I saw her red hair first, a flash of color against the green and gray of the yard and driveway next door. From my bedroom window, I looked down.
A green tank top tugged at a set of small, pert breasts. White shorts swished over long, slender legs and the tight curve of her rump. And that hair, that flaming splash of red in the morning sun...
An ache spread through my chest. Butterflies fluttered, twisting my stomach.
I was just out of high school, college an incoming blur of a dream now looming before me as reality, only summer standing as a buffer between me and it, and I fell in love at first sight.
When I made my way downstairs, my parents were peeking out the blinds like a couple of voyeurs. Through the slit their fingers made, I could see the bold blue lettering of the moving van next door.
"Look at that sofa! God, that's nice. At least they have good taste," my mom commented with knowing approval.
"Spying on them already?" I said. I grabbed the box of cereal that one of them had left on the counter and shook it. It sounded full, so I started looking around for a bowl.
My parents turned to acknowledge me, but Mom went right back to window after sending an exaggerating roll of the eyes my way. Her hair was pulled back, and I noticed a streak of gray that I couldn't remember seeing before. They were getting old. In turn, I felt old. College, real life, gray hair, that was what awaited me in the adult world.
That could be me one day, my entertainment relegated to sneaking glances at the neighbors moving in next door. It was depressing shit.
Dad seemed embarrassed to have been caught spying. He stalked away from the window and took a seat at the kitchen table. He was unshaven, and his hair was a messy mop of brown at the top of his head.
"Sleep well?" he asked.
I shrugged. Having found a clean bowl in the cabinet, I poured a bit of cereal and milk into it. I took the seat across from Dad. I tried not to think about the girl, but her image was embedded in my brain. I wondered what might be in the box she had been carrying. Decorations for her room? Stuffed animals? Things of a more personal nature?
"Spoon?" Dad offered, and I accepted. Distracted, I had forgotten to get one for myself.
After munching a milky bite and swallowing, I said, "Going to go meet them?"
Dad nodded in reply. Mom couldn't tear her eyes away from the window long enough to respond.
Dad said, "After a shower. Don't want to give them the wrong first impression we're a bunch of unhygienic scurve-balls."
I raised my eyebrows. "Who says that's the wrong first impression?"
He chuckled in reply and shook his head. But he was right. We needed to shower. I planned on looking my best when I met the girl next door. Just thinking about her, I felt an awkward tightness in my chest.
This was not my first crush, but I had never felt like this. Especially not with a girl I had never even met.
After my shower, I took a moment to check myself out in the mirror. My wet hair lay plastered on my forehead; my cool blue eyes stared beneath it. I thought my eyes were my best feature; someone had once told me that they were piercing. I really took that to heart. If there was any part of me to physically win over the girl next door, I figured it would be my eyes.
I moved my eyes down. My abs looked fine. I ran track, so no problems there. Biceps were also decent. If she liked muscles, I was in pretty good shape both literally and figuratively. I didn't want to be arrogant, but I knew that a lot of girls at school thought I was cute. By no means was I a perfect physical specimen, but I was far from a dog.
When I met her, the girl with the red hair, the biggest thing was to just not be an asshole.
This had been a problem for me in the past, at least according to my ex-girlfriends. The biggest problem I had with my girlfriends was the fact I often became interested in other girls. I had no excuse. My excuse was that I was a man and in high school and desirable. This, apparently, made me an asshole.
"Don't be an asshole," I told my reflection. In return, my mirror-image doppelganger winked back at me.
They were still moving boxes when I went outside with my parents to greet them. I could feel my heart beating in my chest. I hadn't felt a rush like that probably since my first track meet. I didn't know if it was nerves or just anxious excitement. Either way, I felt a little bit shaky.
I walked towards her, held out my hands, and said, "Do you want some help?"
A pair of hazel eyes blinked over the top of a cardboard box, and I heard her reply, "Uh, I... uh, sure, yeah."
The box was thrust in my direction, and I took it. Now that it was out of her hands, I could see her clearly. She was even more beautiful that I had thought when I'd first seen her from my second story window. Her complexion was fair, and a light smatter of freckles dotted her nose. Her eyes were bright and intelligent. Her lips were full. I wanted to kiss her then and there.
I must have been staring because she smiled and motioned behind me, "The house is that way, Helper-boy." Her smile lit up her face, and her teeth were a line of straight pearls. She headed away, and I followed, careful not to allow my eyes to rest on the firm, round bottom restrained by her white shorts.
"I'm Matt. From next door," I said. She turned, her lips curled in an amused smile.
"Maddy." She made her way up the porch steps and opened the front door for me. I thought that I could tell by the way she looked at me that she didn't hate what she was seeing, was maybe even pleasantly surprised.
I set down the box. Then we made our way outside and started all over again. This became the routine for the next hour or so, and by the time we were done, I was lathered with a sheen of sweat and so was Maddy. Curls of her red dark stuck to the nape of her neck. Our parents had retired to the parlor, or what the Maddy's parents called a "parlor," anyway. Honestly, I didn't know what a parlor was, but that's where we found them seated on a set of matching couches.
"I'm sure Matthew would be more than willing to help you get that pool cleaned out," my Mom was offering on my behalf as Maddy and I approached. Usually, I hated when she volunteered my services, but this time, I didn't mind so much. I'd accept any excuse to give me more time to get to know Maddy.
"That would be wonderful," Maddy's mother replied. She was a good-looking woman in jeans and a white t-shirt. Her hair was pulled back in a tight ponytail, but it was obvious that Maddy's red hair was inherited from her mother. However, her mom's hair was not as rich, a bit browner than red, more of an amber.
"Would you mind, Matt?" this came from Dad, looking out for me as always. Dad knew I hated when Mom assumed I'd be more than happy to do whatever they told me. Dad had run a comb through his hair, but next to Maddy's dad, he still looked relatively homeless in his wrinkled red polo shirt and khakis.
Maddy's dad was movie-star handsome. He had dark brown hair and a square jaw. He filled his shirt with muscles. I couldn't help but notice Mom's lingering, admiring glances towards him. She'd hidden her gray streak under an Atlanta Braves ball cap. She kept twirling her finger through the curls around her ear like the girls did at school. I felt bad for Dad.
"No, sure. I mean, that'd be fine," I stuttered my way through a response. The adults went back to small talk, and after a moment, Maddy nudged me in the ribs with a bony elbow. I turned towards her, and she motioned out of the room with her chin. I nodded and followed her into a spacious kitchen area.
