Flashback - Fall 2014

Flashback

Aurora – Fall 2014

T he carnival was in full swing when we arrived.

I barely noticed the drive because I spent the entire time staring at Isaiah in the driver's seat.

Sighing, I drag my eyes away. Not that it helps. He is seared into my brain, branded into my memory.

Bright, colorful lights break up the night sky, and high-pitched voices fill the silence. The smell of popcorn and funnel cake is as prevalent as ever as we pay the small fee for admission. It's definitely geared for younger kids, but it's a tradition. We've come here every year since we were kids. First with our parents, then with Sophia and Kian, and now just us.

Other students from our school come too, babysitting younger siblings like Sophia used to do or needing a reason to get out of the house, but it's pretty fun for everyone.

"What are we starting with?" I ask, tugging the sleeves of my crewneck over my fingers.

"Water guns?"

"You're going down, loser."

He gives me a crooked smile. "So aggressive when losing is at stake."

We walk side by side toward the first game of the night. Our fingers brush, and I try to act like that touch doesn't make my skin tingle. But it does. Clearing my throat, I say, "It's not at stake because I'm not going to lose."

As we arrive, we take our places at the back of the short line. Isaiah leans closer to me again, bending down and bringing us eye-level so I can see the warm gleam in his brown eyes. "That's what you say every year." Isaiah taps my nose with his finger, and my heart stops. "And yet every year, you lose at least twice."

I reach up with a quick hand and pinch the back of his arm.

He curses under his breath. "God, you are evil. Who made you?"

"Not sure, but they knew you needed me," I chime.

With a cheeky grin, we step forward and take our spots. We absolutely take this too seriously as we take aim, and all the chatter quiets. The buzzer sounds, and the water starts. Of course, Isaiah takes perfect aim, so of course, I kick my foot out and try to get the back of his knee.

"Old tricks, Rora, really?" he asks, never faltering.

"Can you blame me for trying?" I watch, annoyed as he wins.

Isaiah smiles brightly, a dimple on his cheek. My smile. My favorite smile. "You are such a sore loser."

My mouth gapes. "Okay, well, don't be an asshole."

He imitates me, crossing his arms and pouting. "Well, don't be an asshole." It lasts all of five seconds before the laughter starts. "You should've seen your face."

There are no good prizes at the water guns, so I turn and start walking away from him. He catches up to me instantly, wrapping his arms around me from behind and lifting me off the ground. My stomach flips upside down and all around as he does. Though I try to fight it, the laugh escapes my lips anyway.

"Put me down."

"Only if you promise I'm still your best friend."

I roll my eyes, my heart fluttering a million miles a minute in my chest, and I'm just hoping he doesn't notice. Ever since this year started, my heart can't stop fluttering when he's around. It doesn't matter what we're doing—laying in our rooms watching a movie, at the diner with milkshakes, singing in the car, swinging at the park—if Isaiah is there, my heart may as well be a butterfly that just got its wings.

I've been going crazy. I can't function around him anymore. The solid weight of his arms around my body makes me lightheaded, every single nerve in my body feels like it's firing at the same time. Every time he looks at me for longer than a second, my cheeks turn warm, and it feels like the full power of the sun is shining directly on me.

And in turn, I've become a suncatcher, spinning around and around, searching for the light so he doesn't take his eyes off me.

Stealing a glance to his face, pressed close to mine, I exhale. Sometimes, I still have trouble understanding this is the same boy with broken glasses at the playground and the same lanky fourteen-year-old. His arms around me now are strong and steady, his voice is deeper, and he's developed this intoxicatingly quiet confidence, and honestly, I'm not sure what to do with any of it.

I may as well be a pink-cheeked, googly, heart-eyed cartoon when I look at him.

It's a miracle he hasn't noticed.

Or maybe he has and is doing me the kindness of not breaking my heart. A heart that usually, I pride myself on not being fragile. But not with him. Now, it's putty in his hands.

I feel like some days, my day is based on Isaiah. If he smiles at me a certain way, if he says something that my brain can spin into something that was possibly, maybe , flirty. Do these things suddenly mean something different now? Does he feel the same way? And it's ridiculous since we've spent almost every day together since we were kids.

Is this what being a teenager in love is? I hate it.

Wondering if he feels an inkling of the same thing—if he ever will.

Isaiah squeezes me. "Earth to Rora? You in there?"

I blink the heart-eyes away. "Yes, sorry."

