The next morning, the aggressive beauty of Maplewood felt a little softer. It was because of Eli.
I kept replaying our conversation in my head not the part about the fir tree, but the part where he listened when I talked about coding. He didn't just nod politely; he leaned in. He was the first person here who had seen my ambition as a strength, not a strange obsession.
My plan for Maplewood had been rigid: Study. Code. Apply to colleges. Leave. Boys were a distraction, especially boys in a town that already didn't want me. But Eli… he felt like a necessary detour.
I was sitting at the kitchen table, pretending to review my weather-tracking code, when my phone buzzed.
Eli: Hey, Amara. Still freezing? The tree made it home safe, thanks to your expert help.
A stupid, embarrassing warmth spread through my chest. I fought the urge to text back instantly. I waited a full, agonizing minute.
Me: Good. Logic prevailed, as always.
Eli: Haha. I'm going to grab a hot chocolate later from the bakery by the square. They have cinnamon buns that are actually worth the hype. Wanna join? It's on me.
Me: Sure. What time?
Eli: 3:00? It's peak Christmas chaos then, but the people-watching is good.
Me: See you then.
I closed my laptop. My focus on snowfall patterns was officially shot. I spent the next two hours cycling through three different sweaters, trying to find one that looked warm but not frumpy, smart but not too serious.
The bakery was exactly what I expected: all dark wood, glowing display cases, and a line of smiling, rosy-cheeked people waiting for peppermint lattes. The air was thick with sugar and steam.
I spotted Eli immediately. He was leaning against a pillar, scrolling on his phone, looking completely comfortable, like he belonged everywhere. When he saw me, his face lit up in that easy, genuine way, and for a second, I forgot all about the whispers outside.
"Hey. Glad you came," he said, tucking his phone away. "The line's crazy, but their mocha is incredible."
"I'm trusting you on the cinnamon bun hype," I replied, trying to sound cool and casual, though my heart was doing a frantic little skip.
We stood in line, and the conversation flowed so easily it felt like we'd known each other forever. He talked about growing up in Maplewood, how it was beautiful but sometimes felt too small. I talked about moving around with my mom for her job, and how I found stability in coding.
"So, you're looking at these snowfall patterns… are you trying to predict a white Christmas?" he asked, taking a step forward as the line moved.
I laughed. "No, I'm building a real-time hazard system. If I can accurately model when conditions change rapidly say, an unexpected ice layer forming it can feed real data to emergency services. It's way more complicated than just predicting a good sledding day."
He nodded, impressed. "Of course it is. Everything you do is complicated. That's why you're so interesting."
The compliment landed soft and true, making me look down at the floor, suddenly shy. Interesting. Not different. Not new. Just interesting.
"And you?" I asked, looking up. "What are you building? Besides excellent Christmas spirit?"
He smiled. "I'm working on a community-sourced app. Basically, a hyper-local news aggregator. Less town paper, more real-time gossip and event scheduling. It's... less intense than hazard modeling."
"Still useful," I countered. "It's about making systems efficient."
We reached the counter, ordered two ridiculous hot chocolates topped with mounds of whipped cream, and found a small table near the window. Outside, the square was a blur of golden light and falling snow.
It was perfect. Too perfect.
Just as I took my first sip of the rich, sweet cocoa the kind of drink that makes you instantly happy a high, bright voice cut through the background noise.
"Eli! There you are. I knew you'd be hiding out here."
I lowered my mug. Standing over our small table was a girl who looked like she'd been drawn by the Maplewood marketing board. This was Claire Whitmore.
She was tall, with perfect blonde hair that caught the bakery light like spun gold, and she carried her confidence like a crown. She was wearing a coat that probably cost more than my laptop, and she didn't just smile she beamed, making everyone in the vicinity feel slightly less vibrant.
"Hey, Claire," Eli said, his voice instantly shifting to a more familiar, easygoing tone. "We just finished ordering. Cinnamon bun status: secured."
Claire didn't even look at the bun. Her eyes, which were a sharp, intelligent blue, slid to me. There was no real malice, just that effortless, dismissive curiosity.
"Oh, hi. You're Amara, right? The new girl in our advanced computer science class?"
"That's me," I said, trying to match her calm, but my grip tightened on my mug.
"Right. Good luck with Mr. Davies' syllabus, it gets pretty heavy in the spring semester." She said this with the air of someone who had conquered Everest offering a casual tip to someone just starting the hiking trail.
Then, she turned her full attention back to Eli, effectively making me invisible. "I actually wanted to find you. That algorithm we were working on for the robotics club? I finally optimized the sorting function. I managed to cut three full milliseconds off the cycle time. You won't believe the efficiency gains."
Eli's eyes widened, a flicker of genuine professional excitement lighting up his face. "Three milliseconds? No way! Show me is it the bubble sort improvement we talked about, or did you pivot to the binary tree idea?"
They were instantly lost in a technical conversation that used familiar words, but felt exclusionary. We. Our algorithm. The robotics club. It was a shared language, a shared history, and a shared brilliance that I didn't yet belong to.
I sat there, sipping my cocoa, the warmth in my chest from just moments ago cooling quickly. Claire hadn't been rude. She hadn't even truly insulted me. She had just effortlessly— and probably unintentionally shown me that she and Eli operated on a completely different, higher level of connection, one rooted in years of shared excellence and acceptance in this town.
When Amara spoke to Eli, he saw her potential. When Claire spoke to Eli, he saw his peer.
I felt the familiar, sharp sting of inadequacy, followed closely by the cold dread of being the "different girl" again. My beautiful moment with Eli, the one that made Maplewood feel safe for an hour, had just been completely overshadowed by the town's golden girl. I realized then that winning Eli's heart wouldn't just be about him choosing me; it would mean convincing him that I was worth the complexity and the struggle I brought, compared to Claire's easy, brilliant fit.
And suddenly, the cinnamon bun didn't look quite as appealing.