Maybe Something More

prologue

JULIETTE
____________________

TEN YEARS AGO, I was turning six. Since my birthday was also, coincidentally, on Valentine's Day, Ayden had made sure that his little cards to me came in the shape of hearts, with annoying notes only your best friend would say.

You're pretty...

... Pretty annoying. Happy birthday, Jules!
Love, Ayden

Afterward, I had unceremoniously hit him with the card, even though I was used to the kind of stupid stuff he did at that age.

"Ow!" Ayden yelped, rubbing his hand furiously over the spot where I swatted him. "What was that for?!"

"You're always mean to me!" I pinched his cheek and slapped him on the shoulder. "Meanie!"

Ayden just laughed and, despite my tantrum, gave me a hug, full of comfort and relief. "You know I'm kidding around, Jules," he said with a warm smile. "You're not that bad. Maybe. Sometimes."

"No!" I yelled. "Don't hug me! You have boy germs!"

Ayden, smirking, began tickling me, and as I ran away from him, he chased after me, waggling his fingers teasingly and shouting, "Cooties!"

Looking back on it now, I realized I should have paid more attention to the adults that sat around the picnic table by the house, laughing at Ayden and me as we chased each other and played around.

"So cute together!" My mom was practically gushing as she sipped at her coffee. I could practically see the smile in her eyes and the grin she hid as he held the mug up to her mouth.

"Adorable," added Michelle, Ayden's mom, with a gentle nod. "I swear, it's like those two were made for each other."

"Look at them," they mused at the same time as they threw teasing glances at our direction.

My mom and Michelle turned towards our dads now. "We're betting fifty bucks that Ayden is gonna end up with Jules someday," said Mom, maybe as a joke, but I guessed that it was pretty serious to the rest of the parents.

Both dads snorted at that. "Even though he's my son," Chris, Ayden's dad, began, "I'm gonna bet that by the time he's eighteen, he won't have the guts to ask her out."

The parents exchanged glances. "You're on," they agreed, nodding at each other before going back to talking about boring stuff, current events and whatever else.

If only I'd known then. Maybe I could have prevented myself from falling too deep. Or maybe I could have joined in on the bet, so they would all owe me fifty bucks.

Then again, maybe it was all supposed to happen this way.

* * *

FOUR YEARS AGO, I was in the middle of second quarter in seventh grade. While everyone else had already started going out, I didn't really want to start—or ever start, for that matter.

In fact, I was going about my usual business and loading my backpack for the end of the day until the two most obnoxious pair of girls came up to me with such overly snooty looks that it seemed like they had a bad cold.

"So the dance is coming up," Stacy McAllister, the most popular and obnoxious girl in class, said in a snobbish tone. "Have anyone to take you, Ms. Perfect? A boyfriend?"

When they called me 'Ms. Perfect,' I just assumed that they were talking about my straight-A streak and active participation in extra-curricular activities—not including cheerleading, of course. I didn't know why that was some kind of jab. Was it some sort of accomplishment to be stupid and boring?