Loved from Afar

by Stephanie Street

  We tested it out one time when we were little, but not on purpose. My jerk parents thought it would be fun for me to go to this sleepaway camp the summer I was nine and Allie was seven. I made it one week without her before the camp people called my parents and they had to come pick me up. After that, I threw the hugest fit whenever they even mentioned doing anything that would take me away from Allie for more than a day or so. See? Death.

  Rolling onto my back in the middle of her bed, I stare at the poster of N’SYNC tacked to the ceiling. And I know I’ve got to say something to make her laugh again.

  “You know, Al. The school printed these posters of all the senior football players. Full size.” I point to her boy band poster. “I’d be happy to give you one to put up right there. I’ll even help you hang it.”

  “Sacrilege! How dare you?” She pokes her head out of her closet, her face a mask of feigned outrage. “How would I ever fall asleep without J.T. and his boys right by me?”

  I grin at her, trying to hide the fact that her comment kinda made me feel hot all over. Allie’s always saying things like that, stuff that I could totally take the wrong way. Allie’s mind may never be in the gutter, but mine usually is and now I seriously want to put my poster up there so Allie can fall asleep every night looking at me and not some boy band from fifteen years ago.

  Not that our relationship is like that. At all. No, Allie and me- purely platonic. I mean, sure I’ve thought about it. Ever since Mrs. B pulled me aside when I was thirteen and told me she wasn’t stupid and let me know it wasn’t appropriate for me to sneak into Allie’s room through her window anymore and have secret sleepovers, I haven’t been able to think of Allie as just my friend. Since then, I think of her as my friend and a girl. It sucks.

  Plus, I used to love our secret sleepovers. See, there's this treehouse outside Allie’s second story window that allows easy and secret access to her room. We used to have so much platonic fun, playing video games with the sound down or watching scary movies and no one ever knew. Or at least we thought they didn't.

  I wonder if Mrs. B knows I didn’t actually stop coming over until I was sixteen and it had become damn near impossible to hide my reaction to Allie and I sleeping in the same bed. Seriously, I can’t even tell you how tempted I am sometimes to take advantage of that stupid treehouse.

  But I don’t. Everything is ‘just friends’ (well, mostly) because you see, I can’t lose Allie (please see the aforementioned sleepaway camp story). What if I try to take things to the next level? Or even mention it and Allie runs screaming from the room?

  Connor loses Allie forever.

  Not. Going. To. Happen. I just couldn’t survive that kind of world. So instead, I keep up a steady stream of girlfriends that don’t really mean anything and spend every spare minute outside of school, football, and stupid social obligations to the popular crowd- with Allie.

  And, for now, I don’t let on that my mind has gone down completely inappropriate paths, because she is smiling at me again. Instead I ask, “How do you feel about physics after your first day?”

  And all is right with the world as she launches into a detailed description of the huge homework assignment Richardson laid on her class the first day (but isn’t due until next week, she reassured me, since we’ve been playing video games for three hours). See? That’s what happens when I keep my non-platonic thoughts to myself- Connor still has Allie.

  Sample Us at the Beach (a Young Adult Romance Novella)

  Chapter One

  Blythe

  Do you ever have those days? You know, the ones you never see coming, but they change your life in such a profound way you have to wonder how you could have been so oblivious and easily blindsided? As a relatively unnoticed, virtually invisible, and average sixteen-year-old girl, I didn’t have very many of these days. The first, and probably the most significant so far, was the day I met my best friend Lilly. Being invisible and average has its benefits. Visible and average usually leads to visible, average, and bullied. But since I kept to myself, dressed halfway normal, and possessed equal amounts book smarts and self-preservation skills- I had somehow managed to fly under the radar for the first five years of school.

  It was during that fifth year, however, Mary Mulligan happened. Mary was the biggest kid in all of fourth grade. Boys and girls. Her tangled and matted red hair hung down the back of her too small t-shirt paired with leggings and cast-off boy’s tennis shoes. To be honest, I’d always felt sorry for Mary and wished I knew how to be her friend, but she was danged intimidating and remaining invisible seemed the smarter, if not kinder, route.

