Age 15:
From: [email protected]
Lily,
You’ll never guess what happened. During math today (my least fave subject btw), my teacher got up to start the lesson, but he must’ve sat in something before then, because when he got to the whiteboard there were huge splotches of brown all over his black pants. I mean right in the perfect area for everyone to assume he hadn’t made it to the bathroom in time. We kept laughing, and he got so pissed, he told us we were “off our gourds,” After class ended, one of the girls tried to tell him, but he wouldn’t listen, so he looked like that for the rest of the day.
Maybe it’s one of those you had to be there moments, idk. But I’ve laughed about it all day.
Anyway, hope that makes you smile.
How’s that English class you were struggling with? Still need help? Not sure what I can do without seeing you in person, but I can try.
Still laughing,
Shiny
***
I took the scenic route home, driving a good ten miles per hour under the speed limit. And that was after I worked late and handled some ridiculous task from the accounting department that apparently needed my full attention just as I was ready to walk out the door. None of these people had even looked twice at me before this promotion. They’d just thrown papers at me like I was the personal assistant to each and every one of them. Now that I was their boss, they still threw papers at me. Then they’d give me these fake laughs and puppy dog eyes when they wanted to take a long weekend to celebrate things like National Buffet Day.
Surely, after all that, Calla would already be fast asleep. Not that I was avoiding her. Definitely not. I simply wanted to make sure I didn’t disturb her when I turned on the Phillies game in the living room.
Fine. That was a lie. I most certainly was avoiding the girl living under my roof. Because the second I saw her, ridiculous gibberish was bound to fly out of my mouth. Or a random object would magically appear in front of my feet, causing me to stumble in front of her.
All I wanted was to sink into my sectional with a nice cold beer and watch baseball while wearing my fluffy socks like a real man. It wasn’t until I pulled into my assigned spot in the dimly lit parking garage that exhaustion washed over me. My legs were like Jell-O, and suddenly, I wasn’t sure I could make it all the way to the elevators and then down the hall to my place. This car was pretty comfy. Sleeping out here wouldn’t be too bad, right? Except just as I dropped my head back against the seat, a vision of the scary movie Layla forced us to watch where a guy murdered people in vacant parking decks flashed in my mind, causing my heart to stutter. On second thought, maybe it was in my best interest to put on my big boy pants and force myself upstairs.
When I slid my key into the lock, I turned the handle slowly and pushed the door open an inch at a time. I slipped my shoes off and attempted to hang my keys on the hook in my entryway, only to miss and have them fall to the hardwood floors with a loud clunk.
“Shh!” I hushed, hoping it would negate the previous echo through the apartment.
It was after ten, but the lights were still on. Maybe Calla had just left them on for me. That was thoughtful. Turning each light switch off, I tiptoed my way across the open-concept area to the end of the hallway to turn off the living room lights. But I froze mid-step. Calla was standing barefoot on my couch with her arm raised straight up, TV remote in hand and eyes glued to a blank TV.
She hadn’t noticed me, so I took the moment to study her, to take in her pale legs beneath the blue plaid excuse for pajama shorts and the white tank top that clung so perfectly to her curvy waist. Her hair was flowing, dark and wavy, down past her shoulders. A small clip with a yellow sun on it was tucked behind her ear to keep it out of her face.
“Ugh, come on.” She stretched, reaching even higher in an attempt to turn the TV on.
The living room looked…different. The light was coming from a white lamp in the corner of the room rather than the normal overhead fan and light combo that Luke and I had installed. What looked like coasters were spread out on the coffee table, along with a couple of small potted plants. Huh…weird.
I looked back over at Calla, who was still on the tips of her toes and grunting in frustration at my TV.
“You have to point it to your mouth,” I eventually said from where I was lingering in the dark of the hallway.
Calla, startled by my presence, jumped down from the couch and onto the rug in a power stance, like she was prepared to tackle me.
She squinted for a second until a look of recognition crossed her face. Straightening back up in a relaxed pose, she said, “You can’t sneak up on a girl like that. Some of us carry lipstick knives. I’d hate to shank you on our first night as roommates.”
Lipstick knives? That was a thing?
“Sorry. I was just saying that you have to point the remote to your mouth when it doesn’t work.”
It took me an embarrassingly long time to figure that trick out. I’d waved the remote in the air like a lunatic in hopes of the signal catching for far too long before stumbling upon the secret. Pointing it to my mouth worked every time, like some kind of freaky satellite.
Calla tilted her head like a confused puppy, wearing a look that had me second-guessing this arrangement all over again. Her brows were pulled together, and her pretty brown eyes were wide and questioning. She watched me so intensely that I broke out in a sweat. Her lips jutted out just slightly, drawing my attention to the small freckle above the right side of her mouth. Her soft features were so tempting. In that moment, I had the strongest urge to trail my fingers across her round cheekbones and to boop her dainty nose. But that would definitely be weird. Though it wasn’t any weirder than the way I’d accidentally grabbed her boob when I met her.
