Then 14 & 15

There are pumpkins everywhere. Pumpkins and the smell of cider and small children screaming in the corn maze. It's finally chilly enough that she can pull out all the earth tones that best suit her skin, but not so cold that she needs a coat. No one needs to know she spent the entire week deciding which sweater would go best with her new suede ankle boots. The time was worth it for his reaction alone. He took one look at her, a smile on his stupid-cute face, and said, " woah " with the reverence he usually reserved for sports highlights.

This is her favorite season, when the leaves go crunchy red and brown and the air smells crisp and sweet. Like fresh apples and earth. He's the one who told her that smell is actually the fallen leaves rotting, releasing something into the air, but she doesn't care. She loves it. Even if that makes her just like all the other girls at school.

She tucks her bag over her shoulder, trying not to wince as it bounces off her hip. Her second-choice sweater might be stuffed in there, along with the book she's almost finished reading, and three different body sprays. There's also a rose pink lipstick that she borrowed from her mom. She wasn't supposed to wear the dark eyeliner she'd smudged into her lower lashes.

This is stupid. She is being stupid. Robbie's her friend. Her best friend. If he liked her, then she'd know by now. Right? He'd have told her? Made a move?

He was her first kiss, but he hasn't tried for a repeat. She hasn't heard about him kissing anyone else, either, but she also tries not to listen to the gossip. Just in case. The lack of chatter doesn't mean he's single, and even if it did, he hasn't tried to hold her hand. He hasn't tried to ask her out…

For a while she thought it was because she was still in middle school, but here they are, almost two months into her freshman year, and he still hasn't given her any sign that her crush is anything more than one-sided. Which means her crush probably isn't anything more than one-sided.

His shoulder brushes hers, and she lets herself glance at his profile out of the corner of her eye. His hair is still too long, and he didn't wear his signature hat today, so it's falling across his forehead and shifting with the slight breeze. Her fingers tingle with the urge to reach up and push it back.

"Are the twins going to meet us here?" She didn't remember him saying they would, but it's rare that they spend any weekend apart. Especially when they don't have a game.

"Nope." This time, the back of his hand brushes hers. "Just the two of us."

She hums the chorus of the eighties hit and feels a hiccup in her belly when he smiles. His grin always makes her stomach flip. They cut down an empty aisle, walking between two brightly colored booths, festive flags flapping between them. On their right, kids toss balls into a small trough, shouting whoops of joy as they win different prizes.

"Want to play?" He asks her, leaning in close until she can feel the words more than hear them.

She steps away, shivers running down her arms.

"I don't know how."

She takes another couple feet to realize he's stopped walking, and she turns around too. He's standing there, arms spread wide, smile even wider.

"Vera. You live in Kimmelwick, home of the Great Pumpkin Farm, and you don't know how to play I Got It? This is a family staple."

She shrugs. Her parents have always been the kind to grab pumpkins and cider donuts and head back home before the crowds take over. Her dad also rarely has free weekends during the fall, not with the football schedule.

"C'mon." He steps in front of her, walking backward, his hand outstretched for her to take. "Let's play."

She shrugs again. What if she sucks at it? What if she misses? What if he thinks she's ridiculous or pathetic or lame? She hesitates, looking from his open palm to his eyes and back. She can't explain why this feels big, why taking his hand feels like the start of something new, but maybe it's all in her head. Maybe she's reading into every look, every word, every smile because she wants there to be a hidden meaning. She wants him to want her too.

"Let me win you a prize, Vera. I want to."

She slides her hand into his and he locks their fingers together. The pressure thrilling and comforting and heavy with promise.

"It's pretty simple," He tells her as they settle onto the red plastic stools. "You have to be sitting, you have to wait for them to tell you to toss in a ball, and when you get five in a straight line, you yell—"

"I got it?"

"Yes, you do." He winks at her and she feels her cheeks heat.

He's still holding onto her, even as they both pick up the small rubber ball.

"Don't you need your hand to play?"

He looks down at their interlocked fingers and smiles.

