Polka Dot Panic
“What is all over my face?!”
Gracie shrieked loud enough to rattle the ceiling tiles, frozen in front of the mirror like she’d just spotted an alien growing out of her forehead.
Her roommate poked her head out from the bathroom, toothbrush still in hand and foamy toothpaste trailing down her chin. “Um… acne? Chickenpox? Is glitter contagious now?”
Gracie spun toward her. “Do I look like a human strawberry?! There are dots. Dots. Tiny red ones. Everywhere.”
Sure enough, her face—and now that she was checking, her arms too—was covered in little red spots. No itching. No fever. Just a full-blown case of speckled panic.
“I am turning into a speckled egg,” she whispered.
She bolted down the hallway like a fire drill in fuzzy socks.
“Ruth! Ruth!” she cried, banging on her RA’s door. “Something’s wrong with me! I’m spotted like a speckled egg!”
Ruth opened the door slowly, hair in a scrunchie and one eye barely open. “Gracie, are you dying?”
“I might be. But in a really hilarious, polka-dotted kind of way.”
A quick trip to the local doctor, a lot of hand gestures, and a few poorly translated phrases later, the final diagnosis landed:
“You’re allergic to the sun.”
Gracie stared at him. “I’m sorry… the sun?!”
The doctor nodded. “Yes. A mild reaction. Sometimes after a long winter, first exposure triggers it.”
She blinked. “Sir, I grew up in Spain. I have baked in the sun. Our neighborhood pool was shaped like a horseshoe, and I practically lived in it every summer like a floating churro. And now I’m allergic?!”
He shrugged. “Bodies are strange sometimes.”
She left with a prescription cream, a flyer on “sun protection,” and an existential crisis about her future as a functioning human being.
The rash cleared up in a few days, but her dorm never let her forget it.
From that week forward, Gracie had a new nickname:
Polka Dot Princess.
Just when she thought the week couldn’t get any weirder…a few days later, Gracie got a letter from her little brother, Kenny.
It was written in red crayon, the return address decorated in dinosaur stickers, and the envelope smelled faintly like peanut butter.
Dear Gracie, I caught a lizard and named him George. He lives in the laundry room now. Mom said I have to let him go but I think he likes it here. Also, I wore my underwear on the outside of my pants for superhero day but it was the wrong day. Mrs. Luján made me call Mom. It was so embarrassing but kinda awesome.
Also, I told George you used to be a chicken nugget in another life. He doesn’t believe me.
Love, Kenny.
Gracie nearly choked on her hot cocoa from laughing. Leave it to Kenny to lighten the load.
Just when she’d finally stopped wheezing, her dorm mom popped her head into the lounge.
“Gracie? Can I talk to you for a sec?”
Cue minor panic. Had she forgotten a chore? Was this about the gum stuck in the laundry room sink?
But instead, the dorm mom smiled and said, “The chapel team would love for you to play piano this Sunday. Just one song. Something simple. Think you’d be up for it?”
Gracie’s eyes widened. “Wait—me?”
“You’re the only one who makes the keys sound like prayer.”
She blinked. Nodded. Tried not to look too excited.
She wasn’t sure how it would go. But the thought of playing—even just one song—felt like someone had cracked a window in her soul and let fresh air in.
Music was where she felt most like herself.
And maybe, just maybe, that was beginning to matter again.
Pink Dresses, Weddings and Duets
Spring break arrived like a whispered promise—and with it, another 27-hour train ride from Basel to Spain.
Ever since that December night—the one with the midnight conversation and Micah’s gentle “We need to wait”—things between them had stayed beautifully… complicated.
School had kept them both busy, but not too busy to find each other. Micah lived across the street in the boys’ dorm, just five minutes from Gracie’s, and somehow, without ever saying it out loud, they always managed to find time. A shared lunch table. A walk after chapel. Sitting side by side at The Web during movie nights, pretending they weren’t stealing glances every few minutes.
But this spring break felt different.
It wasn’t just about getting home.
