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MAYA

O liver Blackwell was my neighbor before he was my crush. And he was my crush before he was the quarterback for Snow Ridge High’s varsity football team.

And he may or may not have been the main reason for trialing for the cheer team after a random and brief encounter with him in the school hallway in my freshman year. A freak flurry of snowflakes had every kid in school rushing for a look, and in the bustle of heading outdoors, Oliver had brushed against me. His arm had knocked mine, tightly clutching my phone in preparation for taking a photo, and he’d half-turned and apologized.

“Hey, sorry,” he’d said with a smile on his face, his dark brown eyes captivating, his half open mouth showing his upper row of perfect teeth. Yeah, 100 percent the smile was for the excitement of the snowfall (which, in fact, had only been hail), but in that split second, it was for me. Only me. My heart swelled, my body rejoiced and I’d suddenly recalled the notice for late cheer trials to boost low numbers.

It was a heart stopping moment of genius because being on the cheer team would not only mean close proximity to the football team, and in particular Oliver, but appeasing my parents who’d been encouraging me to participate in an extra-curricular activity for the good of my high school experience. I’d been quite content to just hang out with my friends—visiting cafes, binge watching shows, watching beauty tutorials and making our own videos all took a lot of time, but Mom, our school’s English teacher, suggested I join the film club or become part of the recycling team or learn to play Pickleball.

Protesting that I had no interest in any of those things, I feared being compared to my older sister Lizzie. She’d excelled in music and choir and could talk herself to kingdom come and convince you that the moon was made of cheese, whereas I had no spectacular talents. My opportunities had been numerous—piano lessons, tee-ball, skiing, mosaics art class, ballet and gymnastics. But the only thing that shone was my extreme mediocrity. I’d endure a semester, sometimes two, but none of those activities spoke to me, caused a spark. Not like Lizzie and her love for the clarinet or her absolute passion for debate. No, I was happy to coast along with a somewhat mundane life of watching movies, crushing on boy bands, drinking cappuccinos and dreaming about the perfect boyfriend...aka Oliver Blackwell.

My major infatuation with Oliver started back when I was a tiny fifth grader. The Blackwells had lived in the white two-story house next door for as long as I could remember. He and his three older brothers were always riding their bikes down the street or kicking a ball in their yard or playing catch on the sidewalk, big, tall boisterous boys who intimidated me.

But it was the day when I’d been sledding with Lizzie on the little hill at the end of our cul-de-sac that I really opened my eyes to Oliver. Lizzie had dragged me out of the house and down the street. But when my sled collided quite violently with Nick Herman’s on the Cherry Lane hill, it was Oliver Blackwell, and not Lizzie, who came to my rescue. All he did was pick up my sled and ask if I was okay, but there was something in his voice that had been gentle and full of concern, and his friendly smile had made my heart beat like crazy. And when he put his gloved hand on my shoulder to check I could stand okay, I’d looked up into his warm eyes and gone weak at the knees.

“You okay?” That’s what he said, and I’d been so blown away by the fact that he’d saved me, all I could whisper was, “Yeah, I think so.”

“Want me to carry your sled home for you?”

Dazed, I’d nodded, and Oliver had yelled at Nick for being a jerk and then said, “Your sister’s good at sledding.”

And I didn’t even care that he thought Lizzie was a great sledder—which she was, but she was older than me so she should be—all that mattered was that Oliver walked me to my house. Admittedly, he dumped the sled by the gate and raced back to the hill and I took my poor bruised body inside where Mom made me hot cocoa.

But that was the day I decided Oliver Blackwell was the most wonderful person in the universe and he owned my heart. I peered out of every window in our house at every opportunity to try to catch a glimpse of my hero, my crush, my love.

Many more times Lizzie and I sledded on the hill, but I never spoke to Oliver until several years later when his family were packing up and moving to a new neighborhood across town. Mr. Blackwell had hired a moving truck and the family was carting furniture and suitcases out.

