California Dreamin'

Okay so, I think about him all the time.

And on top of that, I count days until I can see him again. Usually, we see each other once or twice a year and in the last year or so, the wait to see him has become really hard.

By the time he reaches me, my heart is somewhere in my stomach and I’m having trouble breathing.

“You came.” He grins. “I knew you would.”

Did I mention he’s cute?

Like, so cute.

Now that he’s close, I can see him under the lamp on the wall. He has this crazy dark hair that falls over his forehead. It looks so soft.

As soft as the sweater he’s wearing.

Not to mention, I love his eyes. They’re so green that you can’t help but love the color, you know. It’s so bright and loud on his face. I’ve been buying things in green for the past couple of years too. My backpack, my journal, the pens. My dresses.

All in green.

I pluck at the belt of my robe when I realize I’m staring. “How?”

He smiles softly and shrugs his big shoulders. “Just a hunch.”

Despite telling myself that I shouldn’t stare, I still do.

I stare into his green eyes and his smile becomes even softer. Like his hair and his sweater. I feel like if I let him, he’ll stare at me all the time. Day and night. All through Christmas into New Year.

Actually, he’ll do that anyway, even if I don’t let him.

That’s another thing he does. I pretend that I don’t notice his eyes on me but I do. And my toes curl.

Like they’re doing now.

Don’t stare, Rose.

Tucking my hair behind my ear, I lower my eyes. “What did you want to give me?”

He comes closer and I whip my eyes up. He still has a smile on his lips but it’s more lopsided, making him look so… yeah, cute that I have to swallow again.

“This.”

He offers something to me and I take it with shaky fingers. It’s gift wrapped but as soon as I touch it, I know what it is.

And then, I have to stare at him. “Lollipops.”

They’re my favorite candy. My and my mom’s. Her favorite flavor is cherry and it used to be mine too but now I like green apples.

“You got me lollipops,” I repeat.

He shrugs again. “I know you like‘em.”

“How?”

He smiles then, pushing back his crazy dark hair. “Just a hunch.”

Clutching his gift to my chest, I whisper, “I didn’t get you anything.”

“It’s okay.” Then, “Although I do want something.”

My breathing gets really fast when he says that. I think because he dips his face toward me, and I’ve never – not in my entire life – been this close to a guy before.

It’s scary.

And exciting and I’m sweating inside my robe.

“What?” I ask while watching him bite his lip.

I do that a lot, bite my own lip. But I don’t think I look that… sexy.

My friends at school talk about guys being cute and sexy and all the things that make them giggle. I usually go along and say yes but I don’t really agree with them.

Because I don’t think there are any guys at my school who are cute or sexy. Not like Brendan is.

He shoves his hands down his pockets and says, breaking my thoughts, “Answer a question.”

Oh.

Oh okay.

Answer a question. That’s what he meant.

Not something else. Not something to do with… lips.

I’m an idiot.

I clear my throat, my face feeling hot. “Okay. What is it?”

He dips his face even more and I notice his nose is slightly crooked. “Do you have a boyfriend?”

He’s no longer smiling though. He has a thin frown between his brows.

“Why? I ask.

“Because I don’t want you to have a boyfriend.”

“You don’t want me to have a boyfriend?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

Moving away, he takes a deep breath and pushes his hair back once again. “Because I like you. And I’m going to be your boyfriend.”

Stunned, I whisper, “You like me?”

“Fuck yeah.”

“You cursed.”

He grimaces. “Yeah, don’t tell my mom. She’ll kill me.”

I squeeze the bag of lollipop as tightly as my heart squeezes. Again, at the thought of him getting in trouble. So I blurt out, “I won’t.”

His green eyes become shiny when I say that, all bright and pretty. “So? Do you? Have a boyfriend.”

Instead of answering his question, I ask a question of my own, “Is that why you always stare at me? Because you like me.”

He shakes his head slowly, doing exactly what I just said: staring at me. At my loose brown hair and my cheeks that burn with embarrassment. “No, I always stare at you because you’re pretty.”

I gasp.

No one has called me pretty before. I mean, my parents have of course. But they love me so they have to say these things, right?

So what I mean is that a boy has never called me pretty before, and even if they have I don’t remember.