When I See You Again

(14 years old)

“Lu! Hurry up or we’re leaving without you!” Lee’s voice bellows from the bottom of the stairs, rattling the family photos hanging in the hall.

I hastily wipe a streak of white toothpaste from my chin with the back of my sleeve. “Okay! I’m coming! One sec!”

I sprint down the hallway, swooping into my bedroom doorway just long enough to snag my backpack off the doorknob before skidding down the stairs on my socks.

“Mom made muffins before she left for work. Dad’s still asleep,” my other brother, Logan, says, grabbing a green apple from the counter and heading toward the front door. I snag a muffin from the plate, shove my feet into my scuffed boots, and rush out into the crisp morning air.

The sharp autumn chill bites through my thin denim jacket, and dry oak leaves crunch under me. My oldest brother, Lucas, is already behind the wheel of the idling sedan, waiting for us.

“Fuck off, dude! It’s my turn to sit up front!” Lee shouts, shoving Logan shoulder-first against the passenger door.

“No way. You said if I gave you the answers for the chem test, I got the front seat all week!” Logan shoots his right arm around Lee’s neck, trying to trap him in a headlock.

I roll my eyes at the familiar chaos and slide into my usual spot in the back.

“Hey, idiots, cut the shit,” Lucas’s stern voice slices through their grunts. “Figure it out now, or Lou and I are leaving. You can wake up Dad and explain why you’re both not at school.”

The twins instantly release their holds on each other at his threat. Lee lets out a defeated huff and rounds the bumper to slide in next to me. Lucas catches me in the rearview mirror with a subtle roll of his eyes, and I bite my lip to smother a laugh.

The engine hums as we reverse out of the driveway and onto the main road toward the high school. For two sweet minutes, the gold-and-red canopy of autumn trees passes in peaceful silence. Then the bickering starts again.

“Your answers for that test sucked, by the way,” Lee pouts, crossing his arms tight over his chest and slouching until his knees hit the back of the driver’s seat.

“Well, maybe if you spent more time studying instead of jerking off, you wouldn’t have to depend on me,” Logan shoots back. “I told you I didn’t remember everything that was on it.”

Lee kicks the back of Logan’s seat hard prompting Logan to thrust a middle finger over his headrest in response. I lose the battle to stay quiet and snicker out loud.

Lee whips his head toward me, glaring, and swats violently at the muffin in my hand. It flies out of my grip and tumbles onto the filthy, dirt-crusted floor mat.

“Lee! What the hell!” I groan, staring in horror at my ruined breakfast rolling around in dried mud.

“Whoops,” Lee shrugs, not looking even remotely sorry.

I grit my teeth and slam my fist into his bicep as hard as I can.

“Ow!” Lee shouts and lunges to shove me back, but I duck and swipe at his arm, launching us into an all-out war of elbows and knees.

“Yeah! Get him, Lu!” Logan cheers from the front.

“QUIT IT, ALL OF YOU, OR I’M PULLING OVER AND YOU CAN WALK!” Lucas’s voice booms through the cab, freezing us in place.

“Party pooper,” Logan mutters under his breath. Lee blows a loud raspberry, while I quietly whisper, “Sorry.”

Lucas is the leader of our little pack. We all respect his authority and know that he isn't bluffing. He will leave us on the curb without a second thought.

Our parents never planned on having four kids. Lucas is the oldest, a senior; Logan and Lee are sophomores; and I’m the freshman “whoops” baby. After the twins were born, my parents called it quits on having more. But it turns out, vasectomies aren’t one hundred percent foolproof, and a year later, I arrived.

I don’t mind living in a house full of boys. I love my brothers. Sure, they are loud, gross, and smell like stale tortilla chips and stinky socks, but they’re my entire world. They pick on me relentlessly, but it makes me tough—and they make sure everyone knows that only they have the right to mess with me. I still have a faint scar on my knee from when Freddie Carlson pushed me down on the playground in fifth grade, but Freddie still carries a scar on his cheek from when Lee and Logan tackled him into the woodchips for doing it.