"Are you gonna answer the question?" His arms are still wrapped around me as he basically walks us through the carnival.

"Of course, you're still my best friend."

Stopping us, his head falls dramatically so my shoulder. "Thank God. I was getting worried for a minute."

"Get off of me," I say playfully, trying—but not really trying—to get out of his grip.

"Come on, I'll get you whatever you want. Funnel cake? Popcorn? Soft pretzel?" He smiles, pressing a finger to my cheek, trying to get me to smile. "Ice cream? Or is that for later?"

"Pretzel, please."

"What a surprise."

I let him lead us to the food stand, unable to do anything but stare at him. He's always been my Isaiah, but this is different. Around us, couples from our school hold hands. Some kiss after playing a game together or stand quietly together in their groups. Our hands hang between our bodies, so close to touching and yet so far away. My pinky brushes against his, and I inhale sharply. Then, I blush, hoping he didn't hear it. Hoping he can't hear how fast my heart is beating in my chest.

Pathetic.

I don't even notice him handing over cash to the attendant. I'm pretty sure I don't blink until he's handing me a soft pretzel and a water.

"Thank you."

He hums in response. "Alright, you think they have any stuffed octopi?"

Trying and failing to hide my grin, I shrug my shoulders. The pretzel and the salt melt on my tongue as we walk through, looking for the games with any stuffed animals. We were eight or nine, I think, when he learned how much I loved the animal. No reason really. Isaiah thinks it's because of Finding Nemo , and I think it's because I saw one at an aquarium, but I suppose to each their own.

Around us, I notice eyes on him, lingering longer than usual. From girls who have never ever paid attention to him before. Or maybe I was too focused on him to even notice. I try not to frown, but the urge to hold his hand grows stronger with every step. Though, Isaiah doesn't look at a single one of them.

"Found it! Come on," he says, grabbing my hand without a thought, and it's like a bolt of lightning straight to my heart. My palm turns sweaty, and I can't think or do anything but feel his hand in mine. "Which one do you want?"

"You're so confident you're going to win, aren't you?"

Isaiah raises a brow, a cocky smile on his face. Not often does this fun, playful side appear in such a public setting. But that smile makes my heart race each time I do see it.

"Yes, I am."

Crossing my arms, I scrunch my nose. "Pink and purple one."

It's the basketball hoop game, which doesn't usually have prizes, but I'm not one to question it, and I enjoy watching him anyway. For the prize, he has to get a certain number of points. Leaning back, I take another bite of pretzel and enjoy the show. Isaiah palms the ball and takes the first shot as soon as the buzzer goes off. One by one, they go in.

Isaiah doesn't play for any team at school or pursue any sport seriously, but he and Elijah grew up shooting hoops or tossing a football or racing each other. He's athletic, even if that's not his focus. And if it's happening in my presence? I'm watching.

He's flawless. Shot after shot, I watch the basketball fall into the net. After he's halfway through, he looks to me with a quirky smile and confident eyes. I swallow, trying to figure out where my air went. Where my common sense went.

But they are lost, swept under the spell of Isaiah Bryant.

The buzzer sounds, ticking up his final number of points. And of course, it's enough for any prize of his choosing. I step forward as he selects the pink and purple octopus and hands it to me. There's a smile on his face, and in my obsessed, crush filled mind, I swear his eyes soften and his hands linger a second too long. I hug the stuffed animal to my chest, a smile unraveling on its own accord.

"Thank you," I say, turning my eyes up at him.

With his arm around my shoulder again, he leads us through the carnival. He squeezes my arm a few times in a searing grip. "Anything for you, Rora Jade."

Sighing, I feel my heart melt into a puddle for the millionth time today. For a second, I let myself lean into his touch. Whether it's friendly or something more, I don't care. It feels nice to be held like this. More so, being held by him.

Under his arm, I let him lead us to the photobooth. There's no line, so we squeeze right on in. We are touching everywhere . Our thighs are pressed together; his arm is still wound around my shoulders playing with the ends of my curls. Isaiah is everywhere. In my thoughts and my dreams. I can't escape him. I don't want to.

"Ready?" he asks, his lips upturned in a smile, his small dimple shining through. I nod, unable to do much else.

The countdown begins, and Isaiah pulls me closer. Each flash captures a different version of us. Playful and friendly with smiles. Teasing and silly when he holds up a stupid peace sign behind my head. And something…more.

Right before the last photo, I steal another glance at Isaiah. I know that we'll be friends forever.

But I can't help but hope we become more.