The End

Chapter 9

            7:59 and he was at the curb; by 8:00, he was knocking on my door.

            He drove to a subdivision I never knew existed, conversing lightly. His car was clean, not exactly the typical teenage boy’s. The seats were soft, the interior smelling faintly of tobacco and warm leather.

            His dark T-shirt sleeves were rolled midway up his bicep, which rippled with each turn of the steering wheel. His hair was still wet from his shower, and in the enclosed space, the scent of soap and cologne radiated from him.

            We pulled into the long driveway, which led to a large house. The windows shone with light in the quickly darkening evening. As we drove down the driveway, he smiled, taking note of specific vehicles. Once fully parked, he jumped from the car, opening my door. Beginning the remainder of the trek to the house, he smiled again, reaching his fingers to mine. As our hand folded into each other’s, knotting together, his smile broadened.

            “I’m finally home, Florence,” he whispered, staring at my face. His eyes shone brightly, the setting sun behind him, eerily making him glow.

            “Home? Where were you before?”

            “Wandering. Waiting—but I’m home now.”

            “Here?” I asked.

            “Yes.”

            “This is your house?” I asked confusedly, looking at the mammoth building that stood in front of me.

            “It’s always been my house,” he laughed, “but it’s never been my home. Until now,” he said, squeezing my hand gently. “Maybe I’m rushing things, but I feel at home with you.”

            He looked at me nervously, waiting to judge my reaction. Rather than fumble with words, I decided to show him how I felt, pressing my lips against his gently.

            We stayed like that, saying everything without uttering a word. Losing awareness of all that went on around us, we stayed together, locked in our own world.

            After what seemed like mere seconds, the front door opened, a group of rambunctious boys rushing onto the porch to stare at the spectacle that was Duke and I.

            Duke was either unaware or ignoring them as they whistled, yelling rude comments. As one of them shouted for us to “get a room”, Duke pulled away laughing, brandishing his middle finger proudly. Gales of laughter erupted as he told them to do something that was anatomically impossible. Turning back to me, he pulled me in for one final, sweet kiss. Breaking away, his pink lips twisted into a wicked grin. Catching me behind the knees, I collapsed into his arms.

            He continued the walk up the driveway, carrying me as if I were his bride, while the team and his father looked on.

            “You’re so light,” he muttered as he mounted the stairs.

            Upon arrival, he was greeted with a round of applause, his teammates clapping him on the shoulder after placing me on my feet.

            “What is she? A princess?” a tall blond, wearing jersey number twelve, asked jokingly.

            “Yeah. She’s my princess,” Duke responded, tugging me closer.

            I felt sort of odd. I like Duke, I really do, but I can’t understand why he feels the same. I’ve known him for three days, three days, and yet I feel like I’ve known him for years. I’ve never felt this way about anyone. With just three days of knowing the other existed, I was much closer to him than I ever imagined possible. But it was so much more than that. He’d known about me for as long as he could remember. He’d heard of everything I’d done, every milestone I reached, every boundary I surpassed. He knows what I am; yet he accepts me.

            Dr. Stephens made me, Jason Reynolds fueled me, but Duke Reynolds saved me.