Page 3 of Reckless Roses
2
AUGUST
“HEY GIRL” - STEPHEN SANCHEZ
AGE ELEVEN - MAY
Late May sunshineburns the back of my head as I climb to the top of Hillside Road, making my way home from school. Adjusting to life in Pacific Shores hasn’t been the most pleasant experience, and I couldn’t be more excited that the school year is about to end.
Moving to a new town, a new school, and a new grade as the runt kid isn’t fun for anyone, I’m sure. Today was extra rough, though. I get teased for still wearing glasses because I’m afraid of contact lenses, or for spending lunch hour reading a book rather than playing kickball. But the worst part is,I don’t careif other kids make fun of me for it, and that seems to upset them more. So, they get meaner, harsher, more aggressive.
As I reach the end of our road, the big, purple trees that line our yard are on full display. I think my mom calls them jacarandas or something. They were regular old green trees when we moved into the house last summer, but earlier this spring, they exploded into bright purple flowers, covering our entire lawn in shades of violet and lavender.
What I don’t expect as I close in on my parents’ two-story house is a girl. She has to be around the same age as me, long, dark hair falling down her back as she hoists herself onto a higher branch of the jacaranda tree, holding her T-shirt out in front of her and plucking flowers off the stems, letting them fall into the pouch her shirt creates.
I step closer to her, standing on the sidewalk and watching from below as she climbs higher and higher. She doesn’t seem to notice me, which gives me a second to study her closely. She’s small, like me, wearing a black shirt and a pair of jeans, that dark curly hair swept back into a low ponytail that sways between her shoulders as she concentrates on picking a flower above her head.
“Hey!” I call out.
She gasps, head snapping down at my voice. She stumbles, rocking sideways and nearly losing her balance. My stomach shrinks up, afraid she’ll fall, before she catches herself on the branch she’s sitting on. Unfortunately, all the flowers in her shirt spill, sprinkling to the ground in front of me like snowflakes.
“Dammit!” she shrieks.
I run up to the tree, gathering her fallen petals in my own shirt. “Sorry,” I hiss. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“Well, what did you think was gonna happen?” she mutters as she effortlessly shimmies down the trunk, jumping to the ground right in front of me.
I finish picking up her flowers, gathering them in my shirt like she did, but when I straighten and see her face up close for the first time, the fabric falls from my grasp and her flowers tumble to the ground again.
She’s the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen.
With her hands on her hips, her brown eyes are narrowed to slits as she glares at me, but at just the right angle, the sun shines on them, and they look like caramel syrup. Her lips areturned into a frown, and for the first time in my life, I find myself wanting to say or do something—anything—to make a girl smile.
Those eyes slowly drag from my face to my feet, watching her flowers pile on the grass for the second time. She crosses her arms, sighing, before lifting her gaze.
“What are you staring at?”
That snaps me out of it. I squat all too quickly. “No—nothing.” I begin gathering her flowers again.
She drops to her knees in front of me, helping pick up the petals. “Who are you?”
“My name is Augustus,” I say, unsure why my voice is shaking. “But most people call me August. I guess the effort of those last two letters is too much for them.”
She laughs at that, and my chest feels like it’s going to explode.
“My name is Elena, but my friend Leo calls me Lena. I guess the E is too much work for him, too.” I match her laughter, and she raises her eyes to my face with a smirk. “So, why are you yelling at girls in trees, Augustus?”
I shrug. “I was just wondering what you were doing in my front yard.”
Her eyes go wide, and if I’m not mistaken, a bit of a blush colors her cheeks. “This is your house?”
I laugh again, nodding.
“My whole life, I only knew Miss Waterson to live here, and I thought she was way too old to have a kid.”
“Was that the lady who lived here before us?” I chuckle. “I think they moved her into a home. My parents bought the house last summer.”
“Oh.” She looks at her hands, seeming embarrassed. “Miss Waterson was so old, she never noticed when I’d steal her flowers in the spring. I guess I’ll have to stop doing that, then.”
