Chapter 27
Charlotte
Eleven Years Ago
Age thirteen was when my life was supposed to start.
Thirteen was the magical age for my older sister, Maddy. Almost overnight, she went from someone like me, geeky and normal, to how she is now: beautiful and flirty.
She’s fifteen now. But at thirteen she’d started teasing boys—and they teased back. I think she’s already gotten her first kiss. Not that she has said anything to me about it.
Her transformation came with a price, though. We used to be joined at the hip, inseparable. And now, it’s like our hips have jagged edges against them, too sharp to walk side by side.
She’s emotional, gloomy sometimes, but it’s the price to pay for glamour and maturity. For beauty.
Her hair is the color of yellow roses, and it’s thick, straight, and shiny. It even smells like roses.
But mine? Some say it’s red—that’s the socially acceptable color name.
But my particular shade can be more accurately described as “a flaming inferno.” It’s orange, like the rust near the wheel of my dad’s old Dodge truck.
And it’s not thick. It’s somehow both thin and wild, waves and curls sprouting up in its own mysterious pattern.
However, I just turned thirteen a week ago, so it’s my moment now.
My parents said I could get my ears pierced, and we went right when they opened at ten on my birthday.
I chose pink gemstone studs. As is normal for me, my ears are even still red a week later.
They’re not infected, it’s just me being me.
If you look up the meaning of the word “red” or “flaming inferno,” my name, Charlotte Mercer, would be in the description.
“Make Penny a PB and J, will you?” My mom says, running a hand along her very sensible, brown, non-orange, freshly styled hair.
She and my dad are going to a local conference here in San Antonio for work.
They’re both teachers. My dad teaches at the junior high and my mom teaches at the high school.
I get to take my dad’s history class next year.
We’re fine here by ourselves for the day. My older brother, Kyle, promised my parents he’d be around to run interference on his four younger siblings. He’ll do it. He’s not the rebellious type.
I don’t mind that I’ll have to help watch my eleven-year-old brother and six-year-old sister because it comes with an especially exciting gift: Kyle being banished here at home all day means his friends are going to come over.
Kyle is seventeen. His friends are seventeen.
Need I say more?
I don’t care about the boys my age. They’re just gross. But Kyle’s friends?
As if on cue, as I’m standing at the sink, finishing the dishes (one of my Saturday jobs), a couple of them saunter into our backyard, already tossing a football between them. They’re broad-shouldered, big and tall. Their laughter is loud—constant. I can hear it even through the window.
The bright, summer sun highlights them as they joke around, and I wait. I wait for him.
Taysom Reed.
Look, I’m not picky, okay? Should I be? Probably. But if any of Kyle’s friends were to ever ask me out, I’d say yes in a heartbeat.
They’re all so mature. Gorgeous and exciting. And they’re, as my parents say, “really good kids.”
I say they’re men, but whatever.
Not that any of them will ever ask me out. First of all, there’s my beautiful sister Maddy standing in my way. Who would ever choose me over her?
Second of all, by the time I’m old enough to date, they’ll be long gone, off to college or any number of other adult things.
Still, knowing all of that, doesn’t stop my interest, and if I got to choose, I’d pick Taysom.
He’s the best one by far. He’s the most handsome, with his floppy brown hair, cool blue eyes, and brilliant smile. He’s a genius at football. He has college scouts already vying for him, so I bet he goes pro someday.
I like him most of all. I’m not above dreaming big, because I have my newly pierced ears and I’m wearing my cute clothes I got for my birthday and…I don’t know. Things feel possible for me today.
The morning wears on and I wander around the house, picking up a book but not being able to concentrate on it because of what’s going on outside.
Now there are seven guys out there, Taysom among them.
When they’re not throwing the football around, running routes and pulling flags from around each other’s waists, they’re sitting around the fire pit (there’s no fire, it’s during the day in an especially hot summer), joking and laughing.
Gage, my younger brother is out there, too. He idolizes Kyle, and Kyle usually handles it okay. He and his friends are nice enough to let him hang out with them sometimes when they’re here at the house. I think Gage secretly pretends he’s one of them.
At some point, Maddy breezes past me and heads outside, too, as I’m lounging on the sofa in the great room. She’s wearing a tank top and denim cutoff shorts, her long, blonde hair pulled up in a high ponytail.
I grab my phone and use it as a mirror to look again at my pink diamond studs (fake diamond, but whatever) when Taysom pulls open the sliding glass door. I drop my phone. Did he see me looking at myself?
