It Never Rains in Colombia by W.H. Benjamin

surrounded by a group of girls. Her mouth was as dry as cotton; when she swallowed, it felt as though she would choke on her own tongue.
                  A crowd of masked people had gathered by the lake to watch the fireworks. She stopped in the middle of the gravel path, in the midst of the crowd, hesitating, wondering if she should wait, but then she considered the torment of not knowing. The torturous game of back-and-forth  that beset her mind every waking minute, and if she didn't have the courage at sixteen, she might never have it. “Roberto,” she called softly.
                  He looked up from his iPhone; the group of girls bristled and slowly began to dissipate. “Um, can I talk to you for a moment?” she asked.
                  “Sure.”
                  They moved away from the others so that it was just the two of them near the lake.
                  “I, uh, I think,” she murmured. She raised her hand; it shook like a wooden boat in a storm. The letter went up and down like the grey waves of a rough sea. “This is for you,” she said, leaving it hanging in the air until he took it.
                  He took the letter, calmly unfolding it slowly. She watched as he scanned the lines and then walked slowly away. The girls rushed back to his side as she left.
                  “What's that?” Amy asked.
                  “Nothing,” he replied, tucking the letter into his back pocket.
                  “What is it?” Amy snatched at it.
                  “It's nothing,” he repeated, taking it back from her. “Look,” he said:
                  “Dear Roberto,” her heart stopped as he read aloud. “I have watched you for a long time.” She turned quickly. Sarah, Amy, and a girl she didn't know began to giggle as he read on, “Every night when I sleep, I dream of you.”
                  The students in the immediate vicinity stopped what they were doing. Conversations halted mid-sentence as his voice grew louder. “I think you are beautiful. Normally men are handsome, but you are really beautiful. I really like you, and—” he paused looking at her for a long time laughing, “if you feel the same way about me, please let me know, much love, Harlow, kiss, kiss, kiss.” She remembered how she had crossed out the “much love” twice thinking it was too much and felt sick that he had read it.
                  He carefully tore the letter in half, then ripped those halves again and again until only tiny pieces of white paper fluttered to the ground like confetti around his feet. When he began to hold his stomach as if to contain the laughter, she felt that it was feigned, just to spite her. Turning fully toward him, anger boiling up, she marched toward him. He stood up straighter as she came over.             
                  “What makes you think that I would like you?” he asked as though he were some magnificent King and she were merely a Pauper.
                  The hot tears pressed under her eyelids, threatening to slide freely down her wind-chilled cheeks. Without thinking, her hands stopped shaking and she punched him as hard as she could. Amy gasped and shoved her with both hands so hard that Harlow fell into the dark lake.
                  Sophia rushed up behind Amy, shouting, “What are you doing?”
                  Harlow thrashed wildly in the water, frantically trying to swim, and finally sank below the lake's surface.
                  There was a splash as someone dove into the water, his jacket discarded on the grassy bank. Roberto stood on the periphery of the crowd; his friends began howling in laughter. An eerie silence fell over the crowd in the garden as she sank below the water. Water rose in plumes of bubbles above her, convalescing in mushroom