When We Were Wildflowers

Chapter 5 - Boys

There's something infuriating about teenage boys. Maybe it's how they say "bruh" all the time, curl their lips into a smug grin when they nod, or look at girls like Poppy: obvious and slow, from head to toe. With these boys, it's all of the above, and my blood is boiling.

Your spot?! It's Poppy's spot! I want to tell them off, but no words come out. I tense my muscles, ready to hold our ground.

"Great minds think alike. Why don't you join us?" Poppy winks at the tall boy with the Chuck Taylor's and my jaw drops. "My name's Poppy."

"Luke." He tips his cap like cowboys do in old black-and-white movies. "This is Spence."

"It's short for Spencer," mumbles the boy with the round face and shy blue eyes.

Now, everyone is staring, waiting for me to speak, but I'm still processing Poppy's words. Join us? My mom said no boys, and I don't like these boys enough to disobey her. I glare at Poppy, waiting for her to remember her promise but, instead, she motions for them to come closer.

"That's Violet. She's shy." Poppy mouths the word 'relax' to me and then flashes Luke a wide, gap-toothed grin.

He nods that ridiculous nod all teenage boys do and his smirk reveals a row of silver braces. "'Sup. Spence is shy too. You two should hit it off."

Poppy tilts her head back a little too far and laughs, like it's the funniest thing she's heard all day. I fight out the urge to roll my eyes. When Luke walks to Poppy's side and Spencer approaches me with an awkward smile, I take a quick step back. Why are we splitting into pairs?

"You catch anything?" Spence asks with his gaze fixed on the shore.

"Not yet." I don't look at him either. My eyes are on Poppy flirting shamelessly with Luke over Spence's shoulder. "I don't know how to catch something."

"You don't know how to fish?" Spence is making eye contact now, studying me the same way I studied Poppy when she said she didn't have a phone.

I fidget with my clothes while he stares, tugging down the hem of my shorts. "Nope."

"I can teach you." Instead of that timid look, Spence morphs into someone else with a confident smile and perfect posture. "If you want."

I flash him an obligatory smile. "Okay. What do we do first?"

"I've already rigged my pole, so now all we need is the bait." Spence tears off his backpack and reaches inside.

"Worms?" My stomach goes queasy. Fishing is so disgusting.

Spence laughs and tugs on a plastic bag half-filled with white bread and it tumbles out of his canvas backpack. "I don't bother with those. Little dough balls will catch bluegill and the occasional smallmouth bass, but if it's catfish your after, I recommend cheese. The stinkier the better." 

He smiles wider and a warm sensation spreads across my cheeks and tickles the corners of my mouth. "Dough balls and stinky cheese, got it. What do you do after it's on the needle?"

"The needle?" Spence's blue eyes bulge and the flush under my cheeks spreads to the rest of my face. "You mean the hook?"

"Yeah, the hook." I shake off my embarrassment. "What do you do next?"

"Next, you cast." He says this like it's painfully obvious but all I can think of is the fiberglass cast I wore on my wrist in third grade and my eyebrows scrunch together. "You know, toss the hook out into the water?"

"Oh, yeah." I nod like it's all coming back to me. "Definitely. Just toss it in and forget about it."

"Well, you can just wait a while, or you can reel it in, real slow, tugging on the line every now and again to catch the fish's eye, but you have to find the perfect spot first. Fish like structure and cover." Spence points to a spot about twenty yards from us where a fallen tree trunk dips into the water and fades out of sight. "See that? That's the perfect spot."