Dare You to Hate Me

I don’t hear her answer before I’m back in the truck, grinning over the one conversation we’ve had that didn’t involve insults or regretted words.

It’s a baby step in the right direction.

“My name is Ivy, like the plant,” is how the new girl next door introduces herself when she walks over to me and my friends as we’re playing basketball. We dragged the hoop out to the street to play two on two until Ivy walked over with a big smile on her face and asked if she could join.

Captain, my golden retriever, trots over to her and nudges her hand until she starts petting his side, giggling as he starts licking her. Cap doesn’t like many people and usually growls at most of the boys from school I invite over. Mom said animals are good judges of character, so it seems like Ivy is good enough.

It’s my friend Judd who stuffs the ball under his arm and looks at my neighbor. “Are you lost?”

Our other friend Zach joins in. “Need us to call your mommy?”

They both laugh as I roll my eyes and walk over to pet Cap. “Ignore them. I’m Aiden.”

Those two words somehow made the smile on her face grow five times bigger than it was before, and that smile was all it took.

When I tell her she can shoot hoops with us, my friends groan in complaint and say they’re going to Judd’s house to play video games instead.

Ivy frowns as they walk away, the ball dropping to the pavement and bouncing a few times as it rolls toward the hoop. “This is why I’m Chaos. You know, kinda like how ivy spreads everywhere. That’s me.” Cap nudges her again, bringing her attention from my loud friends disappearing down the street on their bikes to my dog.

I don’t let her dwell on Judd and the others because that’s who they are. They annoy me half the time and Mom doesn’t like most of them but they’re people to hang out with when I’m bored. “My mom just made cookies. Want to come in and have some?”

When the sun hits her eyes, they look almost golden. She glances over her shoulder at the house they recently moved into before looking back at me. “I like cookies.”

I start walking toward my house before I stop, remembering the stranger assembly we had at school. “Do you need to ask your mom if it’s okay to come over?”

She starts to say something before stopping herself, her eyes darting back to her house before she quickly shakes her head. “My mom is busy, and my brother is napping. Do you have any siblings?”

“Only child.”

Ivy follows me to the front door. “I’d probably be sad if Porter didn’t exist, even if he annoys me sometimes.”

I hold the door open for her and see Mom come into view from around the corner. Her eyes widen in surprise when she sees Ivy trailing behind me before they go to me. “Who’s this? Where are the boys?”

It’s Ivy who murmurs, “I chased them off.”

A small laugh comes from Mom as she walks over. “Well, that must mean more cookies for you two then. Do you like chocolate chip?”

My neighbor’s head picks up to look at my mother before slowly nodding. “I’m not supposed to take food from strangers though.”

“I’m Emily Griffith, and you’ve obviously met my son. Your family just moved into the Avery’s old house next door, didn’t you? We saw the moving trucks there last week.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“We’re hardly strangers then,” Mom comments, holding out her hand for Ivy to take with the same warm smile she gives everybody stretched across her face. “Aiden’s father and I shop at your parent’s store sometimes. I’ve spoken to your father a time or two.”

I’m not sure if Mom sees it, but Ivy winces at the mention of the store. I’ve heard about Underwood’s Grocer. My parents said it’s important to shop local and support local business, but they never come home with more than a few items.

I get the milk while Mom directs Ivy to the kitchen table and grabs some of the fresh cookies, and I sit beside the girl whose legs kick back and forth on the wooden chair after putting glasses down in front of us.

I tell Mom, “Cap went up to Ivy.”

Mom passes us napkins and smiles. “He likes you then,” she tells the timid girl staring at the melted chocolate in the baked dough.

It’s a moment before we hear, “I keep asking to get a dog, but my parents say they’re too much work.”

Pouring us cups of milk, Mom caps the jug and puts it back in the refrigerator. “It can be, I suppose. You’re more than welcome to come over anytime and play with Captain.”

My neighbor smiles as she picks up a cookie and takes a bite. “I want to learn how to bake,” she declares after half of it is gone. “My mom used to let me help her bake Christmas cookies, but we didn’t do it last year because she said Santa was on a diet. Can you teach me?”