Flashback - Spring 2014

Flashback

Isaiah, Spring 2014

I never have trouble finding Aurora. She's an impossible girl to miss.

Especially on the field, where she comes alive. More than usual. Like all the pieces of her come together in a perfect puzzle. Aurora knows exactly who she is most times, as much as anyone can, but out there, she not only knows who she is, she becomes exactly who she is supposed to be.

In front of me, she flies down the field, brown curls flying behind her, strong legs delicately handling the ball at her feet, and a big smile on her face. Just like every day she gets to play.

The homemade jersey I have with her number—seventeen—slides easily overtop the white muscle tank I'm wearing. There aren't many others at the field since there's still an hour till game time, so I find my spot on the bleachers at the front. Swinging my backpack around, I pull my AP English book out and set it on my lap.

So far, since we were kids, I hadn't missed a single game of Aurora's unless it was out of state. Even the kiddie games at camp, I watched from the sidelines, and when she started playing travel soccer when she was eight, I either begged my mom or brother to take me, or I begged hers. And now, she'd been starting varsity since her freshman year, and I hadn't missed a single game. I didn't plan on ever missing a game.

I look up and instantly catch Aurora's eyes. They brighten when they find me, as if she's surprised every time she sees me here. She waves, and I return it before she's called back, but not before crossing her eyes and sticking her tongue out at me like she always does. Dragging my eyes away from my best friend, I focus on the book in front of me so I can focus on her when the whistle blows.

Elijah, my older brother, plops down beside me, handing me a pack of Twizzlers. "How's the book?"

His hat casts a shadow over the pages, the embroidered ivy state logo faded with wear. It's his book, the same class he took a few years ago. I'm chasing the shadow my brother left and trying to fill it. "Don't play stupid."

A big smile spreads on his face, appreciation filling his eyes as he looks at the pages. "You know if you ever need my help, imma phone call away?"

Everyone who ever met Eli knew that. He took care of anyone, especially me. Dad died shortly after I was born, and Eli was there every step, even with all the pressure Mom put on him. I wasn't going to be a burden to him, not after all he had done. I wanted him to be a college student. I wanted him to be my brother. He was already coming home every Thursday night after class and staying till Sunday as it was. Not only did he work part time in Philadelphia during the week, but he worked the weekends here too to help my mom out and such. Least I could do was manage high school.

"I got it. I ain't dumb."

"Obviously. I raised you," he jokes, leaning back onto the bleacher and turning his eyes toward the field. And in some ways, it's not a joke. He raised me as much as my mom did.

"You know you didn't have to come, right?" I ask, eyes skimming over the page.

"I know, but she's the little sister I never asked for. She's your girl. It's her junior year, and Aurora… she's going places with this," Eli says matter-of-factly. Like nothing could stop her.

We look up at the same time, and my eyes latch onto number seventeen, trailing over the details that make her, her. Eli smiles when he looks at her, pride shining in his eyes. Once again, I drag my eyes away, trying to focus on the schoolwork at hand—you know, the shit important for me to get into college, to follow in Eli's footsteps, to make sure I don't disappoint Mom.

But…

The longer I look at her, the more time my eyes spend staring at her, which I admit, has been happening more and more recently. I'm starting to think that she just might be as important as anything else.

Maybe more.

Aurora bounds over, her soccer bag bouncing behind her. Beads of sweat look like water droplets on her nose, and her curls are frizzier than they were before the game. I reach out as soon as she's close enough and grab her bag.

Like always, she wraps her arms around my waist and sinks into a hug. At this point, I'm not sure if they're more for her or me, but we both exhale at the touch. Neither of us has ever navigated toward hugs with anyone else aside from a friendly or familial obligation, but somehow, they've found their way into our relationship—willingly.

"Hi." She pulls back, her hazel eyes softening at the seventeen on my chest before traveling to Eli. "Hi!" she repeats, pulling him for a quick side hug, though Eli doesn't accept that.

He rocks her dramatically back and forth. "Nice work out there, Matthews."

"What is it with you and Kian trying to smother me to death?" Aurora mumbles into my brother's chest.

"Just the way it goes." He finally releases her, and she rolls her eyes, though her lips fight a smile. "Where are Soph and Kian anyway? And your parents?"

"Picking up the kid and working late. You should come over for dinner later. Whole family will be there."

That was one thing I loved about her family—how even after the divorce, her parents made sure they put aside any negative feelings and were there for the kids. Of course, it seems like the bare minimum, but mostly, it's horror story after horror story. It's nice that not only are they there for Sophia and Aurora but also Zaza and Kian, and even Eli and me.

"For sure. I'll be there. I'll see if Mom's up for it, too."

"Sounds perfect. Thanks for coming, Eli."