Both of our parents work long hours to keep a roof over our heads and food on our plates, so from the moment Lucas was old enough to stay home alone, he was put in charge. We’re glued to each other's sides, which is probably why we get on each other's nerves so easily. As we grow up, the house starts to feel smaller. More suffocating.

“Mom said when you go off to college next year, I get the basement room,” Logan announces as we turn into the crowded student parking lot.

Lee instantly pitches forward over the center console. “No, she said one of us could move down there. Not specifically you. I want it.”

“Bro, I’m older. I get dibs.”

“You’re older by sixty seconds, dipshit!”

I let out an exasperated sigh, bend over to scoop my sad, dust-covered muffin off the floor, and open my door. You’d think that after nearly sixteen years together, they’d be over arguing semantics about who’s older.

The thought of Lucas being away at college next year makes my chest feel tight. If he’s gone, who will stop Logan and Lee from fighting? Who will run the recycling out to the curb on Wednesdays? Who will keep the balance in our already chaotic home? I push the thoughts far away as I make my way towards the bullding.

The parking lot is buzzing with teenagers, slammed car doors, and music blaring from open windows. I toss my ruined breakfast into a nearby trash can and hoist up my book bag.

“Lu, wait up,” Lucas half-jogs to catch up beside me. “The twins have wrestling practice today, and I have to stay late for a physics project.” A couple of upperclassmen nod at my brother as we walk; Lucas knows everyone and everyone likes him. It’s hard not to. Even if he wasn’t my brother I’d want to be his friend. He’s one of the best people I know.

I pivot toward the freshman hall, and Lucas turns with me. “I already talked to Emmett. He said he’d give you a ride home.”

I freeze mid-step, my pulse taking a violent dive. “Oh. No, that’s fine. I can just take the bus.” I try to keep my voice flat, praying my face isn't turning red at the mention of his best friend.

“He said it’s no big deal,” Lucas says, watching me with a raised eyebrow.

“It’s totally out of his way,” I press.

“He’s going that way anyway. He needs to pick up some truck parts for his dad across town.”

I open my mouth to invent another excuse, but the morning warning bell blares overhead.

“Just meet him at his locker after school. I gotta go—see ya later!” Lucas calls, turning on his heel and jogging down the hall.

My feet move on autopilot, hurrying through the narrowing crowd until I slide into my desk just as the final bell chimes.

“There you are!” Kylie whispers from the adjacent desk as I yank my homework out of my bag.

“¡Buenos días, clase!” Señor Hugo sings out, taking his position in front of the projector screen.

The next hour is a mush of verb conjugations and sentence building, none of which sticks in my head. My mind is trapped in an infinite loop, repeating one terrifying reality: I’m riding home with Emmett. By the time the bell rings and I am walking down the hall with Kylie in tow, I am, ¿cómo se dice?, so screwed.

“You feeling okay?” Kylie asks, pausing at a fountain to fill her metal water bottle. “You seem totally out of it.” She takes a sip and screws the cap back on.

“Emmett’s driving me home today.”

Kylie’s eyes go wide, a wicked, knowing grin spreading across her face.

“Because Lucas asked him to,” I add quickly with emphasis, desperate to kill the fantasy taking root in her head. Kylie is my best friend, and she is the sole vault that holds the secret of my massive, embarrassing, lifelong crush.

We resume walking toward the English hallway. “Maybe today’s the day you finally make a move,” Kylie suggests, wiggling her eyebrows up and down.

I slam my hand over her mouth, glancing frantically around the hallway. Luckily, the surrounding crowd is too focused on getting to class to notice us. “It’s not like that. I told you.”

Kylie casually licks the palm of my hand.

“Ew! Gross!” I rip my hand away, wiping the dampness against my jeans in disgust.

She doesn't even blink, unfazed. Leaning closer, she whispers, “But you want it to be like that.”