"Right," he says, "I almost forgot."

She feels cold when he lets go, a shiver teasing her spine. He looks at her from out of the corner of his eyes, a smile tipping the edge of his lips. Her breath hitches and she misses the attendant telling players to " toss in ball number one ." Everyone around them takes their first turn as she catalogues the curve of her best friend's cheek and the line of his nose. He broke it again over the summer. She sat with him on the dusty curb, holding his hand as he pressed his t-shirt to his face and the twins sprinted to find the nearest adult with a car. She didn't let herself cry until he was on his way to the ER, the site of his blood dripping down his chin imprinted on her retinas.

"Aim for the corners first," Robbie whispers in her ear, freeing her from her memory, and she clumsily hurls her ball across the small gap and over the tiny plexiglass, watching as it bounces into one of the open grooves just left of center. "Nice shot."

His first ball is dead center and of course he's a natural at this game. He's good at literally everything.

"Toss in ball number two," the attendant says, and she looks around for another ball. Robbie hands her his.

"Try to get it right next to the first."

She rolls her eyes. Obviously, it needs to go next to the first one if she's aiming for five in a row. Her ball ends up in the top right corner. Two seats down from them, someone tosses in a handful of balls, laughing as they cover the five by five grid.

"Why can't we do it like that?" She asks.

Robbie chuckles. "Because that's cheating, Vera. If we want to win, we do it right." He hands her a third ball. "You get a prize if you're the only one to win in a certain round."

"It's all luck," she says even as they toss in their third balls. Robbie's are in a neat diagonal row. Hers are a scattered mess.

"Don't be a sore loser, V." He laughs. "I'll win you something good."

"Robbie. It's basically bingo. Bingo is all luck." She tucks her hair behind her ears to have something to do with her hands. The way he's staring at her is making her twitchy, like her cells are vibrating.

"Just admit you're jealous of my superior skills," he bumps her shoulder with his. "And for the record, New York State outlawed bingo for profit because it was all luck. This game was created as a suitable replacement."

They each throw in their fourth ball. His is still perfect. All in a row. She finally gets two next to each other and feels like she's flying.

"Look!" She points. "I did it."

"You did." He agrees, "See? Skill."

He wins on the next round, not surprising given the perfect placement of the other four balls, and his eyes are shining and he's grinning at her and she's not sure she's ever felt this floaty before. Like if he wasn't right there, keeping her in place with his gravitational pull, she'd fly away like a helium balloon.

"Switch seats with me." He whispers when the attendant isn't looking. And then raises his voice to yell, "She's got it!" As she slides onto his stool.

The attendant ambles over to check the balls, eyeing them with a look that says he knows this wasn't her work, but he hands them a ticket anyway and gestures toward the back of the booth.

"Pick a prize from the bottom shelf or play again."

Honey brown eyes hold hers and Robbie says, "We'll play again."

Three rounds, and two wins later, they're standing in front of the prize counter and she's eyeing the stuffed toys and inflatables with interest. With three tickets, she can pick anything from the third shelf or lower. It's all generic fair prizes, but she's never won anything before, or had anyone win for her, and she can't decide between a solitary fluffy pink monkey and an inflatable guitar. Sleeping on the bottom shelf is a cream-colored golden retriever, snuffling softly as it dreams in the shade.

"A puppy," she says, pushing out her bottom lip at the sweet sight. She wants a dog more than anything, but her mom's allergic, so it's not in the cards. "Do you think they'll let me pet him?"

"Made your choice yet?" The attendant asks in a monotone voice, barely glancing at either of them.

"Anything below shelf three?" Robbie asks, and the attendant nods, looking at their nails. "Great. We'll take the dog."

The attendant rolls their eyes.

"Obviously Creamsicle isn't an option."

Robbie grins. "How was I supposed to know? You said anything below shelf three. Pink monkey please."

He hands it to her as they wander away from the tent. The toy is soft in her hands and she hugs it close to her chest. The air smells like kettle corn and fall and children in costumes stumble all around them brandishing balloon swords. This moment, right here, might be the happiest she's ever been.