My brother almost looks sheepish at the praise, bordering on uncomfortable. I don't think he hears it too often, even as simple as a thank you . "Anytime," he says before kissing her on the cheek. "You two have fun. I'll see you later." He turns and waves, leaving the two of us.

"You played great, Rora."

Her smile is bright. "Thanks. Now, can we go? I'm starved."

Our aftergame ritual includes milkshakes and a giant order of fries at the diner not too far from here. "‘Course." I throw my arm around her shoulder, pulling her in.

She likes a bit of quiet after a game, especially after talking to the parents and the coaches. I let her have it until we get to the diner—let her pick the music in the car, usually consisting of sad pop songs, which I've come to enjoy, and let her decide if she wants to talk or not. I'm here to enjoy the ride.

By the time we get to the diner, she's back and full of life. The adrenaline is now a simmer, and she bumps me as we enter the old place. The usual customers are here, including us, seated at the countertop on pale pink stools or in the booths, where we take a seat.

My eyes find hers, bright hazel in the sunlight streaming in through the windows, the crewneck I had in my backseat covering her skin. I'm not sure what it is today, but I can't keep my eyes off her. Today, Aurora is radiant.

I'm pretty sure she always is, but today, for me, she is blinding.

The curls, her brown skin, the warm eyes, the strong personality, she is the star of the show—everything about her is brilliant.

Adjusting in the booth, my legs stretch out, trapping hers. "Do I have something on my face?"

My brows furrow. "No, why?"

"Then why are you staring at me, Isaiah?"

My mouth goes dry, and I attempt to swallow the lump in my throat, but thank God I'm saved by our order being placed on the table.

"Thank you." Aurora smiles at the server and grabs a fry, licking the stray salt from her lip. My eyes linger a second longer than they should.

"Are you gonna share with me today?"

She kicks me under the table. "I don't know what you're talking about. I share with you all the time. My friends, my sense of humor, my addictive personality that you can't stay away from."

I raise a brow. "You are literally hogging the fries as we speak."

A huff of laughter escapes her, and she pushes the plate to the center of the table. "Sorry, I get excited." After a few more fries, she meets my eyes. "Did you submit the poem?"

I exhale. "Rora, please."

"Don't Rora me. You promised." She leans forward, pushing her milkshake my way so I can try it. Even though I've tried it a million times, it's routine. "You promised that if I got an A on that stupid science exam, you would submit it."

Talking about poetry with anyone but Aurora makes me nauseous. She's the only one that I even try with. I trust her more than anyone, but this is hard—attempting to submit a poem to a contest and living in fear of being rejected for something so personal. Seems like hell. Which is why she made the deal in the first place.

"You're too talented not to, Isaiah. Please."

"You flatter me," I deadpan.

Aurora smiles—sunshine on a cloudy day. "Flattery is my strong suit."

"No, it isn't."

"Okay, you know, you could fan my ego every once in a while."

I smile at that, pushing my milkshake her way. "I do enough." She kicks my leg again before she draws her leg up and rests her elbow on her knee. Rora doesn't say anything else, just hits me with those eyes, and I know the first thing I'll do later is submit the stupid poem. "Fine."

"Thank you. Now that that's handled, we can play hangman."

I huff and watch as she pulls out the notebook from her bag—a notebook only filled with whatever games we decide to play in this diner. This month, it's been hangman. Leaning back, I let my eyes fall on her again since she's focused on the notebook. Under the table, my knee rhythmically taps hers, and every touch feels brand new. Like I've never touched her before.

There is nothing extra special about today. Nothing happened at school in the hallways or at lunch. We've done what we do every day. It's not an extraordinary day in any particular way.

But it's different. Aurora feels different.

Even though I've spent pretty much every day with her since I moved here, I feel like I'm noticing things that I didn't before—or maybe things that weren't significant to our friendship. Today, I can't help but notice she has a freckle in one of her hazel eyes and one on the tip of her nose that sort of looks like a star. There's a tiny little scar on her bottom lip, and when she focuses on something, her nose wrinkles the tiniest bit. I've never noticed these details like this before.

Not with this level of awareness or attention.

My chest is tight and blood-heavy. Under the table, I rub my palms together, ignoring how clammy they feel. It's all fucking weird. And not at all awful.

When I look at her, I swear time moves in slow motion, but she's at full speed. As if I can't be bothered to give anything other than her even a fraction of my attention.

Fuck.

I've always seen Aurora, even when we were kids. She's my best friend, for God's sake. She's a part of who I am. I know everything there is to know about her—what she hates, what she loves, what she loves to hate and hates to love. I know it all. And I thought I knew myself and exactly how I felt. But this is new. This is weird.

Because I didn't know it was possible to see her in a different light when I already knew her in every shade.

Today, Aurora is impossible to miss in a way I didn't know was possible.