Trevor

Trevor

Nineteen Years Ago

It’s move-in day for our new neighbors.

I don’t know much about them. I heard my parents talking about how they were lawyers or something. I guess Mom already went over there and invited them to dinner. She’s always like that, getting to know all of the neighbors first, and letting the rest of the neighborhood know everything she learns. I’ve tried to tell her it’s not cool to do that, but what parent listens to their twelve-year-old son when it comes to stuff like that?

Let’s be real, though. What parents listen to their twelve-year-old son, period?

My dad owns a lot of buildings and houses, and despite him telling me a million times what he does with them, I never take too much time to listen. My mom is a full-time wife. At least that’s what she says her job title is. One time I tried to tell her that I wasn’t sure that was a real job, and she cried for a week, so I quickly learned to never talk about it again.

Don’t get me wrong, my parents are great. They don’t punish me, they give me anything and everything I want, and for the most part, they leave me alone. Sometimes too much. Rich kid problems, right?

Dad is already talking about me joining him at his company when I graduate college; meanwhile I’m more interested in football season coming up. I hope one day he will see that life isn’t supposed to always be about just work and money. There is more to it, right? I hope there is, at least.

Grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge, I chug the majority of it before tossing it back in. Scooping up the football I brought inside, I head out to play some touch in the cul-de-sac with some of the neighbor guys. Some of them are on the team at school and aren’t too bad. None of them besides me can even come close to throwing a spiral, though.

When I step outside, I walk down our winding driveway before I see the guys standing around a girl who looks to be at least a few years younger than us, despite how tall she seems. Her hair is long, curly, and a fire-engine red color. I’ve never seen someone with such red hair, not in person at least. Most redheads that I’ve met are more like an orange color. Not her, though.

She’s pretty. Really pretty from what I can tell. I’m not sure I’ve seen a girl as pretty as her.

I watch as she talks, too far away to quite hear what she’s saying, but I watch the way her aqua blue eyes widen slightly, almost making it hard to breathe for a second. What the heck? I pat my chest trying to clear whatever is stuck inside, but it won’t budge.

I continue walking toward them, curious what this little redheaded girl wants when I hear a smooth voice.

“I’m going to play,” she states so confidently, so truly, that it comes out as a fact instead of a question.

All of the guys laugh at her and it has me clenching my fist. I don’t like that. Emmett Carson is laughing so hard he looks as if he can’t breathe. Johnny laughs the loudest, pushing his black hair out of his face as he smiles in a mean way at her.

“No,” he says. “Why don’t you go play with your Barbies, little girl?”

I watch as her cheeks turn red, and she tucks a piece of her fiery locks behind her ear before glancing down at her shoes. I watch as the fight in her seems to escape like a deflating balloon. She’s second guessing why she came over here in the first place, and all she wanted to do was play football with us.

“Shut it,” I snap as I finally make it to the road, pushing through the still laughing guys until I’m in the middle of all of them.

I’m the captain of the football team, even as a sixth grader. Coach says I have good leadership skills, and people listen when I talk, so I use that power now. All of the guys have stopped laughing, all staring at me like they are waiting to hear me talk. Good.

Wow. She’s even prettier up close than she was from my driveway. I take another step closer to her, a sweet smell suddenly filling my nose. It’s like a fruit. Apples? Oranges?

Peaches.

She smells good. Really good. I take another step toward her, looking her over from head to toe before I turn my head to the side slightly.

“Have you played before?”

She pauses on my question for a second before she nods her head, rolling back her shoulders to stand taller as she does. I narrow my eyes at her like I’m weighing my options even though I already know I’m going to let the redheaded beauty play. I glance at Johnny who wordlessly tosses me the football before I turn back to her, holding it out for her to take.

“Let’s see what you got,” I say.

The girl takes the ball from my hand before she takes a step back. Part of me wants to tell her she needs to fix her footing. Coach has that permanently stuck in my head at this point, but it’s not like she’s even been quarterback before, so how would she know? She has a look of determination on her face, like it’s all come down to this. She doesn’t know that no matter how bad she is, she’s still playing with us.

She pulls her arm back and throws it. It’s not perfect, her technique could use some work, but I can help her with that. The fiery determination this girl has is more than enough to work with and just like that, the weird heavy feeling in my chest is back. Her aqua eyes come over to me, all the guys stunned in silence while I’m smiling like a fool because dang, I really like this girl.

I reach out for her, hooking my pinky with hers before dragging her over to be closer to me. Partly so we can play, and the other part because I already miss the smell of her. I breathe quietly so she can’t hear me smelling her. Never thought I liked peaches so much.

“I’m Trevor,” I say as I smile down at her. “And you are most definitely on my team, Little Red.”

The nickname rolls off my tongue by accident. But it’s perfect for her, and I instantly love it.

Little Red.

My Little Red.