  I have no idea why I became visible to Mary that day, but the glares and snickers and spit balls on my desk told me I had. And what had begun as a simmer came to a rolling boil at afternoon recess when Mary stood above me after having pushed me to my knees on the cracked asphalt, watching as the tears welled in my too large hazel eyes.

  And then she appeared. Lilly Harper was as unlike me as any girl could be. Where I had straight brown hair, Lilly had curly golden hair. Where I was tall and skinny, Lilly’s body, even then, promised to be petite and curvy. Where I was shy and bookish, Lilly was outgoing and vivacious. When Lilly spoke, people listened. No one heard me when I screamed. Well, no one except Lilly.

  Lilly shouted in Mary’s face and then she did the bravest thing any kid in our fourth-grade class had ever done- she planted both palms on Mary’s broad shoulders and pushed with all her might. And Mary? Mary, eyes wide as dinner plates- toppled. All because of a pixie.

  And just like that, I had a best friend.

  Like I said, I didn’t have many life altering days in my sixteen years, but that was definitely one of them. Lilly Harper is still my very best friend and the person I texted within five minutes of walking into my backyard two weeks before my junior year of high school after a long day of babysitting a gaggle of hooligans. The day that changed everything.

  It had begun just like any other. I’d rolled out of bed at nine a.m. thankful today would be the last day of my summer babysitting job. I threw on a pair of cut-off jean shorts, a spaghetti strap tank top, and my trusty pair of bright red flip-flops. I yanked a brush through my long brown hair several times before tying it up in a messy bun on the top of my head. All set. It’s not like the Jackson kids care one way or the other if I put on a layer of mascara- or shower. Besides I knew from eight weeks of hard earned experience, I would need a good soak once I got home. Why take two?

  I raced downstairs, pausing only to grab a banana on my way out the door. I was just about to take off down the street on my bike when my mom opened the front door to holler after me.

  “Don’t dawdle on your way home, Blythe. We’re having company for dinner. No detours to Lilly’s.” She pinned me with a knowing look when I opened my mouth to reject her poor opinion of my ability to come straight home.

  I rolled my eyes because I did make detours to Lilly’s on a regular basis. “Fine. I’ll be home right after.”

  I pedaled my bike down the driveway and onto Pine Street, the only street I’d ever lived on. My parents had brought all of us girls here from the hospital. Me sixteen years ago. The twins, Hope and Faith, six years later. And my baby sister, Joy, four years after that. Pine Street was in a nice, middle class neighborhood in central Indiana. My parents weren’t rich or anything, but we got by. My dad worked as an accountant in a firm he owned and operated with his partner, Mr. Lewis.

  At the end of last tax season, Mr. Lewis announced he was tired of the crazy schedule and he would be selling his interest in the accounting firm. Dad took this news hard. He and Mr. Lewis had been partners for the last few years after his last business partner had decided to move to California. Fortunately, Dad informed us last month he might have found a new accountant to take over for Mr. Lewis. I was happy for him. I knew he was stressed about finding someone before things got crazy again.

  Mom, on the other hand, stayed home and ran an Etsy online store. She ma
de little girl clothes and hair accessories which had become popular to the point she had to hire another lady to help with the sewing. It turned out to be a good thing, because now she could spend more time managing the business and creative aspects of her store.

  Thank goodness, I’d grown too old to be subjected to her cutesy outfits and bows. It was with just a small amount of pity, and a gigantic portion of glee, I watched Faith and Hope try to squirm their way out of the ruffles and lace this last year or so. I didn’t envy them the next couple years of heartbreak they would be inflicting on Mom as they asserted their fashion independence. At least she still had Joy who couldn’t get enough of the color pink and refused to wear anything that didn’t sparkle.

