Should've Known Better

I don’t remember why or when I first really fell for him. Growing up in such a small town, naturally we’d known each other since kindergarten. However, we really never talked until we were twelve. That’s when this story began to unfold.

I do remember sitting at Kyle’s birthday party, singing and eating the beautiful frosted cake. Then, I remember looking up and seeing him across the worn wooden table. He had a smile across his face, talking to the birthday boy about something or another. That’s when my friend Kira, Kyle’s older sister, nudged me in the gut.

The trance was broken, but I swore that out of the corner of my chocolate eyes, I saw his hazel ones glancing back. Taylor was old for our grade, and taller than most; certainly taller than I, who stood no bigger than a third grader. It gave him a sort of gawky appearance, being all arms and legs, but he carried it with confidence.

His life hadn’t been easy, growing up with just his schoolteacher mother. His diabetic status also stood a challenge. Yet, it didn’t stop him from his passion: basketball. Maybe, just maybe, that’s what attracted me to him first; his determination to overcome the stereotypes.

After that, I saw him everywhere. The day I turned a corner in the hallway, and almost collided right into him, multiple days I spent at Kira’s, he was there as well with Kyle. The more I saw him, the more I wanted to know him. I wanted to know the boy behind the mass of chestnut curls and blue-brown eyes.

As fate would have it, he wanted to know me too. I would never understand why; I was the epitome of a nerd, hiding behind my long, near black hair. I had always been smart, and preferred reading to anything else. My natural clumsiness made anything near athletic impossible for me. I was too smart to fit in with most people, and was usually a loner.

The one friend at school I did have was Stephanie. She knew of my infatuation, and dragged me along to every home basketball game to watch him. It was cute, really, the way his eyes would flicker to where we sat. Yet, I could never be bold enough to talk to him. I never could’ve dreamed he liked me too.

It wasn’t for another few months when we started talking through IM. We talked about schoolwork, friends, and our own lives. By the time summer came around, Stephanie and I had merged with Taylor’s crowd: Kyle and another boy named Dylan. We spent endless warm days at the old basketball court, running up and down the cracked blacktop.

Seventh grade started, snapping us out of our endless lazy summer days. Our basketball games became less frequent as the actual season started. But the late night IM chats continued on, and little by little, our feelings were exposed. My shy, timid, then thirteen-year-old self was giddy. The only thing stopping our growing relationship was I, seeing as I couldn’t date.

I’d never been one to go against my parents. They gave me everything, raised my siblings and me with all they had. Who was I to question the rules they had? I refrained from ‘dating’ him, but it didn’t stop our emotions.

At the next dance, I remember us sitting in the stands, laughing as the music blasted. It would have been perfect, if not for others. It would be naïve to believe I was the only one vying for his affection. When one of my few friends saw us, she burst into tears. I was torn, but I did what I had to. I don’t think I’ll ever forget the sadness that shot through his features when I left him, chasing after her.

I spent the remainder of that school year avoiding his angelic face and melodic voice. I told myself I was over it; I had to be. And yet, I still found myself at every single basketball game, front row of the stands, watching the boy. I know he saw; he missed half of his free throws.

The heat of summer returned once more, and the impossible happened. We met again at the courts, in a fierce game. I still smell the fresh cut grass as he stole the ball from me, and I chased his silhouette barefoot down the broken pavement. I still hear his I-pod and his voice mixing together melodically as we shot endless free throws, most of which he made.

There are endless days I spent with him, under the beating rays of the sun; the day I remember best, however, was cloudy. It was July, but the warmth was nowhere to be found. I stood shivering by the hoop, and he looked up, his eyes full of understanding. He handed his sweater to me, and when I finally accepted, I felt ridiculous, seeing as the sleeves grazed my knees. As we shot baskets, I looked up at the clouds that threatened to open, and I was engulfed by the warm smell of his cologne. In that moment, I knew I was still head over heels for this guy.

So, the façade continued, with both of us daring the other to make the first move. Too many times, I thought the words would roll off of his lips, admitting what both of our hearts said. I couldn’t bring back the pain of openly loving him and apparently, me walking away made him silent. Instead, we flirted shamelessly back and forth beneath the rustling oak trees, never giving voices to our true feelings.

There was a glimmer of hope as the heat wave that was August approached. It appeared in the form of an email. He said he wanted to meet me at the park, that he needed to tell me something. I recall questioning this, and he told me it was something that needed to be said in person.

I was so confused, and so anxious. Yet, as always when I came to us, tragedy struck. I couldn’t meet him that day, like he’d wanted. After that, he left for camp.

When he returned two weeks later, I was a girl broken by the death of my uncle, and he was a jerk with a new girlfriend. He no longer had anything to say to me, and I spent most of my nights with tears cascading down my tanned cheeks. I never found out what he wanted so desperately to tell me. Then again, maybe he never wanted to tell me after all.

The rest of my summer was a haze, and the start of the school year was refreshing. I decided I had to move on, for real this time, for the sake of my cracked heart. I thought I’d succeeded when I met Jarret. But getting away from Taylor was so much harder than I ever imagined.

My short-lived relationship crashed and burned, as did his summer fling. Every day in science class, we’d talk, laugh, and it would be as if time hadn’t passed at all. As if we were just two kids, shooting hoops. The only problem was, we weren’t; we were fourteen and so much had changed.

Every time, we’d get close enough that I could see it, our future. And every single time, it ended with a new girl for Taylor. I knew I was being led on. I knew I was just a backup girl. Lastly, I knew he was very possibly my first real love.

I grew weary of it, and stopped talking to him all together. In the hallways, I’d hide my face when he strolled by. The confidant, gawky twelve-year-old grew into an arrogant, built player. I went from a shy, trusting preteen to a skeptical mess.

Two more years have come and gone, with me playing keep away. He found a girlfriend shortly after that, and everyone thought they’d be together forever; but as of this week, they aren’t. I can’t help but wonder if she grew sick of his ways like I did. As for me, I’ve had one boyfriend, the same one mentioned earlier. Part of me thinks I’ll always be alone. I can’t bring myself to trust anyone enough to let them in, since Taylor played me for so long.

People say feelings at that age are just puppy love. As ridiculous as it seems, I do believe it was real. Sure, we never kissed, held hands, or did anything couple-y. But when I was with him, or talking to him, nothing else mattered. I knew he listened to me, and I knew he cared.

Whenever I see him, I’m transported back to those summer days. As his hazy eyes flicker to meet mine, I know he thinks about it too. I can’t bring myself to think of the bad times, because it tears me apart. I know that in my heart, there’s a part of me that once thought the world of him, no matter how much I deny it. Part of me wonders if I’ll ever let it go. Part of me wonders whether or not our story will ever truly be over.