Many people don’t take Nate seriously. Mainly due to his carefree, jokester persona, but also because he has never flaunted the fact he’s insanely smart. Which he probably should—maybe then I wouldn’t have had to convince my dad he was the best person to help me get my grades up.
Regardless of how it happened, my crush bloomed like a well-watered flower. During my tutoring, we shared lots of laughter and teasing moments. A few times, I even caught him just looking at me in silence. Little things added up in my head until I was sure this moment was worth the leap.
Clearly, I was mistaken. I thought things would be different, that this would be different, for us. But this something different is nothing like I had dreamed it would be.
“Em,” he says softly, breaking me from my thoughts. “You know I love you, but I don’t love you like that. We’ve known each other forever, and you know I would do anything for you, but I love you as a friend. What you’re saying, suggesting, would change a lot more than our friendship.”
Oh, God. There it is.
“I’m sorry.” I sigh, feeling every second of those mistaken dreams about some big love between us crumble around me.
“There’s no need to be sorry, firecracker.” I close my eyes when he says the nickname he had given me. “We’ve spent a lot of time together lately; it’s normal to get some wires crossed when you’re around someone so often. Maybe when you’re a little older, you’ll understand better.”
My eyes pop open, and I turn sharply. My body jerks, and I’m seconds away from jumping from the bench seat and pacing. His arm falls off my shoulders and hits the back of the swing. “When I’m a little older?”
His brow furrows; clearly, my Jekyll and Hyde move has confused him. I went from sullen to pissed off in two point five seconds. Like a firecracker. He always said my temper would light up and take off like an out of control firecracker, thus the reason for the nickname.
“Uh … yeah?”
“I’m eighteen. I’m not a two-year-old who doesn’t know right from wrong.”
He nods. “I know how old you are, Emberlyn.”
“I’m old enough to know my own feelings, Nathaniel.” He’s never liked being called his full name—but neither have I—something we both are clearly using against each other in the heat of the moment.
“Jesus,” he mumbles.
His eyes leave mine when he stands and starts to pace in front of me on the porch. The music I hadn’t even noticed being so loud before vibrates through the wall of my parents’ house, but thankfully, the large group of my friends and other random kids from our graduating class have stayed inside during this conversation.
I force myself to watch him. His large body moves in choppy agitation and annoyed steps, so different from his normal fluid movements. He’s always moved in a way that looked almost like he floated. His large body always moves with a graceful silence that reminded me of a ballet dancer. Which in turn would cause me to giggle uncontrollably because just thinking of the manly man in front of me in tights is too much to imagine.
“You just turned eighteen, Em. Just. Turned. You might not understand what I’m saying, but dammit, you don’t even understand what you’re saying. It’s a crush. That’s it. All I’m saying is that you’re going to be able to make sense of that better when you’re older. Not to mention, I’m six years older than you are. Six years is a huge deal. Not just to everyone else, but our families would shit themselves. Not to mention, what your dad would do? Do you even have any idea what people would say?”
“I’m not a baby,” I snap, at a loss of what else to say, as I ease back down onto the swing’s seat.
He stops his pacing and turns to face me. One hand pushes through his thick dark hair in frustration. I watch in fascination as his overly long hair moves in a thick wave before falling back into the mess it’s always been since he decided to start growing it out. When he stops, his hand rests at the base of his skull and the end of his hair falls over a few fingers.
Finally, his words reach my lust-filled brain and a new burst of anger fills me. Making me feel even more the fool.
“I’m not a baby!” I repeat on a yell into the still night, my voice shrill, and I cringe at the emotional hit his words cause me.
“I didn’t say you were. You just don’t understand what you’re saying.”
“I assure you, I do.”
He shakes his head, his hand still resting on the back of his neck. I notice briefly that his grip has tightened to the point of his fingertips turning white. When he starts to move forward, closing the distance from where he’s standing and where I’m perched at the edge of the swing’s seat, I jerk back, making the chains holding the swing up rattle loudly. He narrows his eyes and lets out a long breath. Dropping to his knees in front of me, he pulls my hands from their death grip on the wood next to my bare thighs. He doesn’t speak for the longest time, and I foolishly let that flicker of hope light, thinking he must have realized he’s wrong.