❝ There she was, thoughtlessly giving him tummy flutters again. ❞
In which a simple game of hide and seek could mean the world for two eight year-olds.
[ Added to WP Beauty's 'Feel Good' reading list ]
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Eight year-old Peter Romano was the best at drawing, and his five displayed artworks in the school patio can attest to that fact. He was popular. People often flocked around his table and asked him to draw either cartoon characters, animals, or objects. Almost everyone in the second grade asked him to draw something at least once, but not Catherine Wilson. She didn't seem to be easily impressed by someone who could create images from the complicated strokes of a pencil.
Peter had tried every possible way to catch her attention-from leaving cute drawings anonymously on her table or secretly putting candy pieces inside her bag. Much to his frustration, nothing seemed to work.
And so, although he probably had more luck with girls than his older brother, Peter finally took his advice. "Tease her non-stop," he advised him. "Statistics proved that it's the most effective way to catch a girl's attention and sweep her off her feet." At that time, he didn't know who or what "Statistics" was, but it was completely wrong.
Catherine absolutely hated him.
Which is why Peter accidentally said the forbidden word starting with 's' when he saw Catherine hiding inside the cupboard under the stars. He figured that he needed to win this round of hide-and-seek in order to win back her affection (if he had any in the first place).
But it seemed that luck was not on his side today. This was the only available hiding place in the house, and it's highly unlikely that Catherine would share it with him-not when she was glaring at him with the sun's fire in her eyes. He looked away before it could burn him.
"You," Catherine growled.
Peter didn't think it was possible to squeeze so much hatred and loathing into the three-letter word. But he paid it no mind, telling himself that he could tend to his wounded pride later. Getting a hiding place was his top priority. "I need a hiding place," he told her, looking frantically to his left and to his right. "Please."
"Go-go find your own!" Catherine snapped. She hated that she stuttered when she told him off because it gave Peter yet another reason to tease her. "This is already taken, and it doesn't have anymore space... especially for-for mean boys like you."
"Then, make one ... please."
"What if I don't want to?" Catherine said, sitting a little straighter. She had finally found her courage to say what she wanted; it was hiding, just like her. "Will you pull at my pigtails? Use the ends of my braids as your paintbrush? Make fun of my favorite dress?"
"No! Please, Cathy-"
"Ca-the-rine," she whisper-shouted. "Only my friends are allowed to call me that. And we're not friends, you four-eyed dweeb."
Four-eyed dweeb?
Peter exhaled deeply. "Whatever."
Catherine and Peter glared at each other, neither one of them willing to stand down in this battle of nerves. She stared up at him with a fierce determination, but she abruptly broke the eye contact when she heard the faintest of footsteps somewhere at the end of the hallway.
Peter seemed to hear them, too. "You don't have a choice now, do you?" he said matter-of-factly.
Catherine rolled her eyes at his tone and begrudgingly made space for him in the not-so-spacious cupboard. She made sure that there was some distance between them. It was bad enough that they were sharing a cramped space; she didn't want to touch him. "Get in," she said.
Peter slipped inside, discreetly pumping his fist in triumph.
