The first month of school went by in a flash. 9th grade was in full swing, and I was riding a high I’d never experienced in all my fourteen years.
Labor Day was a week away, and Liam and Wyatt were scheming a camping trip and a day at the springs. I hadn’t been to the springs since 7th grade, and I was thinking it would be a welcome break..
It was the Saturday before Labor Day, and I was lying in bed, sore from the game the night before. A bruise on my arm was turning a bluish-green shade by my left elbow. It would throb if I held it just right, so I had it propped up on a pillow when the phone rang.
“Hello,” I answered as I pulled the antenna out with my teeth.
“Hey,” I knew it was Blaire. Her voice sounded sleepy.
“What’s up? You okay?”
“Yeah,” I could hear the sigh in her voice. I’d learned it was when she wanted to say something, but would prefer you ask questions to get it out of her.
I chuckled. “Soooo?” I let it sit there, the silence hanging heavy between us.
“I don’t know. Chris. My mom said we are going to Amelia Island for Labor Day. I don’t know if I want to go to Amelia Island,” she huffed. Aww, yes, there it was.
“Why not?”
“Well…. I wanted to go to the springs with you guys. You and Wyatt. Megan. I hope you guys will invite me, she paused.
“Of course, of course,” I laughed.
“Chris. I’m serious. This isn’t funny.”
“I know. But your mom….” My arm began to throb as I rolled over, adjusting my pillow.
“I know…” she sighed. “Mimi and Paps are hosting a boil at the boat club. So, I have to go. It’s expected of me. Ya know?”
I felt like a fly on the wall... It scared me. Boat clubs, golf courses, low country boils, it was all new to me, but it was Blaire’s thing. So it was something I took an interest in, whether fully or just at arm's length. I had done cotillion for four years, but this was a whole other level. Etiquette came with a side of influence, and truthfully, it scared me.
“Yeah… “ I answered, even though I had no idea what was expected of her. I figured I’d play along until something clicked.
“That’s it….Yeah?”
“Well..Blaire…I don’t know…” I stumbled, trying to save face, fearful I'd say the wrong thing.
“I know…it’s so tough. I know Mimi would understand.” I think she was holding her breath. Either that or waiting for me to ask a question.
“But?” I probed.
“Paps and Daddy would never understand.” And there it was. She was afraid of her father’s approval. Her grandfather's supposed judgment. This would become a shadow that hung over us whenever ‘family’ things were planned with Blaire’s folks or grandparents.
“I want you to go. To go with us.” I answered softly.
“But?” she asked, her voice tight, on the verge of upset.
“In case you haven’t noticed, I don’t want to be ‘that boy’ when it comes to your folks.” I winced at how I said that and adjusted the pillow under my arm again, blaming it on that and not the way I said ’Folks’.
“You’re silly, Chris,” she laughed. I could hear the crumpling of sheets. I figured she was lying on her bed as well. I could hear her smile, and it warmed my chest.
“I’m glad I'm here to amuse you, Ms. Williams.” I chuckled.
And there it was again, that silence. It felt good. Like the calm after a thunderstorm, when everything felt rinsed and vulnerable. I heard her breathing, and I just wanted to listen.
“Blaire.”
“Yeah.”
“I want you to go with us, but I think you should go with your mom and dad. We’ll have plenty of time to go to the springs.” I let it sit, listening to her reaction. Listening for a sigh, a grunt, or a heavy exhale. But nothing.
“Can you go to the mall?” she asked, changing the subject only as Blaire could. And that was the end of the Amelia Island discussion.
“Yeah, let me get ready. Sbarro’s….say 11?” I asked.
“You’re killing me,” she groaned. “But okay,” her voice chirped as she hung up.
I looked at the clock. 9:15. The red dots blinked as I sat up, and something in my chest tightened with an awareness that I’d see Blaire in a couple of hours. I scratched my chin and felt the roughness there. I needed a shower and a shave, or at least that’s what I told myself as I stood. My ankles popped and cracked as I walked across the room, the soft carpet giving way to the cold hexagonal tiles of the bathroom.
I’ll never forget the smell of that old bathroom. A permanent mix of Aquanet and Jean Naté. It was a woman’s bathroom, no doubt about it.