  The Jackson’s lived five blocks over on Cedar Lane. They had three kids- all boys. The oldest, James, was ten like the twins. In fact, I’d hauled my sisters over a couple of times this summer for a fun day of water games in the Jackson’s backyard. The twins can be a huge pain when they want to be, but they can also be a lot of fun and James was in heaven, relishing all that female attention. Next, was Paul. Paul was six and was a prime candidate for juvenile detention. I swear, the only thing that will keep that kid out of jail is his good looks and charm. I never know if I should laugh at him or lock him up in time out. Because of this, I never bring Joy over to play with the Jackson kids. Joy is precocious enough. She doesn’t need encouragement from a first-grade delinquent. The youngest Jackson boy is Michael. Michael is two and the sweetest little dude you’ve ever seen. He has poor eyesight and wears these coke bottle glasses secured on his head with a sporty looking headband. His magnified eyes just kill me every time he smiles up at me.

  I arrived at precisely 9:25. Mrs. Jackson was already running out the door, clad in her usual uniform of yoga pants and a spandex tank. Mrs. Jackson is a fitness instructor. At ten a.m. she leads a Zumba class at the local YMCA. At eleven, it’s water aerobics. Noon, spin. At one, she starts over and is home by 4:30 to relieve me of kid duty.

  Since it is my last day, I have a fun filled day planned for the Jackson kids. First, we made a morning snack. Their mom fed them breakfast a couple of hours ago. I showed them how to make rainbow fruit kebabs. Of course, once they discovered what we were doing, the boys ended up stabbing the bits of fruit with the skewers, massacring them so badly it looked more like a rainbow battlefield than the cute snack I’d envisioned.

  Boys!

  After snacks, I loaded Michael into his wagon and helped James and Paul snap on their bike helmets. I pulled Michael while the other two rode their bikes to a little park nestled in the middle of our neighborhood. After about an hour of special op spy games with water guns, we loaded back up and went home to make lunch and enjoy the air conditioning. As much as I love Indiana, there is nothing worse than a hot, humid summer day, which is why all our outdoor activities included water.

  “Why is today your last day, Bly?” Paul asked around a mouthful of peanut butter and jelly.

  “Because, Paul, school starts in two weeks and I need to take a little break before getting ready for school.” I have explained this no less than six hundred thousand times this week.

  Paul scowled. “But I don’t want to go to Grandma’s until school starts.”

  I reached out to ruffle his hair. “Sorry, bud, it’s a tough break, going to hang out with grandma and eating cookies all day and watching Moana.”

  The kids’ grandma spoils them rotten. I don’t think she feeds them any vegetables and she bakes more sweets than the bakery downtown on any given day. In fact, this week alone, she has dropped by with chocolate chip cookies, mini cupcakes, and a sugar cookie decorating kit- which she stayed to help make with the kids.

  James’s eyes lit up at the mention of baked goods and Disney movies. “Maybe she’ll let us watch the really old movies in her basement.”

  “You can watch the same ones on Blu-Ray, James,” I informed him, because the ‘really old’ movies are actually VHS tapes of every kid movie ever made before they stopped making VHS tapes. For some reason James is obsessed and loves to watch them when he goes to his grandma’s.

  “It’s not the same, Blythe,” he tells me with all the authority of a ten-year-old.

  Deciding it’s not worth the argument, I just shook my head and cleaned up the mess from lunch. Looking over, I saw Michael nodding off in his high chair and figured I better rescue him before he fell face first in his macaroni noodles.

  “You two go watch an episode of SpongeBob or something while I get Michael down for his nap.” They raced off to the playroom where I heard them arguing between SpongeBob and PAW Patrol and I had to wonder when I would ever learn the first rule of dealing with children, particularly siblings. Do not give them a choice! Just tell them what they are going to do! But little Michael clutched me around my neck and I figured dum-dum One and Two would survive until he fell asleep.

  Probably this is my favorite part of babysitting. After grabbing Michael’s favorite blanket out of his crib, I plopped us both down in the plush rocking chair in his room. He reached for his pacifier, which he’s only allowed to have at nap time, and I pick it up of the little table beside the chair. He popped it in his mouth, sucking immediately and his eyes slid shut.

  He fell asleep almost right away, but I sat and rocked with him for fifteen minutes before putting him in his crib and tiptoeing out of his room. If I watch the Jackson kids next summer, Michael will be three. He won’t be as little and snuggly as he is now and I love baby snuggles! And since today is my last day, I’m glad I took the time to enjoy every minute of his sweet baby self.