Lizzie was chatting to George, Oliver’s older brother and helping him carry out cartons. I stood by the gate watching, a shy thirteen year old, in mourning because the most gorgeous boy in the world was moving away. I was lamenting the fact that I would have no purpose in life anymore, no reason to wake up early and get to the window to see Oliver leave for his morning training sessions or to see him arrive home in the evenings.

“Hey Maya,” Lizzie had called me over, “can you help? Instead of standing around daydreaming.” I’d dashed over to her, thankful for the chance to get closer to Oliver. “There’s a sports bag in there. Can you carry it?”

“Sure,” I said, hitching the duffel up over my shoulder. There must have been a bunch of bowling balls in there because it was heavy, like really heavy. But I didn’t want George or Lizzie to think I was weak, so I struggled with the bag down the driveway to the truck where I dropped it on the ground. George and Lizzie had already gone back to the house to get more stuff.

“Hey, Mia.” Oliver appeared in the back of the truck and jumped down as if the height was nothing.

“It’s My—a,” I corrected him rather indignantly, elongating my pronunciation.

“Oh, sorry,” he said as if he was genuinely surprised. “May—a.” I forgave him instantly because my name sounded magnificent coming from his lips, silky and smooth and mesmerizing. “Hey, thanks. That’s Dad’s bowling bag.”

I nodded, still heaving from its weight.

“He’d hate if that got left behind,” Oliver said.

I nodded again—it was all I could do, my lungs already at the extent of their breathing capacity. Oliver was gorgeous, he was like a greek god, a movie star with tousled hair and muscular arms. With complete ease, he single handedly hoisted the bag onto the truck. But in the next instant, Mr. Blackwell and Lance, another brother, arrived with a bookshelf and I had to scuttle out of their way.

Lizzie directed me to carry out a few smaller things, a box of recipe books and containers of kitchen gadgets. Oliver passed me by often with big items like an office chair and a stepladder, and when the truck was full, Oliver hopped in the front with his Dad and they drove off.

I left after that, but Lizzie stayed to help load up George’s car with his clothes and all his things. I danced on the front porch listening to music, waiting for the truck to come back, hoping for another sighting of Oliver before he disappeared to the other side of Snow Ridge.

But it took a long time and it was getting cold and I headed inside, jealous that Lizzie was still helping. Ages later, there was a knock on the backdoor and I rushed to answer it, but Dad got there first.

Mr. Blackwell was saying goodbye and Dad was wishing him good luck and they shook hands and I stood there, already feeling the loss of my daily sightings of Oliver from the window.

But Oliver jogged up our path, something tucked under his arm. And his eyes were directly on me.

“Oh hey, Maya,” he said. “Do you want this? I can’t really hang it out in our new house. And I’d hate to throw it out.”

Mr. Blackwell chuckled. “Oh no, it definitely won’t go down well in Maple Heights.”

As always, in the presence of Oliver, I was mute, my heart fluttering wildly as he unrolled and held up the Snow Ridge Owls football flag that had hung from his window. His three brothers had played in the team and as a freshman, Oliver played in the Junior Varsity team, but it was apparent he was destined for bigger things. “I hope you’ll be a fan next year.”

I could only nod, my eyes big and wide for several reasons: 1) that Oliver knew I’d be a freshman at Snow Ridge High next year, and 2) that he wanted me to have his flag, and 3) he wanted me to have his flag!

“For sure we’ll be at the games,” Dad answered for me, “won’t we, sweetheart?” Dad loved his football and I’d always gone to the Snow Ridge Owls’ games with him, but more because Lizzie played in the band. But now, with Oliver’s flag in my possession, I’d be a surefire fan.

“Yep,” I said, finding my voice, albeit croaky.

Oliver hesitantly stepped a little closer, holding the flag out. Our hands touched as he passed it to me and I thought I might faint. I’d actually fainted a few times, once in church at my great-uncle’s funeral service when it had been hot and stuffy and the speeches had droned on, and in gym class after we’d been running sprints and I’d gotten all dizzy.

I felt dizzy now as I said, “I’ll take good care of it.”

“Thanks,” Oliver said. He disappeared back down the path and Mr. Blackwell followed.

