10 Years Ago
10 YEARS AGO
I have thought long and hard about it.
Four months into the season, and I finally know what I’ll bring to the final game.
I’ve spent weeks watching other girls offer Hedlund their gift bags, memorized the smile he extends to each and every one.
It’s with a great deal of research that I have finally come to my conclusion:
He hates most of them.
Not that he’d ever tell one of his fans the truth. But I’ve seen him carefully inspect the bags after the girls leave, offering the sugar cookies or small cakes to his teammates. Only once did he keep what one of his admirers left behind. A homemade apple pie wrapped carefully in layers of foil. From the steam clouding the aluminum, I’d guess it was still warm.
He’s turned up his nose at store-bought cookies and candy. Anything with chocolate is an instant veto. I have a working theory Arroyo High’s star basketball player doesn’t love anything with excess sugar. It’s why I’ve spent weeks developing a recipe he won’t be able to resist.
I breathe out through my nose, balancing my checkered tin in two hands. I’ve been waiting outside the Arroyo gym for at least twenty minutes, and the sun is beginning to burn my exposed arms. But it will be worth it when I get to hand Hedlund my gift.
It took four hours of effort, but I wanted to stand out. To be one of the few whose wrapped presents make it off the basketball court. More than that, I want him to know he’s admired, that he’s appreciated even before he leads his team to another victory.
That’s why I showed up two hours early, hoping to catch Hedlund before he enters the gym for practice. I’m willing to wait another twenty minutes—hell, another forty —if it means I get to be the recipient of that dazzling smile.
I sense him before I see him. Goosebumps hike up my arms and I swing over my shoulder, spotting him next to a blue car. His mom leans over the passenger seat, smoothing a hand over his cheek. Even from here, I can read the pride on her beautiful face. He’s inherited her full lips and golden tan. Those hazel eyes and strong nose must’ve come from his dad. He’s the perfect mixture of both parents—a sore spot in my own family tree.
I have my mother’s temperament and my father’s imagination, but when I look in the mirror, I see little of their influence. I’m soft where my mother has angles, brown-eyed instead of her blue. My father gifted me his stick-straight hair, but without any of the sleek shine. My parents tell me I’ll grow into my owlish eyes and thick brows, but Hedlund doesn’t need time to refine his looks. He’s glowing when he steps into the sunlight. Already dressed in his red jersey, a duffle bag slung over one shoulder.
I take one last deep breath. Then cup a hand around my mouth. “Hey!”
His eyes go wide before he glances over his shoulder, expecting to find someone else waving back at me. I flush. He doesn’t remember me, obviously. I didn’t really expect he would…but deep down, I did hope he might.
“Hi,” I repeat when he grows closer. “Sorry, you probably don’t know me. But, uh, I came to see you play. Actually, I’ve been coming to all your games.”
“Yeah?” He starts to grin, adjusting the strap of his bag.
“I made you these.” I push out the tray, wincing when he has to stick his change of clothes under his arm to accept.
“Wow.” He shakes his head, looking an adorable combination of confused and grateful. “That’s so nice of you. Really, though, you didn’t have to go through the trouble.”
“It’s for you to share with your teammates,” I say, shyly. “I wasn’t a big basketball fan, but seeing you guys each week has changed my mind.” I don’t mention he’s the only thing I’m watching on the court, but it’s the truth.
He looks up at me, flashing the very smile I’ve been dreaming of for weeks. It sends a new wave of heat to my cheeks and I look down.
“They’re blondies,” I murmur. “I hope you like them.”
“Blondies?” His eager voice pulls my gaze back up. “No way! Those are my favorite.”
I beam in return. “Really? They’re all homemade…I hope you don’t mind.”
“Mind?” He shakes his head, laughing in a way that makes my stomach flip. “You’ve actually made my day, you know that? Thank you.”
I blink and blink, trying to slow my racing pulse. “You’re welcome.”
“This was so nice of you. Really. What did you say your name was again?”
I open my mouth to respond when a new voice interrupts us.
“ Hey, Taylor! Get your ass in here, coach is looking for you!”
Taylor. Taylor Hedlund is his name.
The knowledge floods me with warmth even as he breaks our gaze to nod at his teammate.
“Coming!” he calls back, flashing me an apologetic smile. “Thank you again. The guys are going to flip over these. Will you be at the game?”
I nod. “Y-yes. Definitely. I’ll be there!”
“Great.” He gifts me another smile. “I’ll come find you after.”
And with that, he’s jogging toward the gym, carrying my tray gingerly, like it’s something precious.
I stand there staring long after he disappears from sight. His words echo in my ears, again and again, until they lose their meaning.
Today, I think, just might be the best day of my whole entire life.