While they’d known each other since childhood—this would be the first time their families had been together since 1983. Back then, Micah was still in his 'soccer-ball-stalker' phase, trailing after Gracie everywhere with that dopey grin and a plastic orange ball he insisted was signed by some famous Madrid soccer ball player.
But this trip felt different. Like something had shifted and neither of them could name it. And with Gracie’s older sister flying in from the U.S. to get married—and Micah’s family invited to the wedding—there was no dodging the closeness.
Gracie had tried not to overthink it. But during her rare phone calls home—because international calls were still a luxury—her mom somehow always brought it up.
"How’s school, sweetheart? Are you still writing music? And how’s Micah?"
It was always music… and Micah.
Gracie never held back—her mom got the full Micah highlight reel on nearly every call. Whether it was the latest hilarious thing he said, the face he made during chapel announcements, or how he played guitar with his whole heart like it was a love language, she spilled it all. Her mom would laugh and say, "Sounds like someone’s smitten," and Gracie would groan, but never deny it. Because if she wasn’t talking about music, she was absolutely talking about Micah.
The train cabin buzzed with snacks, UNO, and the ever-growing collection of knock knock jokes. Gracie leaned against the window, her hair pulled into a side ponytail, a pair of fuzzy socks tucked under her sneakers.
Micah sat across from her, tuning his guitar.
“You’re gonna bring that to the wedding?” she asked, one eyebrow raised.
He shrugged. “What if they have an emergency worship shortage?”
She laughed. “So you’ll save the ceremony with ‘Love Will Find a Way’?”
“I was thinking more along the lines of ‘Friends are Friends Forever.’”
Gracie groaned. “If you sing that, I will throw myself off the train.”
He grinned, strumming a dramatic chord. “Friends will not say never..…”
A girl from the next cabin peeked in. “Can you keep it down?”
Micah lowered his voice. “She doesn’t understand our brilliance.”
Gracie rolled her eyes. “Clearly.”
Later that night, the cabin dimmed, the laughter settled into quiet hums, and Micah leaned over slightly.
“You nervous about your sister’s wedding?”
Gracie rested her chin on her knee and shrugged. “Honestly? Yeah, a little. It’s just strange seeing someone you’ve shared bedrooms and late-night popcorn with suddenly putting on a white dress and stepping into this whole new chapter.” She paused and glanced out the window, her voice softer. “But I guess when you're an MK, you kinda learn to live with distance. You miss things—birthdays, graduations, inside jokes. You get used to being close while still far away. But this time? I get to be there. For real. And that… that feels kind of amazing.”
He nodded slowly. “Yeah… I get that. My siblings were all older—by the time I was ten, they already had families of their own. I kinda grew up watching everyone else grow up without me. So yeah, I know that feeling. Being there? It matters.”
She looked at him, her voice a little quieter. “Do you ever think about what that kind of love takes? Like real commitment. Real choosing.”
Micah met her eyes. “All the time. And I think if you're gonna do it, you better not treat it like a game. It's not something you half-hearted your way through.”
Gracie nodded slowly. “Yeah. I feel that too. It’s not scary—it’s just... weighty. And beautiful.”
The silence that followed wasn’t awkward. It was comfortable. Like the kind you share with someone who already understands what you’re trying to say.
He nudged her foot gently with his.
“You’re gonna be the prettiest one at that wedding.”
Gracie smirked. “Besides the bride.”
He raised a brow. “Not what I said.”
She looked down at her lap, cheeks flushing, and tried not to smile too hard.
The train rocked gently beneath them.
And for the first time in a while, Gracie didn’t feel the need to rush anything.
She just wanted to be right here.
With him.
Three days later, the hustle and bustle of wedding prep kicked into full swing.
No other family from the States could make it, but that didn’t matter. Their Spanish church family stepped in like pros—decorating, cooking, laughing, filling the gaps like only they could.
Gracie’s mom had sewn her the most beautiful bridesmaid dress. A soft pink with a hint of shimmer that danced in the light and showed just enough of her newly slimmed silhouette to make her stand a little taller. It wasn’t about looking skinny. It was about feeling beautiful. And Gracie did.
