CALEB’S POV
She wasn’t the type to look my way. She hardly looked up at all.
I still remember the first time I caught her attention.
It was recess during kindergarten. Despite living next door to each other for an entire year, she rarely talked to me, and she kept to herself even more at school.
At recess she’d sit next to the doors, drawing in a notebook.
I played four square. I was pretty good at it too, until I threw the ball and it hit Bec. It knocked her notebook out of her hands, and she fumbled to catch it with a scowl.
Her head jerked up, eyes wide, looking directly at me. Her jaw was clenched, and her face turned bright red. “You ruined my picture,” she said.
“Sorry,” I replied. “I didn’t mean to.”
She picked it back up and frowned at the green slash across the page. “It’s awful.”
“Just color the rest of it green. Monsters can be green, you know.”
Her jaw dropped. “Monster? She’s a princess. Princesses can’t be green.”
“Oh.” I could’ve sworn it was a monster at the time.
Her eyes darted around, cheeks growing redder by the second until she grabbed the ball and threw it at me. She was aiming for my face, but I caught it.
I smiled.
She glared.
I smiled bigger.
And that’s when I realized I liked it when she looked at me.
I spent the next few years teasing her, taking every chance I had to see that glare again.
My favorite part was how she’d tease me back.
For a long time, that’s all it was. A fun little game we played.
But then I lost my dad, and I saw another side of her.
I saw the soft side she hid from everyone else.
She always acted tough, like she didn’t care, but every year on the day he died, I’d find a cherry soda mysteriously on my porch.
Whether she’d admit it or not, she cared.
I was a lost cause after that. I couldn’t see her the same way. There was a lot more to her than most people saw, and the more I paid attention, the more I liked her.
But I couldn’t tell her how I felt. What if she didn’t like me back?
I’d ruin things for good. She’d ignore me, and that was somehow much worse than hiding my feelings.
So I continued stealing her chair at school, playing my drums too loud, and making faces at her in the hallway—anything I could do to get her to pay attention to me.
Then one day her seat was empty.
Back home, the blinds to her room stayed closed.
When we found out about Ethan, my mom made her family dinner every day for a week. I brought it over every time, hoping I’d catch a glimpse of Bec, but she never answered the door.
I decided to give her space at first. I figured she’d show back up at school eventually, but the days turned into weeks, and her seat was still empty.
I spotted her Mom one day at the front office getting homework packets.
I offered to start bringing them to Bec so Mrs. Jacobs didn’t have to come all the way into town every couple of days, but I really just wanted an excuse to see Bec.
My chest ached the first time. Her eyes were glazed over, and her mouth seemed to be in a permanent frown. It was like the girl I knew was lost, and she needed to be found.
I tried for weeks to get her to say more than two words, but teasing her didn’t seem to work. She’d shrug and close the door. That only made me try harder.
I couldn’t help myself from smiling when she marched into my garage to yell at me for playing the drums, and I swear the moment she fell on top of me I forgot how to breathe.
When she threw my drumstick into the street, I laughed.
It was a glimpse of her old self. The girl who threw a ball at my face in kindergarten.
The thing about liking someone for so long without them ever showing any interest back is that it’s hard to believe it when they finally do. It’s so out of character I thought if I blinked, she’d change her mind.
I had just been fighting with my mom over her interview in Portland. She didn’t want to tell Jordy. She thought it would upset him, but it was like she didn’t care how I felt. Like she didn’t think I’d be upset. My feelings didn’t matter.
“He’s not like you,” she said. “He can’t handle it. I need more time—”
“Just because I don’t hyperventilate when I’m upset doesn’t mean I don’t have feelings. I get hurt too. I get mad. I get overwhelmed. I get sad. I just hide it from you!” The anger I had been building in my chest for the last few years came out all at once.
My hands shook, and my chest tightened. I had to get out of there. I pushed past her, path set on the house.
“Wait,” she said.
I paused, hoping that she’d tell me I was wrong. “What?”
She hesitated, watching me for a moment. “Don’t tell him yet.”
That was it. No apology. No consideration. It didn’t matter that I told her how I felt. It wasn’t going to change anything. Once she had her mind set, it was set in stone.
I rushed into the house and through the door leading to the garage, toward the only way I knew how to offload my frustration. I picked up my drumsticks and struck them down against the drums. It was chaotic and loud.
My heart thumped against my chest, and I bit my cheek to try and stop my eyes from watering. I didn’t want to let this bother me, but my mind wouldn’t stop racing. My breath quickened, and my head grew light.
I played harder.
Then Bec’s arms wrapped around me, and everything stopped. My heart. My breathing. My racing mind. She was gripping my shirt. She was whispering in my ear. “Caleb.”
The drumsticks fell to the ground, bouncing off the concrete.
I wanted this for so long I didn’t let myself believe it. It had to be my imagination playing tricks on me.
“Please don’t,” I whispered. “I’m afraid I’ll take this the wrong way. I might actually start to think you like me.”
She rested her chin on my shoulder and goosebumps rippled down my back. She came even closer. “Maybe that’s what I’m trying to tell you.”
My breathing stalled, caught in my lungs. It took everything in me not to spin around and pull her close, but I was scared she’d run away if I did. Slowly, my hands covered hers, gripping them close. Part of me expected her to pull away, but she didn’t.
“Do you mean it?” I asked, hoping . . . no, pleading for her confession to be true. “I can’t handle you messing with me right now.” I let go of her hands, giving her permission to leave if she needed to, and I turned around to face her.
Her gorgeous hazel eyes stared back. Her face was close enough to map out the constellations of her freckles, and I couldn’t help but stare at the lips I’d been wanting to kiss for years.
“I mean it,” she said.
My heart sped up, and I forced myself to look back up at her eyes. “I don’t know if you should come any closer.”
A little smile pulled at her lips. The kind of smile I knew other people didn’t get to see. A smile only meant for me. Her hand lifted and rested on the back of my neck.
My skin lit up on fire.
“And why not?” she asked.
“I thought you didn’t like it when people touch you,” I whispered. I always pictured myself making the first real move, but Bec was. Bec was pulling me closer.
“You,” she said, taking my hand and guiding it up to her face, “aren’t people.”
I leaned into her, gingerly placing my hand around her waist.
“Why are you still holding back?” she asked.
My heartbeat was so loud I swore she could hear it too. “Because I’m afraid you’ll regret this.”
“I won’t,” she said. “I know what I want.”
This wasn’t a dream, but I still needed her to tell me I wasn’t misunderstanding her. “And what’s that?”
Her lips grazed mine. “You.”
I closed the gap between us, kissing her.
Her lips against mine. Her hands running through my hair.
I melted into her touch and kissed her like my life depended on it.
I kissed her the way I’d been dreaming of day after day.
The way she deserved. I wanted her to know beyond a doubt that I needed her. I will always need her.
And Bec kissed me back.