in me—what I have to say, my mind, I mean. I don’t know about... the rest of me.

But. BUT. We have a week left on this cruise. And then hegoes off to UCLA, me to NYU. He goes home to all the other options he probably has, like the gorgeous Natalia. It’s just like me to be catching feelings for someone I have no future with. This fits my destructive, pointless pattern.

“So you said you don’t like your birthday,” Alex says, dipping a french fry in ketchup. “Why is that?”

“Nah.” I shake my head. “I don’t want to talk about that.” I know that whatever I say, it won’t come out right. I’ll sound ungrateful, picky.

“Oh yeah?”