A tiny girl in an oversized princess costume shrieks as a little boy smacks her with his sword. Out of her hands tumbles a purple monkey, directly into a mud puddle. Her shrieks turn to wails. A harried father picks up the stuffed prize and tries to wipe it clean, but the tears keep coming.

"It's diiiiiiirty," the little girl manages between sobs. "No, no, no, no, nooooo."

It takes a quick glance around the farm to realize that there are no more monkeys available, even as the little girl's tears get louder.

"Hang on," she says to Robbie, making her way toward the distraught child. She crouches down, smiling to put the little girl at ease, and holds out her own prize. "I know it's not purple, but would pink be okay?"

A few hiccups, a sniffle, and the little girl reaches for the toy, a hint of a smile on her trembling mouth. Then she pulls the stuffy in tight, hugging it to her sequined dress.

"Thank you," the tiny child wipes away a tear. "You won't miss her?"

Vera shrugs, looking back at the boy whose gift she just gave away. "Don't worry," she tells the girl. "I think she'd much rather go home with you. Can you take good care of her for me?"

The child nods. "Does she have a name?"

"What do you think we should name her?"

They both study the hot pink monkey. "Rosie?"

"That's a perfect name." She gets to her feet as the girl's dad mouths his thanks. "Have a good rest of your day," she says, stepping back up to the teenage hockey star watching the exchange.

"Sorry I gave your present away," she says as he reaches down to wrap their hands together again.

"Vera," his voice is low, serious, "you have the biggest heart of anyone I know. I owe you another prize, though. Tell me what you want."

She looks up into his adorable face, feeling warm straight through to her core.

"You don't have to," she tries to protest, and he shakes his head.

"I do, though." He pulls their joined hands together, kissing the back of hers while she tries to keep breathing. "What kind of first date would this be if I sent you home empty-handed?"

Her brain glitches, every neuron freezing in place, refusing to make any sort of connections. She coughs, probably choking on her own spit because what she definitely needs in this moment is utter humiliation.

"A date?" She swallows hard. "With me?"

"No, with Vic." He smiles, "of course with you."

Her heart is going to fly out of her mouth. Her stomach is going to fall out of her butt.

"Me?"

He rubs his hand across his forehead and sighs.

"Vera. I asked you to come with me. I told the twins to fuck off. I paid for your ticket. I've been hoping to lure you into the haunted house so you can press up against me and I can be the big, strong, brave guy who saves you. I'm going to buy you cider donuts and caramel corn and literally anything else you ask for. Yes. This is a date."

"A date." She tries to remind herself to play it cool. To not squeal and launch herself at him like a kid on Christmas morning. She doesn't want him to have regrets. Not when she's been waiting years for this moment.

His brows pinch together and he bites down on his lower lip.

"Did you… did you not know?" The words are so quiet she almost misses them.

She hadn't known. Hoped, but hadn't known.

"If I'd been more clear, would you have said no?"

No.

She'd have said yes.

"It's not that." She shakes her head. "I just didn't know you liked me liked me."

His jaw goes slack, and then he tips his head back, rubbing his hand over his eyes.

"Vera." It's the same tone her dad used when she left that java chip frappe in his car for an entire weekend last summer, and he had to spend three days with the windows and doors open to air out the smell. "I've liked you for forever."

"Well yeah," she says with a small smile, "we're best friends."

He frowns. "I don't want to just be your friend. I like you like you."

"Really?"

He steps into her body, close enough that he can tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, fingers lingering on the skin of her cheek.

"Really really. I'll always be your best friend, but I want more. I want to be your boyfriend." He cups the back of his neck. "If that isn't what you want, please tell me."

"Robbie." She tugs on the edge of his shirt. "I know what I want to replace my monkey."

He sighs. "Right. I didn't just bare my soul here or anything. I'll give you whatever you want, V. You just have to ask."

"Robbie." She steps into his body, close enough that each inhale brushes their shirts together. "As my new boyfriend. I want you to give me a kiss."

And he does.