her. “No, I didn’t even know there was a new guy.”
Zoë begins telling me a story of their first encounter, but I hear almost nothing she says. I block it out on purpose. I can't think about boys or relationships at all. Having her get mad at me for not listening is easier to deal with than remembering any part of him. I try to think of anything other than the one thought that continually emerges. In spite of my trying to push it away, it constantly fights back, doing its best to knock down the wall I worked so hard to put up.
It was about this time last year that I let her talk me into hanging out on the bleachers during football practice. I was never especially thrilled about teenage boys, unlike most girls my age. I always felt I had bigger and better things to worry about. I briefly dated a few different boys, but I never had more than lukewarm feelings for them. Nothing even came close to what I experienced with Charlie.
It was just three weeks into my junior year when I met him, the boy who changed my outlook on love and trust. I didn’t even know he existed until that sunny September afternoon. Zoë and I sat on the old wooden bleachers near the edge of the practice field, armed with her mental list of five different guys on the team that were at an appropriate level of cuteness for her to crush on. I spent most of the practice just laughing at her.
A few members of the team ran over to the bench in front of us for a quick rest and to rehydrate. Zoë, of course, used the opportunity to flash her best smile at Ryan, the star quarterback. He happily returned the favor while I just rolled my eyes at both of them.
That’s when it happened. I turned my head to look at literally anything else and saw him standing there staring at me. The intensity of his gaze combined with the way his green eyes sparkled in the warm glow of the setting sun took my breath away.
His short brown hair clung messily to his forehead. Beads of sweat trickled down the side of his cheeks. He didn’t smile. He just stared at me and sipped his sports drink. I could feel the blood rush to my face and a wave of heat shot through me. Embarrassed, I looked down at my lap. Desperate to confirm if what just happened was real or not, I looked up again. This time he smiled just the tiniest of smirks, barely enough to offer proof.
“Um, who is that?” Zoë muttered to me.
“I have no idea.”
“He’s hot.”
He must have read her lips. The smile spread further across his face as he turned to walk back to his teammates and rejoin practice.
An hour later, after practice had ended, Zoë got her chance to talk to Ryan. I hung back on the bleachers, watching her shamelessly flirt with him, pretending to read the book in my lap, but too distracted by how embarrassed I was to really pay any attention to it. And then, out of nowhere, “hi, you’re Emma, right?”
“Uh, yeah.” How did he know my name?
“I’m Charlie.” Say something.
My heart pounded in my chest. My breathing faltered and I was sure he could hear it. “What are you reading?” he asked.
“What? Oh," I said stupidly, remembering there was a book in my lap. "It’s for English class. Romeo and Juliet.”
“Classic. How do you like it?”
“It’s okay. A little far-fetched for my taste.”
He laughed. “So you’re saying you’d never poison yourself for love?”
“Spoiler alert! I’m only halfway through the book!”
“Oh. Whoops! Sorry.” He smiled, as he looked straight into my eyes. His gaze was so intense I had to look away. I nervously feathered the corners of the pages through my fingers.
“It’s alright. I kind of knew it was coming.” I smiled back at him.
“So, are you going to the game on Saturday?” he asked me, without hesitation.
“Um,” I glanced over at Zoë who is nodding her head and mouthing the word ‘yes’ at me. “Yeah, I’ll be there.”
“Great. Maybe you’ll stick around after the game too? There’s going to be a bonfire.”
I smiled at him again, feeling butterflies in my stomach. “I can probably do that.”
“Awesome. I’ll see you Saturday then.” He reached out and touched my arm while he said that. The butterflies in my stomach felt like they caught on fire.
***
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