I watched the toothpaste circle the sink as I wiped the condensation off the mirror. I was staring at myself in an “Ozzy” t‑shirt and a pair of boxers. The shirt didn’t fit the way it used to. It was tight in the shoulders, loose at the neck, like I was outgrowing pieces of myself unevenly. I felt the stubble on my chin and smirked. It could wait. Let it look intentional. I was going for a Sonny Crockett look anyway, even if the patchy peach fuzz wasn’t exactly cooperating.
The mall was half empty when Mom dropped me off at the food court. My fingers curled tight around the warm bronze handle as I pulled the door open. The bruise on my elbow pulsed under the skin, radiating down to my palm as I let go of the door.
Blaire was in a booth on the raised island by Sbarro, sipping a soda, legs crossed, completely unaware. I circled behind her. Doing my best to quietly creep and lean close.
“Hey,” I whispered.
She flinched and swatted at me. “Oh, Chris! You dork. I could’ve hurt you.” Her eyes dropped to my elbow, then back to my face.
“It’s from the game last night,” I said. “Winter Haven Christian plays rough.”
She nodded and stood, giving me a quick side hug before tossing her drink. The smell of rosewater and lavender trailed behind her. A smirk tugged at her mouth as she headed toward Auntie Anne’s.
“Come on. I want a pretzel,” she said, already advertising the plan, not leaving me room to argue.
“So, do you boss all the boys around or just me?” I joked.
“Chris… I wasn’t…” she started, hesitating.
“I’m joking. I’m joking. Promise,” I said, stumbling over the words, trying to save the moment.
Her shoulders loosened. “Well, in that case, we can get lemonade too.” She smiled and looped her arm through mine.
The mall was warm, the air damp from the fountains. We wandered down the stretch by Mervyn’s and stopped at the Kay-Bee Toys window. Little hopping dogs jittered in a shallow plastic bin by the door. Blaire scrunched her nose and laughed at them as I Can’t Live Without Your Love and Affection by Nelson blasted out of Sam Goody across the way.
“Oh, Chrrrriiiis!. I love this song,” Blaire drawled as she danced across the corridor toward the music store.
I was smitten. I realized I’d follow her anywhere as long as she said my name like that. I must’ve been smiling like an idiot when we stepped into Sam Goody, because Blaire pulled me close and kissed my cheek.
“You’re cute when you smile,” she said, her fingers brushing the side of my neck.
I bit my lip and looked away too fast, blinking before I forced a smile back at her. The moment slipped. My glance had knocked us off the tracks.
“Oh,” Blaire sighed as we walked toward the cassette singles, her voice dipping just a little. Her hand slipped from mine, her fingers dragging across my palm.
I scrambled for something to play it off with. Blame it on the bruise. Blame it on… something. Anything but my mind went blank.
Way to go, dumbass, I thought. Don’t bone this up. Gawd, don’t bone this up.
“Do you like Faith No More?” I asked as I flipped through the singles.
Blaire shrugged, her face scrunching as she wrinkled her nose.
“I like Depeche Mode. Roxette.” She paused, flipping two cassettes over and holding them up with a smirk. “Are you a Bon Jovi or Skid Row guy?”
“Hmm. I guess Skid Row, but if I’m being real…” I shuffled and grabbed a tape.
Blaire slid the tapes back and smiled, leaning over the rack. “Well?”
“Guess.”
“Uggghh, Chris…”
“Please?” I said, softer than I meant to.
“Okay, umm… Poison?” She rocked side to side.
“Nope.” I cut it short, trying to sound charming.
“Def Leppard?”
“Unah.”
“Chris, tell me.” Her frown was already creeping into a smile.
“Okay. It’s a secret, alright…” looking around suspiciously before I held up a Winger cassette.
Blaire laughed, loud at first, then cutting it off as she snorted and touched her stomach. “Oh, Chris… I was afraid it was Culture Club or something.”
I watched her laugh, her dimples pushing deep into her cheeks. I flipped the tape in my fingers, feeling the crinkle of the plastic wrapper before sliding it back into the rack. I wanted to make her laugh again. It did something warm to me, like someone had cracked open a window in my heart.
“Hey. That’s Wyatt and Megan.” I nodded toward the mall corridor.
