Page 5 of Hiding from Hope

When I turn my head over my shoulder, a tiny little butterfly dips in my stomach, only for a second before it’s gone. Because JJ is staring at me and he has a soft smile on his face.

Casey – age 14

2011

“Make sure you give these to Lillian, dear.”

“Yes, mom,” I grunt and quickly pluck the container of Scottish macaroons out of the car. Mom finally let me make these on my own and they were the best batch yet. I couldn’t wait for everyone to taste them. I loved baking. For a really brief second, I wondered if Addison’s older brother would be home from college and if he’d like them too? He was always demolishing the treats mom made me bring with me every time I came to Addison’s for a sleepover. I don’t really know why he crossed my mind, but there was always something about his presence. I seemed to lose most brain function and my mouth was dry. The last time I came over and he was home, my stomach also did something weird. It kind of felt like I was going to throw up, but also made me want to laugh. Kind of also like I needed to pee. No one had ever made me do that before, and it was so weird because he didn’t even say anything… he just looked at me and smiled.

I have to shake my head because the mere thought of seeing him was officially giving me that reaction. I was putting it down to hormones. Mom called me a late bloomer, said any day now I’ll mature just that little bit more and then I’d probably be more like Grace. I knew she meant get my period, but I hardly believed I’d start and then suddenly be dying to kiss a bunch of boys. My older sister was always talking about boys and kissing them and stuff. I wasn’t overly interested, but for some reason, I thought Jessie would be great at that.

Good god, Casey. He is a college student, and I am still in the ninth grade.

Walking up to the front door, I knock and wait. Hearing mom pull back down the Jenkins’ stupid long driveway, I admire their home, which was epically large. After a few minutes, the front door opens, and my mouth dries up like the freaking Sahara Desert.

“The Little Baker. What treats did you bring us this time?” Remember when I said my friend’s college age brother made my body do things I didn’t understand? Well, imagine that, except now I was seeing him shirtless for the first time, and holy heavens. Can boys be beautiful? Because Jessie Jenkins was so good to look at, I couldn’t stop staring.

Jessie doesn’t seem to notice my obvious ogling or apparent weirdness because he just takes the container from my hands and waltzes back into the house, leaving me a drooling mess on his doorstep. I manage to quickly shake myself free of the thoughts and chase after him, closing the front door behind me.

“Hey! They were for Mrs. Jenkins, not you,” I scold him, trying to steal back the container, but Jessie is tall and muscular—the kind you’d expect from a college Ice Hockey player—and I just look like a scrawny runt in comparison. His half smirk and playful eyes watch me as he continues to munch on the macaroons. Through a fully stuffed mouth, he fumbles over words I think are, “What the fuck is this? It’s delicious.”

“Jessie! Watch your mouth around the kids,” Addison’s mom calls out from somewhere close but out of sight, and I roll my eyes.

“I’m not a kid. And also,” I leap when he isn’t expecting it and manage to steal the container, “these aren’t for you. I made them for your mom.”

“You are a kid. Well, a baby-teen, anyway.” Jessie shrugs and licks the remainder of the powder from his fingers. “You made these? Shit, Ace. Not bad.”

Jessie just gave me a nickname. There goes that weird butterfly-stomach thing.

“Ace?” I ask and he just shrugs. I can’t help but stare at him, watching the way his neck works as he swallows his mouthful, the way his tongue flicks out to lick his lips and the way his long lashes frame his light eyes. Eventually he seems to forget my existence and turns to head upstairs, and now I was just watching his back–his bare back–the muscles move with every step and his bum. Oh my god. Can bums be attractive? Is this what happens with adult hormones?! They melt your brain and turn you mindless? I was becoming worse than Grace.

All the Jenkins’ were beautiful though. Addison was the prettiest girl in all of our classes, and her older sister, Ava, had boys constantly chasing her, although she just started dating the football captain that every other girl seems to be obsessed with, Matt something. I didn’t really pay attention because, for whatever reason, the only one of the male species that seemed to steal my attention long enough to make me notice things was Jessie.

“Do you need any help, Mrs. Anderson?” I ask the Jenkins’ family cook. They don’t have her over all the time, but I love when she is in the kitchen. It’s a lot more fun than when Mrs. Jenkins is in here.

“It’s just Mary, love. Did you mind setting the table for me?” she asks, her gentle smile firmly in place as always and I nod, heading toward the cutlery drawer. Addison was having a shower before dinner and I was bored waiting in her room, so I figured I’d come to my favorite place in any house. Except, you should see their kitchen–epic.

We work in silent tandem, Mary finishing the plating of the food while I set out the cutlery when I hear heavy foot falls on the stairs and then down the hall toward us.

“Smells excellent, Mary,” Jessie compliments as he enters the kitchen, heading straight for the fridge. Despite the fact that I feel my cheeks instantly heat with his presence in the kitchen, I pretend not to care and keep at my task.

“You better not be spoiling your dinner, JJ.” I hear the sound of her smacking his hand and JJ’s deep laugh from the kitchen before it’s silent again.

“Need any help?”

“Gahh!” That stupid noise leaves my mouth and I die of embarrassment. The sudden closeness of Jessie’s voice scares the crap out of me and I spin on a yelp, dropping the hold on the remaining cutlery in my hand.

“Woah, Ace. Sorry, didn’t mean to sneak up on you.” He laughs and bends, efficiently collecting the dropped cutlery and placing it on the table. “You good?” he asks, a slight furrow in his brow as he searches my face. My brain must be broken again because I can’t say anything, instead I just stare at him again. Thankfully, this time he has a shirt on, but his hair is messy in kind of a cute way, and he has a slight crease under his eye when he smiles softly like that. I realize in this moment I’ve never seen him smile really big. Like the kind of smile when I found out I was in the AP program, or when dad made it to my first dance recital. Actually, I smile big all the time. Why doesn’t he?

“Why…” I shake my head. That is a weird question, Casey. Don’t ask that question.

“Why?” He tilts his head, looking confused.

“Never mind,” I breathe and hope he doesn’t keep asking. His eyes dart to the pin at the top of my head. I hadn’t bothered to style my bangs today, so I needed them out of the way.

“You pinned your fringe back,” he says, and he taps a finger to the pin on my head. I swear the air got thicker in here. Not being able to say anything, I just nod, my eyes locked on him, unable to blink.

“I like it. You can see your eyes better,” he responds nonchalantly, like a simple fact.

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