More Than This(10)
“I just don’t want to be one of those girls that has serious relationships through all of high school. It’s so not my thing, and when it’s over, I don’t want to do that whole… ‘where are you going to college? Should we go to college together? Who’s hopes and dreams are more important?’ blah yatta blah.”
She looked at me for a second then shook her hand, standing up, she started prancing around the roof dreamily, “Well, Miss ’15 going to 50’… I want to fall in love…LOTS… and I want to break hearts… LOTS, I want to have so many awkward first dates and first kisses at my front door, with lots and LOTS of boys. I want to chase and be chased. I want to hold hands down the hall with some amazingly gorgeous guy and have girls jealous because that guy only has eyes for me. I want to live high school. And I want to love in high school. And I want to have sex. Oh my god, like… so much sex!”
I stared at her, my mouth open in shock. She looked at me and broke out in a fit of laughter. It was a joyous sound that to this day still has me cracking up whenever I hear it. We sat on that roof and giggled like the innocent girls we were for what seemed like hours, but in reality was only minutes. Our laughter broke off when we heard a beeping noise. We both looked over to where the sound was coming from, over to the house next door and the U-haul truck reversing into the driveway.
“Oh, god,” Megan sighed, “The house has finally sold. I hope they’re not sucky neighbors. I couldn’t think of anything worse! Like old people that collect random shit to hoard, and they have to call the fire department to clear the house, only to find like,” she looks to the sky as if thinking “…a 5 billion pound woman stuck under a pile of empty snack sized chocolate pudding tubs, and then a crane has to come to lift her body out of the house like on ‘Gilbert Grape’, and they take her to a hospital so they can pump all the fat out of her body. Then 3 years later, some random kid emerges from that house, knocks on our door and asks, ‘have you seen my baseball?’”
I look at her for a second, then burst out laughing. Uncontrollable laughter that has the sides of body aching. I laugh so hard I’m pretty sure colored snot from my popsicle is oozing out of my nose. Hot right? I hear her quietly laughing with me, and then, “Holy shit, Mick… what the hell is that?”
I stop laughing abruptly and follow her eyes to see what the heck she’s talking about, and then I see him, and I think, “What the hell is that?”
It’s a boy. A boy better than any other boy I’ve ever seen before. He could be our age but he’s built bigger. Like, not an “I work out, I’m a jock” big, but like, I work… lifting heavy shit, kinda big. Farm boy big? I don’t know. I’ve never really thought about boys and big before.
“Let’s go introduce ourselves,” Megan states, already climbing through the window back into her room.
I sit frozen staring at him, as he slowly makes his way up to the front door, taking in his surroundings, like he hasn’t seen the house before. Maybe he hasn’t. Dark blond hair hidden under a baseball cap, dark jeans and plain grey shirt. I find myself wondering what color his eyes are, when he looks up suddenly and catches me mid stare. Kill me. Kill me now. I’m sure the blush has crept up to my face and I’m even more sure that he can see it. A slow smile lifts at the corner of his mouth and he raises his right hand in a small wave. I force a smile, which I'm sure looks more like I’m constipated than an actual smile. I start to lift my hand to wave back…
“Mikayla… Come onnnn!!” Meg screams at me like a banshee.
I stand up suddenly and hurl myself through the window, tripping on the eave and falling so unladylike, flat on my ass. “What is wrong with you?” She looks at me like I’ve grown a second head.
“Big boy farm.” WHAT? Please, Kill. Me. Now.
By the time I’ve calmed my rapidly beating heart and convinced Megan that I’m not completely insane, I find myself stumbling down her driveway and onto the driveway next door. We’re greeted by a lady who looks to be in her late 30’s, wearing sweats and unloading boxes from a cherry red truck. She sees us and instantly smiles. “Hi, you young ladies must be our neighbors?” she says, wiping sweat from her brow.
“I am, my name’s Megan,” she reaches out to shake the ladies hand. “This is my best friend Mikayla,” she nudges me.
“Uh. Hi, I’m… um Mikayla,” I say, shaking her hand. My eyes are cast downwards. I don’t want to look too much at the ladies face. She’s more than likely the mother of the boy whom I’ve just been eye licking.