  Once again entering the fray, I corralled James and Paul for a game of Chutes and Ladders. James was getting a little too old for the game, but he put up with it if I promised to play a couple rounds of cards with him afterward. Paul’s attention span could only handle one round of any board game, so it worked out. And while I beat the pants of James at speed, Paul destroyed what was left of the playroom that had escaped his special touch that morning.

  After games and clean-up, Michael was still asleep, so we did an art project. I wanted them to have something to remember the summer by, so I’d printed pictures of us doing fun things and brought them over so we could make frames for them to hang in their room. James and Paul made their own and I made one for Michael.

  Finally, 4:30 rolled around and all the boys and the house were cleaned up and ready for their mom. I gave kisses and hugs and promises to stop by and visit for a play date during the school year. I even teared up a bit when Mrs. Jackson hugged me and gave me a hundred-dollar tip!

  “Thanks, Blythe. The boys have had such a fun summer!”

  I waved to them as I rode my bike away and even though I’d enjoyed my babysitting job, I felt a huge relief that it was finally done and I would be able to spend the next two weeks doing absolutely NOTHING.

  As I pedaled my bike home from the Jackson’s for the last time that summer, I was tempted to detour to Lilly’s. Lilly lived about eight blocks from the Jackson’s on Aspen and as hot as it was in late July, it would have been worth the bike ride to celebrate being done. At the last minute, though, as I came to the crossroad of Birch and Aspen, I remembered the last thing my mother shouted as I rode away this morning. Ugh. No trip to Lilly’s. I’d have to settle for a covert text message while my parents socialized with my grandparents. Or maybe it would be my Aunt Jess and Uncle Brian.

  As I pedaled the last block before Pine Street, I pondered which of my family members had come to visit. Our house was situated on the corner and when I turned to head into the drive, I noticed a newer looking white car sitting in front of our house.

  Strange.

  Did grandma and grandpa get a new car? I didn’t remember my aunt and uncle having a white car, either. Jumping from my bike, I walked it to the side of the house and lowered the kickstand. Now that I’d earned enough money to cover the cost of my insurance for the school year, mom and dad said they’d take me to get my driver
’s license. Hopefully, my days of two-wheeled transportation were numbered.

  Opting for the back door, I opened the gate separating the front yard from the back. I could smell dad’s barbeque. Laughter drifted from the patio. Curious, I walked confidently into the backyard, covered from head to toe in sweat, acrylic paint, and remnants from the fruit battlefield fully expecting to see mom and dad chatting with members of my extended family.

  Instead, I was met with the wide, laughing, blue eyes of Walker Thomas!

  Chapter Two

  Blythe

  Ohmigosh, ohmigosh, ohmigosh!

  What was Walker Thomas doing in my backyard?! And why, after not seeing him for three years, did I have to look like a homeless person?

  “Blythe! Look who’s come back! Mr. Thomas bought his share back from Mr. Lewis last month.” I yanked my gaze away from Walker to stare at my mom who was smiling so big I could see all her teeth. Her eyes sparkled with excitement as she wrapped her arm around an equally smiley Mrs. Thomas.

  The Thomas’s were moving back? I quickly scanned the rest of the group in the backyard. My whole family was there as well as the Thomas’s. Walker. His parents, Roger and Becky. As well as his brothers, Pete and Leo. Sure enough, the gang was all there.

  “What?” I was still trying to process, my brain fuzzy from shock.

  “Ew, Blythe, you smell funny.” Joy brushed past me, pinching her nose between her thumb and forefinger as she practically shouted her distaste.

  “Joy!” I hissed, my already red cheeks flaming even brighter as I reached up to self-consciously smooth my fly-away hair. It was no use. Joy was right. I smelled terrible. And worse than that, I looked terrible.

  Breathing deeply to keep myself from strangling my sister, I snuck a quick glance at Walker. He was still watching me, an amused smile tugging at the corner of his lips. Golly, he was hot! He’d been cute three years ago at fourteen, but now? Sheesh, seventeen looked really, really good on him.