Hope for the Hopeless

Chapter 3

Jake and Hope met one September morning on the first day of Kindergarten. Hope had those shoes that lit up. They were L.A. Gears. Jake fell in love with her light up shoes. He had always wanted light up shoes, but his dad told him that he couldn't have them because they were "gay." If he had known what "gay" was back then, he probably would have come back with something sassy like "Well, I guess they were made for me then!" He would point that out to his dad now, but they weren't exactly speaking to each other.

Every Friday afternoon Jake would go over to Hope's house and wouldn't leave until Sunday evening. Jake's parents lived in a loft and while Jake had his own room, his parents' room was in the actual loft portion of their apartment -- the open-air part that made a loft a "loft.". One time Hope overheard her mom telling her aunt about Jake's living situation. Her mom said, "Trudy, there are things children should never have to know about their parents." That's why they always let Jake stay over whenever he wanted.

As only children, Jake and Hope were each other's support systems. It was hard for Hope to deny Jake anything. He loved shoes that lit up and had a collection of limited edition plates that featured portraits of the Queen's corgis, but he would still punch all the shitty boys in the face if they ever hurt Hope. Knowing this, Hope was very curious as to who might be good enough for Jake's endorsement.

They were standing in the entryway to one of those rare Vancouver unicorn kind of lofts: spacious, brick everywhere, wood beams, and very large windows. She gave the place a once over and looked at Jake, he shrugged his shoulders before handing her one of the two beverages he had been holding. Hope took a slow sip as she glanced around the room, trying to figure out who Jake had been flashing her Facebook profile picture too. Jake knew exactly what she was doing and started nodding his head over his shoulder in the direction of the kitchen.

"Do you have a twitch?" Hope asked.

"I'm being stealth, okay?" Jake replied, rolling his eyes.

"You're not stealth. You look like you have Parkinson's."

"Hope! We do not joke about neurological diseases."

"You joke about cancer all the time."

"There's a difference."

Hope was about to object when Jake squinted his eyes at her, grabbed her by the shoulders, spun her around, and pushed her into the kitchen.

"Jake!" Hope whispered aggressively. "There are a lot of people in here. Who am I looking for?"

Just as Hope stood up on her tiptoes and craned her neck around the crowd, a sweet baby angel emerged smiling at her.

"Hope?" he asked, extending his hand.

Hope swallowed audibly and rubbed her palm against her jeans before reaching out to shake the sweet baby angel's hand. "Yes, that's me. Hope!"

He kept smiling at her. His teeth were white, but not too white. He had good hair and strong shoulders. She wouldn't have been surprised to find out that he once rowed crew for Harvard and owned a stack of vintage J. Crew rugby shirts that were perfectly worn and smelled like soap. His name was probably something super bougie, she thought to herself. Something like "Lowell," or "Thatcher," or -

"Hale. I'm Hale," he said through his beaming smile. He was tall, maybe around six feet? Maybe not. Everyone felt really tall to Hope. Regardless, he was taller than her; his smile felt like the sun was shining down on Hope. If it had been winter, he could have been her own personal S.A.D. lamp. She stared up at him like he was a beacon of joy and eternal happiness.

"Hope!" It was Jake whispering in her ear. She ignored him. He started to pinch her shoulder. She slapped his hand away.

"Hi, Hale." She fluttered her eyelashes. When did she become the kind of person that fluttered her eyelashes? Jake stopped pinching her and let out a sigh.

"Hope!" He tried again.

"What?!" she hissed through gritted teeth.

"Hope, he's not -"

"Hey, friend," Hale leaned into Jake. "I think you're needed over there."

"What?" Jake was confused. He looked behind him. "Where?"

"There," Hale said, spinning Jake around and pushing him out of the kitchen.

"Oh!" Hope moved out of the way as Hale brushed by her to shove Jake. She was right, he did smell like soap. Hope loved a boy who showered.

"So," Hale pulled Hope into the tiny nook that served as a laundry room. "It's nice to meet you."

"Is it?" She chewed the lip of her cup.

Hale leaned in a bit, placing his hand beside Hope's head, enveloping her in his amazing fresh, soapy scent. Hope could feel herself blushing.

"You're quite forward, aren't you?" She smirked at him.

"I'm just trying to get to know you better."

She arched her eyebrow and laughed. "Are you fucking kidding me right now?"

Hale leaned back and covered his face with both hands.

"Am I being an asshole? I'm being an asshole! I'm so sorry, I'm not good at this."

"I would beg to differ. You seem to be very good at what you're doing."

He leaned back against the far wall, crossing his arms over his chest. He looked at Hope, appraising her carefully. They stood there in silence before it got to be too much for Hope.

"Okay then, it seems like we're done here so I'll just be on my way."

As she leaned forward to leave Hale stuck his arm out, pressing his hand against her shoulder preventing her from going any further. She looked down to find that the sleeve of his button up had inched up over his perfect wrist. Are perfect wrists even a thing? How could she be attracted to his wrists? She looked at his hand and then back up at him.

Hale smirked at her. He liked the way she looked at him, like she was ready to challenge everything he said and did. Hale liked a challenge. The stacked washer and dryer dwarfed her. She was so tiny. He could pick her up and take her anywhere he wanted. That would be a weird thing to do right now though. Yeah, it would be, he assured himself.

"What are you smiling at?" Hope asked, taking in the warmth of his hand on her shoulder.

"You," he replied.

"Ah." She furrowed her brow.

Hale didn't know what to do. He was losing her, he could feel it. He panicked. "Do you want to go sit on the couch?" Why would she want to go sit on the couch? He was trying to say things that sounded smart, but he wasn't. He sounded like an idiot.

Hope peeked around the corner into the living room. "I dunno, it looks pretty crowded."

He shrugged. "They'll move for me."

"Oh, will they? Are you the Moses of couches?"

There she was again, challenging him. He laughed. "Yes, I am. It probably also helps that I own that couch."

"Do you bring your own couch to all the parties?"

"Totally. It helps me get all the girls. But so does this apartment, which I live in. Hence, the couch."

Hope looked surprised. "This is your apartment?"

"Yeah. You didn't know whose house you were going to?"

"No, Jake just told me to come. I mean, I thought it was..." she trailed off.

"Do you always do what Jake tells you to?"

Hope nodded her head. "Yes, especially when he tells me there's a cute boy involved."