What made it even more special was that she and Micah were going to sing a duet together during the wedding. A love song. Not just any love song—a real one. Harmonies, acoustic guitar, and the kind of lyrics that made Gracie wonder if she could get through it without floating off the floor.
It was a dream come true.
When Micah saw her in the dress for the first time, his eyes widened and that crooked grin she knew too well spread across his face. "See," he said, his voice just loud enough for her to hear, "I told you you were gonna be the most beautiful one here."
Micah wasn’t what most girls would call the most handsome guy. He had unique features, a strong chin, and that slight pigeon-toed walk that made his gait almost boyish. But Gracie had long stopped seeing any of that.
Because Micah’s beauty wasn’t about symmetry.
It was in his heart.
His kindness. His deep thoughts. The way he listened without interrupting, and how he talked to God like He was right there in the room.
And yet... the question lingered.
“Lord, why do we have to wait to be boyfriend and girlfriend? I don’t understand the pause. But I’m choosing to trust You... even here.”
Scavenger Hunts, Mt. Blauen and the Words Not Spoken
The school year wound down fast after the wedding, but not before one more unexpected memory was made.
It was a warm Saturday afternoon in early June when the dorms hosted a spring scavenger hunt up on Mt. Blauen. The students were grouped up into fours—strict rule: no guy and girl were to go off alone on the trails. But Gracie and Micah? The RAs made an exception.
They had earned it.
And so, just the two of them set off on the wooded trail, laughter echoing behind them as the others scattered.
Halfway up, the trees opened up to a sun-dappled ridge, and they slowed their steps. They talked about the year, the awkward memories, the wins, the growth. But mostly, they talked about what was next.
“So, what’s your summer looking like?” Micah asked, nudging a pinecone with his sneaker as they walked, hands casually brushing every now and then.
Gracie smiled. “Pretty lowkey. My sister’s honeymoon is taking her back to the States, but I’ll be enjoying my summer break back in Spain with mom and dad. Probably helping out at church, writing music, dodging Kenny’s Science experiments he hides in the fridge. He already tried to marinate hot dogs in orange soda.”
Micah laughed. “Sounds like a summer that could make a good sitcom. I’ll be in Barcelona. My parents want me to help with music at our church… and honestly, I was thinking—would you maybe want to come visit?”
Gracie blinked. “Wait. Really?”
“Yeah,” Micah said, scratching the back of his neck. “Maybe a week or two. Help with worship. Hang out with my parents. Maybe convince my mom I can actually cook something besides scrambled eggs. But also... I just don’t really want to go three months without seeing you.”
Her heart did a full somersault.
“I’d love that,” she said, trying to sound casual. Failing miserably.
As they came into a clearing that opened up to a breathtaking view—rolling hills of the Black Forest stretched around them, with the French Alps to the west and the Swiss Alps peeking from the south—it was hard not to feel small in the best kind of way. The steep path dipped just enough to make anyone a little cautious. Without hesitation, Micah reached for her hand.
“For balance,” he said, his tone light—but the way his fingers wrapped around hers was anything but casual.
Gracie looked down at their hands, then up at him. The breeze tugged gently at her hair, but her heart was the thing fluttering.
“Obviously,” she replied, her voice barely above a whisper.
They kept walking, hand in hand, like it had always been meant to fit that way. Even after the steepest part of the trail had passed, even once the ground leveled and the group’s voices could be heard again in the distance—he didn’t let go. Not until they were within sight of the dorm.
They didn’t kiss. Didn’t need to.
But as they stood together on the overlook—shoulder to shoulder, the cool summer mountain breeze brushing past and their hands still quietly intertwined—Gracie felt something shift inside her. Not fireworks. Not fairytales. Just something solid and sure, like peace settling into place.
When she glanced up at him, he didn’t say a word.
But in the way he looked at her—eyes steady, hand still holding tight—it was like he was saying it anyway:
“I love you.”
Without sound. Without pressure.
Just there.
Quiet, certain, and waiting for its time.
And whatever God was doing in this story—it was still unfolding.
And she didn’t want to miss a single chapter.