I roll my eyes and stare straight ahead. So what if she's right? So what if I’ve been hopelessly in love with Emmett Sterling for as long as I can remember? So what if he shows up in almost every dream I have? So what if I fantasize about him every minute of the day? So freaking what?

“It’s never gonna happen,” I say flatly as we round the corner into Creative Writing.

“Never say never... crazier things have happened.”

“Ky, we’re fourteen and Emmett’s about to turn eighteen. It’s quite literally illegal.” I whisper as I pull out my chair with a heavy scrape against the linoleum and drop into it.

“Yeah. But it won’t always be. You won’t be fourteen forever.” She looks at me, waiting for a response.

Thankfully, the bell chimes, rescuing me from having to participate in this unwanted conversation.

The rest of the school day fades into a blur of chalkboards, pop quizzes, and clock-watching. It isn't until the final minutes of eighth period—as I pack my notebooks away—that the cold reality hits me: I am seconds away from being alone with Emmett.

It isn't that I’m a stranger to him. The guy is practically attached to my brother’s hip, living at our house half the week. But usually, Lucas is there to act as a shield, a sort of buffer, helping me hide the fact that I turn into a nervous wreck whenever Emmett is within a thirty foot radius.

I duck into the girls' bathroom to inspect myself before facing him. My ponytail has sprouted an array of frizzy flyaways from running during gym, and a red smear of ketchup from lunch sits right on the chest of my t-shirt. I grab a wad of brown paper towels, wet them under the faucet, and scrub at the fabric. The stain fades slightly, but now I have a dark, wet circle sitting right over my chest. Great.

Why didn't I put on makeup this morning? Because I don't wear makeup, duh. Ugh. I should have at least put on lip balm or something.

I toss the soggy paper towel into the trash and step out into the hallway. There’s nothing about my appearance I can fix now. My heart thunders against my ribs as I weave through the lingering crowd toward Emmett’s locker. I know its exact location, even though I actively avoid this hallway during the day. On my very first day of school, I happened to walk by, and Emmett yelled my name, causing half the hall to turn and stare. Instead of playing it cool like a normal human being, I shot my hand up in a frantic wave and practically sprinted in the opposite direction. Smooth. Real smooth.

I feel on the verge of hyperventilating when I spot the back of his head.

Emmett stands well over six feet tall, making him impossible to miss. He hasn't gotten a haircut since before the summer started, so his thick, dark brown hair falls shaggy into his eyes and curls around the base of his neck, where traces of a summer tan still linger. His faded threadbare blue t-shirt stretches tight across the broad expanse of his back, the muscles in his forearms flexing as he reaches up to slide a notebook onto the top shelf.

I can’t help but fixate on his arms. God, his arms. I don't even remember when Emmett started looking like this. All I know is he went away to visit his grandparents in Florida for one summer, and when he came back, the boy I grew up around was gone, replaced by a man.

I admire him for a few more seconds before he pulls out his phone to check the time.

Shit, am I making him late?

I hurry forward, stopping a few feet behind him, and clear my throat. “Emmett?” I try to keep my voice steady, but it comes out in a squeak.

“Lulu, hey!” Emmett turns around, flashing me his usual effortless, bright white smile that immediately deprives my lungs of oxygen. “Ready to go?” he asks, slamming his locker shut with a heavy metallic clang.

“Uh, yeah. Thanks for the ride.” I awkwardly tug my backpack strap higher on my shoulder.

“No problem, we just have to wait for—”

“Sorry I’m late! I had to talk with Coach Davis about the pep rally this Friday.” A familiar feminine voice calls out.

I groan inwardly as Kitty strides up to us. Her blonde hair is pin-straight and glossy. Her manicured pink fingernails perfectly match her lipstick. She wears an off-the-shoulder sweater that looks both chic and effortless—draping loosely over her frame while somehow still accentuating her slim waist and large breasts. I suddenly feel hyper-aware of the mosquito bites I call boobs hidden under my stained, damp t-shirt. We’re wearing similar boots, but while hers look brand new, mine are caked in dried mud and winter salt stains.

