I used to climb it with Sabi. She’s my best friend, and her family lived in the house before the Bradys moved in. Sabi and I would chill in the tree for hours. It’s where she told me about her crush on Hunter, football star, and I told her about my first kiss with Hunter’s older brother, Roman.
Archer throws one leg over the other, crossed at the ankles on the sun lounger…that’s in the shade! If he’s going to stay in the shade, he might as well be inside. They have a pool, but I haven’t seen him use it yet. Good thing, really. I’ll probably pass out if I see him shirtless.
I bite my lip as he runs his hand through his messy black hair.
I have only spoken to his mom. I don’t know where his dad is.
His head raises almost directly at me as if he can sense I’m spying. My breath catches. Jumping back, I spin around and flatten my back against the wall.
Damn it! If he saw me, he will definitely think the girl next door is a total creep. All we’ve done is catch each other’s eye in the window or outside.
Maybe he didn’t actually see from that far away.
“Quinn! Shouldn’t you be online? You have school, right?”
My least favorite words to hear from my mom. School at home. There is no God. But she’s right. It’s almost time for class.
I trudge downstairs like I’m off to war.
I find Mom in the kitchen. My laptop is open and water bottle filled. Both sit neatly on the table. She’s prepped my classroom.
“You don’t have to do this,” I tell her as I sit my butt at the table and smile up at her. “It’s not like I’m going to forget.”
We’re on day fifteen of being at home. Day fifteen of missing Taco Bell, Starbucks Frappuccinos, and hanging with friends. Day fifteen of one walk a day. Mom stops to gossip with the neighbors who are in their front yard. I just keep thinking about everything I’m missing.
Social distancing is weird. But one bright spot: every house on our block has a chalkboard in their yard. We leave messages and encouragement. I love reading them on our walks. On ours, Mom has written: This too shall pass. One of my favorites has been 2021 will be our year.
Archer’s is still blank.
The conversation with everyone is the same most days. Lots of talk about “crazy times,” “the damn virus,” and “living like prisoners.” I don’t think prisoners can order food in, hang out in the sun, and swim in pools they have in their own backyard, but sure.
“Hey, Mom?”
She turns from where she’s chopping apples. That better be for a pie.
“Yeah?”
“When you met Archer and his mom…did he say much?”
“He grunted a hello and went inside. Bit rude, if you ask me. Though I suppose we don’t know their circumstance for moving here. No friends or family here, no dad around. Not that I’ve seen, anyway. Now, finish your work.”
I put my head down and focus. Hours pass. The smell of warm apple pie wafts through the kitchen.
And the very second I announce that I’m finished, Mom thrusts my Vans in my face.
“Let’s get out for a bit,” she says.
Our walk is the highlight of her day. I slip my Vans on and follow her to the front door.
“What’s that?” I ask, eyeing the covered plate she’s holding in her hands.
“Apple pie for Mrs. Langford down the road. She’s missing her grandchildren. We’ve got to look after each other now more than ever.”
So she made my favorite pie and it’s not for me.
Of course I notice him the second I step out of the front door. Somewhere inside me is an Archer Brady radar. Archer is taking out the trash—that seems to be his job—and he’s doing it while scowling at the whole world.
And oh my god. He’s much closer to me than he’s ever been. My stomach clenches like it’s independently working on some abs. His eyes follow me.
I’m pretty sure my brain is short-circuiting right now. I hope he doesn’t speak because I don’t think I can.
Everything about him is angry: the narrowed eyes, clenched jaw, and tight shoulders.
It should be illegal that he looks so good while doing it.
I wipe my damp palms on my shorts.
Stop staring.
I’m mostly a happy person, I like to smile, I like having fun and laughing, so why am I so drawn to him? It doesn’t make sense, but I want to know everything. I want to dig into his brain and learn every part of his life, the good and the bad. And I want to run my fingers all over that magnificent face and through that inky hair.
Calm down, Quinn.
Now is not the time to develop a new crush. Especially on someone who is more likely to push me over during my morning yoga than join in.
“Hello,” Mom says, waving at him.
I stop breathing. Is she crazy? She’s talking to him!
Don’t trip over.
He jerks his chin in some sort of greeting. It screams I can’t be bothered with you. I don’t imagine he would be massively concerned about insulting people, so I suppose we should take the nod.
Wow. Okay, I thought his eyes were brown, but up this close I can see that they’re dark blue, like the midnight sky. They linger like he’s trying to commit my face to memory so he can draw me later.
All we have done is stare at each other for slightly too long. Every conversation we’ve had over two weeks has been silent and spoken exclusively with our eyes. I feel like I