“Hey, Charlotte!” he says.
“Uh, mm, uh, yeah.” My smile feels lopsided—my heart slashed clean through.
He goes to the cupboard, pulls out a glass, and then fills it at the sink. He’s breathing heavily, like they just did another round of football.
I manage to catch a whiff of his scent from where I sit. He still smells good, even after running around outside. Neither of my brothers smell good after any sort of physical activity. But Taysom does. It’s a musk from some cologne I don’t know.
But it’s divine.
Another one of the guys, Micah, comes in, saying he needs a drink, too. He gulps down water like he’s a donkey at a trough.
“Let’s call Bentley to come over so we can play five on five,” Taysom says.
The boy—or should I say man—is obsessed with football.
“He’s out of town, dude,” Micah says.
Taysom frowns, but then turns back to me and smiles, sets the cup down on the counter next to the sink, and goes back outside.
I wasn’t imagining that smile. Taysom said “hi” to me when he walked in. He called me by name. As cringey as my response was just now, my heart is leaping out of my chest.
I guess being thirteen really is magical after all. I can be like Maddy. I can be confident and go out to join the game.
Before I put on my sneakers, I run upstairs to the bathroom I share with my siblings.
I slick on another layer of lip gloss, run a brush through my hair, and rub some sparkly, scented lotion on my knees and ankles.
Despite the sheer whiteness of my legs, I’d say they’re my best feature.
At least they’re long. And they haven’t freckled yet, unlike my face and arms.
“Where are you going?” Penny asks, appearing at the doorway to the bathroom, a stack of plastic blocks in her arms. With a name like Penny, you’d think she’d be the one to get the copper-colored hair (or let’s just call it what it is, inferno colored).
But no, she got my mom’s shiny brown locks.
“I was asked to play football with the guys.” I motion to the backyard. It’s a lie, but I don’t care.
“You said you’d play hotel.”
“Later, okay? They need me out there.”
“But I’m setting it up.” Penny likes to take all her stuffed animals and dolls and build a massive structure with blocks that she calls “hotel” and then pretends all of her stuffies and dolls are guests. There’s a lot of drama and intrigue and romance.
I used to kind of like playing it with her.
But I’m thirteen now. I can’t be doing childish things anymore. Still, I’ll do it—later—because I’m supposed to help watch her.
“I can’t. Get it set up and I’ll come in when the game’s over, okay?” I know my voice is harsh, but I can’t think of anything or anyone besides Taysom Reed and his deep voice and spicy, manly scent. And the hint of a smile on his lips as he left the kitchen.
“What about my PB and J?” Penny asks.
“Oh my gosh, it’s not even noon yet, Penny!”
“But I’m hungry.”
“Then make it yourself,” I retort. I do not have time for this.
Thankfully, Penny leaves and after I’m satisfied that I look acceptable, I go outside.
“I’m here for you guys,” I say in my most casual, confident voice as I stride down the stairs. “Let’s play five on five.”
Maddy scowls like, What’s gotten into you? but thankfully, she doesn’t make fun of the way my voice sounds.
“Okay.” Kyle shrugs and the guys form teams and somehow, miraculously, I’m on Taysom’s team.
I will not let you down, Taysom Reed.
I shouldn’t have so much confidence in my football abilities.
I’m not exactly Miss Athlete. All my siblings play sports and they’re all really good.
But I was born with a malformed hip, which wasn’t discovered until I was four years old.
Since it got caught so late, I spent the next couple of years having surgeries and wearing a harness or a brace.
Yep. I was the kid who showed up to kindergarten in a brace that went from my mid-abdomen to my knees.
Talk about being branded as the “different” kid right from the start.
It was cruel and unusual punishment for a kid, and I still haven’t gotten over it. I probably never will.
It’s not like anyone can tell looking at me now that I have that hip condition. Thanks to my OT, Zara, I pretty much walk normally now. But my sports playing has been inhibited.
Still, there’s no reason any of that should matter today. I spend the entire game running around pretending like I know what to do and am contributing. I do manage to pull a couple of the opposing teams flags, so I’m not totally useless.
Turns out, my hip condition does still hate me, because in the final moments of the fourth quarter—we just did four minute quarters, which is good because I know my face is beet red in this heat—I lunge to grab Kyle’s flag when a spasm rocks my hip.
No. No. No.
Kyle floats past me and into the makeshift endzone.