She looked down at the remote and up at me again, her brow furrowed and her expression untrusting. To be fair, I couldn’t blame her. I wouldn’t listen to some weird guy telling me to point a device at my mouth either. But to my surprise, she lifted the remote to her face and hit the power button again. The TV, thankfully, turned on, and I sighed in relief. Wouldn’t it have been my luck if that trick didn’t work for the first time ever?
She gave me a small, impressed frown and a nod. “Good to know.”
A corner of my lip pulled a little at her reaction. Finally, I’d done something right in her presence.
Without another word, she flipped through channels. It would be a lie to say I wasn’t a little disappointed that I couldn’t watch the game on the big TV, especially after the workday I’d had. But it was her first night here, and she was probably feeling as uncomfortable as I was, so I’d let it go. Maybe we could figure out a schedule later on. I’d never lived with anyone but Luke, and he and I had fit together so perfectly that I didn’t have to think about these things.
After I’d stood there like a creep for a little too long, she turned back to me with a pointed look and tipped her head toward the kitchen. “My mom brought coconut cake. Help yourself.”
I practically ran to the fridge before she finished her sentence. Mama B’s coconut cake was up there with unicorns, golden goose eggs, and little baby angels in diapers. It was to be cherished, loved, and swallowed in one bite.
Taking a seat at the island, I unwrapped the tin foil—and maybe licked it—then opened the ESPN app on my phone. If I couldn’t watch the Phillies game on the living room TV, watching it on my phone while eating a slice of cake was the next best thing.
But before I could unlock my phone, ESPN’s iconic bum bum, bum da bum echoed through the apartment, and one of my favorite commentators jumped into a recap of last week’s game. I looked down at my still-locked phone in confusion, then at the light reflecting off the TV onto the walls of the adjacent room.
Plate of cake in hand, I shuffled back to the living room like I was trapped in some kind of simulation. Calla sat on the couch, wrapped up in an oversized fluffy blanket that certainly didn’t belong to me. Her focus was fixed on the screen in front of her, where a highlight reel of Bryce Harper played. I rubbed my eyes and looked from Calla to the TV again. Had I turned that TV to ESPN with my mind powers? Or had Mama B spiked the cake?
Calla looked up at me, her chin popping out from where she’d snuggled into her blanket.
“Oh, I’m sorry.” She turned the volume down. “I should’ve asked before assuming. Do you mind if I watch the Phillies game?”
As if I needed a reason to get her out of here sooner, she had to go for my favorite team. It was as if some divine power had taken all my greatest weaknesses and shoved them into the form of a five-foot-three woman who wore bright colors and had what looked like the softest hair of anyone I’d ever seen.
I took a deep breath, determined not to say something ridiculous.
“I was actually planning to watch it anyway.” I lifted my phone, as if that would prove my point.
Calla smiled up at me, her eyes sparkling like stars in the night sky. Her expression was so bright and contagious it was like a physical force striking me in the chest and knocking the breath out of me.
I couldn’t help but smile back, and for a moment, all the worries of the world melted away.
She scooted to the far corner of the couch with her blanket. “Come on.” She patted the seat next to her.
My body involuntarily followed. Feet moving faster than the rest of my body and cake still in hand, I took a seat at the opposite end of the couch. The more space, the better.
Neither of us spoke for a while. I wasn’t sure about her, but I had no earthly idea what to say.
A shot of Trea Turner’s slide from when he was with the Dodgers played in slow motion as he slid into home like a smooth criminal.
Calla let out a big sigh and leaned forward. “Ugh, how is he is so good?”
I cocked a brow. “You a big Trea fan?”
She pulled her blanket up to her chin, still angled forward. “Absolutely. I was so glad when he came to the Phillies. I mean, he’s not Bryce, but he’s by far my favorite shortstop.”
Wow. Most of my female friends, which consisted of Layla and…yep that was it, didn’t care to talk baseball. But maybe that was because I rarely stuck around long enough to see if the women I met were interested in such things.
Lily and I would sometimes email about sports. She was a big Bryce Harper fan too, though she and I stuck with supporting one another with life in general, along with conversations focused on mental health. It was kind of like free therapy.
Once, when I was young and stupid, I asked her to go to a game with me, like on a date, and her exact email response was This does not leave our email, you pompous ass. I didn’t ask her to meet in person again. It worked better like this. We had each other through all of life’s ups and downs, just not in real life. This way, we kept things simple. It was a little weird to some, I guess, but it worked for us.