Oliver’s flag became a prized procession, hung on my wall above my desk so I could see if when I was lying in bed. Dad, Mom and Lizzie were the only ones who knew Oliver had given it to me.

Convincing Mom I was sincere in my quest to become a cheerleader had been met with a little skepticism, especially as my stints in anything sporty had been short-lived. Persuading Samantha, my best friend to trial with me had been in vain. She literally said she couldn’t think of anything worse. Sammy wasn’t interested in sport, and Evie wasn’t keen either, while Paige was too busy with skiing and swimming. But they did help me prepare my routines for the trials.

I’d been pleasantly surprised to know I had reasonable co-ordination and could learn cheers without too much effort, and yeah, perhaps Mom’s friendship with Mrs. Foster, the cheer coach, might have had some sway, but being named in the squad had been joyous beyond words, (even though they’d been desperate for numbers.) I was going to be a cheerleader and cheer for Oliver Blackwell and the football team!

But there was one minor detail I forgot to consider. You see, Oliver was taken. He’d started dating Savannah Adlam only weeks after football season started. At first, I was okay with it. Of course he would have a girlfriend, he was gorgeous. And Savannah was beautiful and popular and...a cheerleader too.

But I found out my humanness had its limits, and having to witness Oliver Blackwell and Savannah Adlam up close and personal through two football seasons had become a little soul-sucking. And if it hadn’t been for the fact that I absolutely adored cheer, loved learning new stunts and chants, loved the family atmosphere of the team, I probably never would have stuck it out.

You see, it was pretty much torture to see Oliver holding Savannah’s hand, or with his arm folded around her shoulder in a cuddle, or kissing her perfectly glossed lips or her forehead or her cheek. Oh yes, Oliver was very much the exemplary boyfriend, dreamy beyond words, affectionate and caring, and I watched with both fascination and envy, unable to look away.

He drew me in like a spinning neutron star—the most powerful magnet in the universe. Oliver’s soft brown hair with streaks of blond and honey and his intense dark brown eyes were a combination that left me pining and breathless and in a fantasy realm. And even when he was lip locked with Savannah, I watched in morbid wonder.

But today’s football game against the Lincoln High Lions had been the wake up call I didn’t know I needed, the day that my delusion finally manifested and I was resigned to letting my crush go. In hindsight, it probably should have happened back when Simon McAllister asked me to the Homecoming Dance or when Tarik Quaid invited me to the Halloween Bash. But no, I’d declined them both and had clung to my steadfast belief that Oliver Blackwell was the only boy for me.

The cheer team assembled alongside the bus to congratulate the boys on their victory as was our usual custom. Oliver led his team past us, high fives all around. And as he briefly pressed palms with me, he said, “Hey, Mia!” And my stomach had sunk with a heart wrenching thud and I could feel the air being sucked out of my lungs, my cheeks draining of color as it occurred to me that after all this time in the squad, Oliver didn’t know my name.

All those years of crushing and pining, of going to football games and joining the cheer squad, all obviously pointless. Because it was now doubtful Oliver even remembered I’d once been his neighbor and that he’d picked up my sled and given me his flag, and all I could do is watch in abject misery as he swept Savannah, cheer captain, into his arms, kissing her and showing the rest of us mere mortals how perfect they were together.

I sat next to Rose, my best cheerleading friend. She was a sophomore and new to the squad this season and we’d teamed up together when learning the drills.

Everyone was talking about the Owls’ victory and the amazing pass thrown by Oliver in the final minutes which allowed Darwin Rune to score the winning touchdown. Usually I would be joining in and gushing with praise about Oliver’s skilful play, but my energy had been sucked out of me with the mispronunciation of my name. Well, it wasn’t even a mispronunciation, it was a total wrong name! Maya and Mia were two completely different names! Like Eva and Ava, or Kellie and Kylie.

And that stark reality was enough to crush me. Such irony that my crush—somebody I’d held in such esteem for years (a foolish fantasy, Sammy liked to say)—would be the one to crush me.