And … she smiles back!
That’sfour.
Yep, I’ve been keeping track. There were obviously no smiles that first night at the bar, but she gave me three smiles when we spoke at the library. Well, more like two and a half, but I’m rounding up. Smiles from Steph mean progress. I know this because it’s how I won her over the first time when I pursued her back in high school. It was your clichéd story of the soft-spoken English tutor who couldn’t imagine that the big bad jock wanted anything to do with her. But from the moment I’d laid eyes on her in that classroom after practice, I was smitten. She was a year behind me, and very timid in my presence at first. In the social landscape of high school, she was more on the shy side, yet intellectually, she had an understated confidence I couldn’t resist. She was smart, and she knew it. So smart, in fact, that our mutual English teacher had recommended her to tutor me in the grade above. To my endless frustration, she’d ignored my advances for months, blushing and avoiding eye contact whenever possible. Every once in a while, though, I’d say something that got through to her, and … she’d smile.
So I’d counted those smiles—hoarded them, like treasure.
At first, they were few and far between, and for a while there, I considered giving up. But every time she offered me a new one, I was on the hook once more. As we slowly got to know eachother, overRomeo and JulietandTo Kill a Mockingbird, she started to open up. Little by little, she let down her walls, and when she graced me with those smiles, it lit her whole face up like sunshine—hence the nickname. I became obsessed with drawing those smiles from her until eventually, she offered them freely, just at the sight of me.
So that’s my metric.
I’ll do anything for those smiles, and I’ll continue to count them until they once again shine readily in my presence.
“I’m waiting on Alex,” she answers me with an unnecessary gesture towards the hallway. “He stayed late in the computer lab to work on a graphic design project. They have some special software that his laptop doesn’t. Thought I’d pick him up since I’m headed home now too.”
“Graphic design? Things sure have changed since our time here, huh?”
She smiles again—five—but it’s a little wistful, a little sad.
Hmm. Maybe that one doesn’t count.
Perhaps reminding her of our time spent here together was a bad idea, though it’s hard not to think about it when I find her standing before me at the sideline like she had all those times in the past when I’d been the one she was waiting on after school.
“I guess, in some ways.” She casts her gaze around the gym, no doubt taking in the bleachers she’d spent many an afternoon doing homework on. I notice the moment her eyes land on the pennant from our big tri-county win, and the one where we tooksecond place at state. When they return to me, that smile has faded. “In other ways, it seems like nothing has changed at all.”
“Well, we didn’t have a computer lab back then.”
“Actually,” she says, her smile returning. “We did.”
That one’s a fiver for sure.
“No shit?”
She nods, amused. “You make it sound like it was ages ago.”
“Feels like it,” I grunt.
She chuckles. “Well, I’ll have you know we did in fact have computers back then—anda computer lab.” She makes a show of looking around before she leans in and whispers conspiratorially, “We even had cell phones.” And I can’t help the spark of pleasure that rises in my chest at the fact she’s teasing me—laughingwith me, even. “You couldn’t be bothered with anything besides basketball back then, so I guess you wouldn’t remember.”
The scent of citrus washes over me, and I realize we’ve moved closer to one another. She stares up into my eyes, frozen for a moment. I reach out and take her hand in mine. She doesn’t pull it back.
“I remember plenty,” I say hoarsely, and I know from the flare in her eyes she can tell I’m no longer referring to computers.
“Mom,” a voice calls from down the hall, causing Steph to rip her hand from my grip and whirl around in the doorway.
My shoulders drop at the interruption, and I take in the lanky boy approaching.You’ve got terrible timing, kid.
“Hey, baby,” Steph says, her face a deep red.
“Not at school,” the boy hisses, drawing near.
“Oh, right. Sorry. Did you get your project done?”
He nods, then turns to look at me. His blond hair is long in the front and falls into his eyes. Still, I can see they’re the same warm brown as his mother’s.
“Alex, this is Riley,” Steph says. She swallows before adding, “An old friend.”
Friend.