I shoveled a bite of cake into my mouth and nodded. “Yeah, I agree,” I said once I’d swallowed. “Plus, I have the most respect for shortstops.”
Calla perked up, repositioning her blanket to face me. “Ugh, exactly! Everyone says catcher is the hardest position. And I get it. It’s probably rough, but shortstops—”
“Cover the most ground,” I said, finishing her sentence.
She grinned. “Right?” she said, her voice a little louder and her expression bright. “Plus, look at Turner’s stats from when he was with the Dodgers.”
I laughed. “I absolutely agree. I’ve got a lot of respect for Schwarber too.”
She nodded and rattled off his stats from last season. Geez, this girl knew her stuff. Maybe living with my best friend’s younger sister—a fact I reminded myself of continually—wouldn’t be so bad after all. I was in awe as she spoke of her favorite players and went on about how she’d loved baseball since she was young. When she was extra excited about something, her voice got louder. Usually, that kind of thing would annoy me a little, but with her, I liked it. I liked the passion that shone in her eyes and filled the room as she chattered on.
It was endearing, to see her in this new light. Unfortunately, though I had been hoping for an interaction that would dampen the stupid crush I’d been harboring since I met her, this one had the opposite effect. I’d go months without seeing her, and each time, I’d convince myself she wasn’t as pretty as I imagined. Then I’d see her again, all full lips and bright smiles and that chest-striking laugh that made everyone in her vicinity smile no matter what was going on, and all those reminders would vanish. She was contagious. It was absolutely infuriating.
When Luke had told me his little sister was coming to visit on move-in day, I pictured a nerdy kid wearing glasses and braces who’d take over the couch and watch Pokémon with him while eating some kind of pita pocket. Instead, I’d opened the door to a woman so beautiful there was no way she belonged in my apartment. Except she did, and now she was living here…with me.
“Do you happen to like Aaron Judge?” Calla’s question pulled me out of my revery.
I attempted a cool and casual shrug, but the truth was I had the biggest man crush on Aaron Judge. Honestly, I’d sell my left nut to have him sign it.
“Yeah, he’s pretty good. Seems like a cool guy.” I cleared my throat, hoping she wouldn’t catch on.
“He is really cool! I met him at an airport once. I totally freaked out.”
I shot up, my posture suddenly pin straight. “You what?”
Her laugh was melodious as it rang out over the ESPN announcer. “Yeah, hold on a sec.” She took the blanket off and marched down to her room.
I did my best to keep my eyes above waist level, but the effort was useless. Her soft, feminine curves called to me. They practically whispered my name…Nattthhhaaannn…
Calla came bouncing back into the room and dropped a white mug in my lap. It was ceramic and printed with an image of Yogi Bear.
“Oh, um.” I didn’t want to offend her but, “I’m not really sure what to do with this.” Or what it had to do with our previous conversation.
She scoffed. “If you looked at it for longer than two seconds, you’d see that he signed it.”
He what? I held the mug up and rotated it. Sure enough, right next to the handle, the words Glad to meet you, AJ were printed in black Sharpie.
This mug was by far the most valuable thing in my residence. Screw the four-thousand-dollar guitar sitting in my office. Just kidding, Rosita. I’ll always love you.
“Shut up. Are you serious?”
She bit her lower lip and nodded. “Yeah, I told him I was a huge fan but that I didn’t have anything to sign. He laughed and said I had to find something if I was really that much of a fan. So I darted to the closest kiosk in the terminal. It was all ’90s memorabilia, so I grabbed the first thing I could find. He thought it was kind of funny.”
Slack-jawed and in awe, I watched her. Clearly, life was throwing me a curveball here. And my first reaction was to duck out. Having a woman like this under my roof—someone so beautiful and funny, with signed Aaron Judge mugs and a laugh so perfect birds would probably show up at the window at any minute, ready to do her bidding like she was Snow White—was the last thing I needed.
“Wow, that’s…” I blew out a breath and carefully set the mug on the coffee table in front of me. With my luck, I’d look at it wrong and break it. “Really, really cool.”
Silently, she snuggled under her blanket and turned her attention to the game. The Phillies were winning by a landslide, but when Calla scooted a few inches closer to me, my heart started racing, and I decided to call it a night.
“I think I’m going to get to bed. Early morning and all. But I’ll, uh, see you around?”
For a second, I swore disappointment flashed in her eyes, but I was all out of sorts. Surely, I’d imagined it. Just like I imagined the way her smile slipped slightly.
Her tone was sweet. “Absolutely. I’ll try not to scream too loud.”
“Yeah, thanks.” I chuckled.
I trailed off to my room, away from her fruity scent. Once the door was shut firmly behind me, I breathed in the smell of men’s aftershave and the freshly washed sheets.
I was absolutely screwed.
