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“You can’t make me marry you, Olive,” he snapped back, sticking his tongue out at me before laughing.
“We’ll see about that.” I crossed my arms, trying—with everything I had in me—not to show him how angry I felt, but I was failing miserably. The frown on my face and the tight balls of my fists gave me away.
“Olive. Don’t be mad. You’re my best friend; I’ll think about it, okay?”
“I don’t have to think about it,” I said tightly, and he smiled—gentle and resigned. One of many smiles I would’ve stolen and pocketed back then if I could’ve.
We were inseparable for a while, really. Having connected over our infatuation with books and movies and telling our own stories, spinning far-out tales of dragons and shape-shifting animals and other awesome things.
(These days my mother called it my skill for lying, but what did she know?)
So, one day, Neil and I had been connected at the hip, and the next, we weren’t. It was that simple. It wasn’t this long, drawn-out thing. Just two kids finding new interests and new best friends and moving on with their lives. That’s how it had felt to me, anyway.
It wasn’t until much later that I recognized the way his mom used to look at me. Like just the thought of her son being friends with me made her want to clutch her crucifix a little tighter.
I didn’t know if that had anything to do with it. If it did, or if it didn’t, either way, Neil had never been outwardly rude to me or anything. He’d just been obviously avoiding ever going out of his way to say a word to me.
But the same could’ve been said about me, I guess. And I wasn’t going to lie, I hadn’t given him much thought since.
Until today, of course. It was like the image of him, this new, distorted version of him, had permanently affixed itself to my brain and I wouldn’t be able to peel it off until I solved this mystery.
So far, all I had was an accumulation of small changes that equaled a different and embarrassingly hotter Neil.
But that couldn’t have really been it, right? Broader shoulders, suddenly more chiseled features, and a different haircut didn’t make someone all that different, did it?
I didn’t think so. It had to be something else.
And then it hit me. His eyes. And I mean, literally, he was looking right at me. But now that I was looking at them from across the square, it also hit me that they were what was different. They felt different. Like maybe he’d experienced things over the summer that had changed him somehow—
—holy hell,had he lost his virginity?
No. No way. But maybe… I tilted my head and gave him a closer inspection. My eyes trailed from his head to his toes and back up again.
Wouldn’t that be an interesting turn of events?Neil, not a virgin.
Huh.
Something told me I was wrong, though. Even though I hadn’t known him for over a decade now, I didn’t see him breaking that vow. I knew enough to know that church was important to him, and his father was apreacher,for Christ’s sake.
So, no, I didn’t really think that was it either.
I shook my head and brushed away my thoughts, forcing myself to look away from him. But I could still feel his eyes on me. I ignored the magnetic pull for about three seconds before looking back over at him again. (Magnetic pull?Yep, I was losing it. Clearly.)
Sydney cleared her throat and pulled me right out of the hole I was spiraling down. Away from the dark eyes that had penetrated mine with as much curiosity as I’d been unintentionally throwing his way. If blushing were a thing I’d do, I probably would’ve been doing it right about now. But it wasnota thing I did. Not at all. Especially not when it involved churchgoing boys like Neil.
Sydney’s smirk was fixed firmly back in place. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were crushing on choirboy over there,” she said.
I rolled my eyes, groaning. “Shut up. I’m just trying to figure out what’s different about him.”
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t know.” I shrugged. “Doesn’t he look different to you?”
She glanced over at him, giving him another look over. “Yeah, definitely,” she said, and the way she’d said it made me want to physically tear her eyes out of her face, but her next words were a bucket of cold water being poured over my head. “He got hotter. So what? He’s still Neil.”
“…Yeah,” I agreed after a few stuttering seconds of thought. She was right, mostly. He was still Neil. Religious, and pure, and off-limits. Especially to someone like me. Someone who looked at him and only wanted to defile and corrupt him.
“But…?” she hedged, pulling a piece of my hair into her hand and twirling it around her finger.