“I’m Nathan,” he says. As if he didn’t used to practically live at my house. As if we didn’t fight over the last toaster strudels at my kitchen table. As if I didn’t poke my eye with an eyeliner for the first time because I was trying to impress him the night of his high school prom.
He takes a step forward, making my heart do a very unwanted pirouette. “And you are…”
Oh.
My.
Gosh.
The boy I was in love with for the entirety of my formative years doesnotrecognize me.
Not only that.
I think he’sattractedto me.
It’s a miracle. A gift from above.
Everything twelve-year old me ever wanted.
Me—all grown up, ready to knock Nat off his feet with my feminine charms. And the boy next door, looking at me, finally,finallyreally LOOKING at me.
“Uh…” My eyes dart side-to-side.
I want to blurt out who I am, but there’s the pesky issue of Nat being best friends with Chris, who has no idea what’s been happening in my life lately.
And of course, Nat may or may not have read my journal with literary masterpieces like the poem that goes:
When you smile, I feel warm
Even in December
My heart does a weird thing
Like a squirrel in a blender
I physically cringe at the memory of that stanza and Nathan notices because the warm smile kind of freezes on his face.
What do I do? Things will get too complicated once the secret’s out.
I can’t let Nat find out who I am.
Even if he called me pretty.
“I have to…” Before I can announce my departure, the crowd presses forward.
I’d intentionally moved to a less occupied part of the grass to work on the go-cart, but now that the race is almost endingand they’re about to change over to a new players, the spectators have multiplied.
Everyone is pushing forward to see better and the mass of unfamiliar bodies is a giant, impersonal force that propels me straight toward the track. I feel my legs moving before I decide to and the constant pressure at my back and shoulders does not subside until I’m pretty sure I’m about to be slammed into the guard rails.
Panic overtakes me.
I extend my hand, already bracing for the impact my body will have when the crowd thrusts me against the rails.
Suddenly, a pair of brawny arms snatch my shoulders and pull me back.
“Careful,” Nat’s deep voice rumbles close to my ear.
His wide chest forms a protective barrier around me as onlookers shove and push to get to the front. Teenagers climb on the guard rails, waving their hands to be chosen next as a loud buzzer goes off, signaling the race’s end.
