Boundless: A The Hoodie Girl One Shot

Brody and Bliss

Nine years after the ending of The Hoodie Girl...

Brody Knight

I'm hiking up to the top of the peak at Waterfront Lake Resort, a warm hand resting in my palm, and a small box with a large rock in it burning a hole in my pocket. Mia and Zack are trailing just behind. Asher and Wren are farther back because of Wren's newly discovered first pregnancy. Asher insisted on carrying her piggyback style, despite Wren's insistence that she's eight weeks pregnant, not eight months. This is a tradition that we've managed to keep over the years. It's everyone's favorite trip.

I smile as Mia squeals in protest when Zack pushes a lizard he managed to catch in her direction.

The hand holding mine squeezes and I look over to see stormy grey eyes sparkling with laughter.

I used to think that love was brown. Brown hair haphazardly tied back in a ponytail like it was a second thought. Brown eyes glowing with a fire that was too bright to be dimmed by the realities of a harsh existence.

I used to think that love was red. A red hoodie, simultaneously providing protection from the insurmountable uncertainties of life, all the while suffocating a beautiful soul. Red, rosy, pale lips, reluctantly smiling like they would be judged for it, despite the fact that the world was devoid of light without the sunshine the simple stretch of lips could bestow. At least in my little corner of the world.

It's funny how you can believe something with your entire being and it still won't make it true. I, Brody Knight, believed with every fiber of my being that Wren Martin was love incarnate. I was so sure she was what I needed to fill a void that left me incomplete.

That was a major misconception. I can see that now, anytime I look at her and Asher. The two of them together are the real picture of love incarnate. I was just trying to rush an outcome that I wanted, and mistook longing with love. I was longing for a happy future, Wren just wasn't meant to be mine and I have completely accepted that after all these years.

After all, who really finds the love of their life in high school?

I thought I would live my whole life just like my parents. They were two puzzle pieces that were incompatible, but shoved themselves together to make a broken whole for the sake of their son. Their convergence was instigated by the simple fact that my brother popped into reality after a drunken night out. After that, their entire life revolved around him, and then around me too.

They obviously have some spark, if my brother and I are any indication. But I'm fairly certain that spark starts and ends at sexual tension. I wanted more than that out of my life. I wanted passion and feeling.

I wanted to feel dizzy in love. Drunk in love, if you please, especially if Beyoncé's lyrics were any indication as to what that entails. After all, shouldn't love leave you lightheaded?

I'm glad I made all these expectations about what love should be. I'm glad that I didn't settle for a racing heartbeat and sweaty palms on the first date to pass for the real thing. I'm glad I was stubborn in my quest for my perfect puzzle piece that clicks right into place. If I hadn't been so strong in my resolve I would've settled. I would have never discovered that love isn't necessarily the colors I was envisioning it as, but more of the feeling the colors bring with them.

Love is the shivers of excitement I experience when I see gray eyes that hold so much electricity storm clouds during a hurricane would be envious. It's the way my blood buzzes with need and adoration when I catch sight of a gray sweater dress that hugs curves in all the right places, managing to be demure and seductive at the same time. It's the breath I lose at the sight of black curls flying all over the place, curls that can't be tamed, much like the spirit of the girl who sports them, curls that my fingers get tangled in during a passionate embrace. It's the way my heart squeezes when I glimpse black boots, tall and endearing, adding height to a short stature and appearing totally kick-ass on a girl who doesn't have a deceitful bone in her body. It's the way I forget the world around me while kissing pink, plump lips that are often used to mutter to oneself, lips that are always soft, lips that speak sassy, smart remarks. It's the way my fingers itch to touch pink cheeks that blush while happy, angry, sad, passionate, laughing, flustered, and in love.