Kitty leans in and plants a quick kiss on Emmett’s lips and I avert my eyes to look anywhere but at them.

“Louisa, hey! How are you?” Kitty’s lips curve into a warm smile, showcasing her flawless makeup that highlights her striking blue eyes and pretty face.

“Hi. I’m... uh, good,” is all I can manage to get out.

“C’mon, let’s go,” Emmett says, turning toward the exit doors and leading us to the parking lot.

I trail behind them, a cold knot forming in my stomach as Emmett casually drapes a heavy arm over Kitty’s shoulders. They look like a picture from a magazine: the star quarterback and the head cheerleader.

I hate that I feel this way. I hate that I resent Kitty when I don't have a single valid reason to hate her. Kitty Jensen is the ultimate definition of "don't judge a book by its cover." Looking at her platinum blonde hair and model looks, you'd expect her to be a raging bitch, but she actually isn't. Kitty is genuinely, frustratingly sweet and kind. She’s the head cheerleader, president of two student committees, and spends her Sunday mornings volunteering at the local women’s shelter. She and Emmett have been together since last year, and every time she comes over to our house, she is overwhelmingly nice to me. She even invited me to sit with her friends at lunch on my first day of school.

I climb into the backseat of Emmett’s Bronco after Kitty insists on offering me the front seat first. Jesus. Why did he have to fall in love with the Mother Teresa of high school?

I keep silent as we pull out of the lot, listening as Kitty and Emmett chat about the upcoming homecoming game.

“Louisa, are you going to the dance?” Kitty asks, turning around in her seat to look at me.

“Oh—” A hot flush creeps up my neck. “No. I’m probably not going.” I slump down into my seat, wishing the leather would open up and swallow me whole.

“What? No! You have to go!” Kitty looks genuinely upset on my behalf. “It’s your very first high school dance! You can’t miss it! Has anyone asked you yet?”

I actively contemplate opening the car door and tucking-and-rolling into oncoming traffic. The absolute last thing I want to do is admit to my crush—in front of his perfect girlfriend—that I’m a loser who nobody wants to take as their date.

As if sensing my deep embarrassment, Kitty cuts in before I have to answer. “I’m sure there’s a lucky guy waiting to ask you, but if you want, my cousin Derek doesn't have a date yet. Maybe you two could go together?”

If any other girl said this to me, I’d assume she was throwing subtle shade, but Kitty’s face is pure and sincere. Sometimes, I wish Kitty was just a bitch. It would make things so much easier for me. It would make my negative feelings towards her justifiable. But the truth is, I didnt hate Kitty. I envied her. I was jealous because she had Emmett, and I never would.

“Derek’s in our class, Kit,” Emmett interjects, throwing a brief glance at me in the rearview mirror.

Kitty turns toward him. “So?”

“Sooo, Lu is a freshman. She can’t go with him, he’s a senior. That would be weird—she’s just a kid.”

My entire body goes rigid. A kid? What the hell. I know I’m only fourteen, but I’ll be fifteen in a few months.

I open my mouth to defend myself, but the words catch in my throat.

“She’s not a kid,” Kitty counters, shooting me an apologetic smile. “She’s a beautiful young lady. Plus, she’s literally three years younger than us. There’s nothing weird about it!” She playfully pokes Emmett in his side. “If I were a freshman, would you not date me?”

“That’s different. You’re you, and you’re not a freshman,” he barks back. “Plus, good luck getting Lucas to ever agree to that. He’d kill any guy our age who even looked in Lou’s direction.”

My heart feels like a lead weight sinking into my stomach. The way Emmett talks about me makes it painfully clear: to him, I am nothing more than Lucas’s little sister. Emphasis on little.

I turn to stare out the window as his and Kitty’s playful bickering turns into background noise.

Emmett might see me as a kid right now, but it won’t be like this forever.. I won’t always be the little kid needing a ride home. Just like Kylie said—I’m not going to be fourteen forever.