Chasing the Boy

Chapter Eleven

I was sitting at the kitchen table, writing in my journal while my mother and sister prepared dinner at the counter. My mom was showing Ava how to stuff a pepper and, judging by the level of concentration, it appeared to be an extremely intricate process. My younger sibling had grand designs of becoming a world famous chef someday and spent as much time as she could in the kitchen. I didn't have the heart to tell her our mother, however good intentioned, wasn't a very good cook and probably not the best of instructors.

I often wrote in the midst of bustling activity; I found the din my family created was like white noise for me – very calming. As I wrote page upon page, trying to find the words to best describe how I felt for Gregg, the smell of spiced hamburger and cooked peppers began to permeate the air. I was happy to note the aroma was not unpleasant– it certainly smelled edible – and that boded well for our upcoming dinner.

I thought about how good it'd felt to hold Gregg's hand and how frustrating it had been when he hadn't kissed me. I'd been certain he would kiss me as we stood out on the dock. Could there have been a more perfect time? I didn't think so, but he hadn't. When I'd dropped him off at his house, I'd been certain that he would kiss me before getting out of Kate's yellow banana boat. He did, but it hadn't been quite what I was hoping for.

In my mind, our first kiss would start out tentative and sweet. Our lips would meet - I could just imagine how soft his lips would be – and when our lips finally parted it would be at least an hour later. Needless to say, nothing of the sort happened. Before Gregg hopped out of the car, he leaned over and chastely pecked my cheek. It was the kind of kiss one usually reserves for grandmothers and elderly aunts.

While I was consumed with thoughts of kissing Gregg, my brother burst through the kitchen door. He was sweaty and had a film of dirt on his face, arms and legs. It looked like he'd been caught in the spray of dirt kicked back from a dirt bike tire. He was carrying a basketball under his arm and had a friend in tow.

"What's for dinner, Mom?" he asked, tossing the basketball into the back hall. I looked up from my journal long enough to glare at Ryan - he had completely ruined the harmonious atmosphere. His friend hung back, as if he didn't want to actually enter the room. I'd never met this particular boy; he had red hair, wore glasses and, like my brother, was covered in dirt. He was also liberally sprinkled with freckles.

My mother turned around to respond and saw her son was filthy. "Ryan, you're a mess. Go upstairs and wash up."

"Can Joey eat over?" he asked.

"Sure," my mother replied. "Hi Joey," she called over her shoulder, turning quickly to flash him a smile. "I hope you like stuffed peppers."
The redhead murmured something that sounded like "yes," and "thank you," before following my brother up to the second floor. I could hear running water and laughter drift down from the bathroom

"Who was that?" I asked. "I've never met him before. Does he talk?"

"Yes, he talks," Ava said in a defensive tone. "He's Ryan's new best friend. They met in school and he's been around a lot, but you wouldn't know because you're never here. He's really nice, so don't be mean to him."

I had a sneaking suspicion my little sister had her first crush. "Of course I won't be mean," I reassured her. "I was just wondering who he was."

She seemed mollified. "Well, he can be a bit shy at first, keep that in mind." Sometimes Ava sounded far older than her eleven years.

"Yes, oh wise one," I intoned, going back to my journal. Ava shook her head, as if I were a hopeless case and began measuring rice.

By the time Ryan clomped back down stairs and into the kitchen, I was finished writing. I was closing my journal to put it away when my wretched brother reached over my shoulder and yanked it out of my hand.