“Megan?” Blaire repeated, leaning out to look. Wyatt and Megan were coming out of Mervyn’s, arms linked. Blaire glanced back at me. I gave a quick nod, and she lit up, waving.
“Hey, girl!” she shouted, already jogging toward them. I followed, trying not to look like I was chasing her.
“Yo! Chris!” Wyatt hollered, pulling me into a quick hug while the girls fell into their own orbit, laughing and talking.
Wyatt was one of my oldest friends. Our moms grew up together, and our parents had passed us between houses since we were toddlers. Megan had been his girlfriend since last year’s Valentine’s bonfire at St. Bart’s. They fit in that easy way that made you think they’d always been a pair.
Seeing them settled me. I hadn’t realized how tight my shoulders were until that moment. Being with Blaire felt good, but it also felt like I was onstage, like every move had to land clean. Wyatt showing up was like someone taking up the slack. I could breathe.
He clapped my shoulder. “You good?”
I nodded, but he saw through it. He always did.
I nodded, glancing from the girls to the empty bench. There was this unspoken agreement between us, so we sat while Blaire and Megan wandered toward Yankee Candle Company, already laughing about something.
“So… y’all a thing?” Wyatt asked. The question made the hair on the back of my neck stand up.
“Gawd. I want us to be,” I said, rubbing my neck. The words came out heavier than I wanted.
“Dude, don’t worry. She digs you.” Wyatt assured me, the way he always did when he knew I was about to spiral.
We stood and drifted toward the sporting goods store, killing time in the shoe section.
“I’m thinking about asking her to Homecoming,” I blurted near the Nike display.
Wyatt stopped dead, one foot squeaking on the tile. “Hell yeah. Do it, bro.” His voice had that older brother's weight to it as he started walking again, heading toward the Converse wall like nothing had changed.
“So… we going to the Springs?” Wyatt sighed as he picked up a pair of beige-and-paisley Chuck Taylors. He spun them in his hand, shrugged, and set them back on the shelf.
“I’m down, but I think Blaire has something at her grandparents’,” I said.
“Hmm.” He drifted toward the weight sets, hands in his pockets.
“That’s 225,” I said, nudging him. “You wanna hit it?”
“Oh, I’m on it.” Wyatt barked a laugh and rolled his shoulders like he was stepping onto a real platform.
“Come on. Get it,” I said, loud enough that half the store looked over. Wyatt grabbed the bar and knocked out three clean reps. He racked it with a clank.
“Hell…” I lowered my voice. “Hell yeah.” I slapped his hand as he sat up.
“Your turn.” His smirk crawled under my skin.
“Alright. Move.”
I slid onto the bench, rolling my neck as I settled under the bar. The steel felt cold and honest in my hands. I braced, breathed out, and pressed it once. Light. I pressed again. Then three more. Five total.
“Sheeitt. You got more in you,” Wyatt said, breathless. I racked the bar and stared at it. A personal best. In a damn mall.
“HEY! You two! This ain’t a gym!” the salesman yelled.
We spilled out of the sporting‑goods store, still laughing under our breath as the salesman glared at us through the glass. My chest was buzzing, part adrenaline, part disbelief that I’d just benched 225 in a mall like it was nothing.
Wyatt bumped my shoulder. “Dude, you’re gonna walk up with that energy, and she’s gonna melt.”
“Shut up,” I said, but I couldn’t stop the stupid grin pulling at my mouth. My arms felt loose and warm, like the weight had shown me a possibility. I was going to try to max out on Monday.
We rounded the corner toward Yankee Candle, the smell of vanilla and cinnamon hitting us before we even saw the store. Blaire and Megan were inside, heads bent over some candle with a ridiculous name like Autumn Daydream or Moon Whisper.
Blaire looked up first.
Her face lit up with that soft smile she only ever gave me. The one that made my ribs feel tight.
“Hey,” she said, stepping out of the store. “Where’d you two disappear to?”
Wyatt opened his mouth, ready to brag for me, but I shot him a look sharp enough to shut him up.
“Sporting goods,” I said, trying to sound normal. “Killed some time.”
She nodded, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “Cool.”
I stood there, still warm from the lift, and thought: Yeah. I can ask her to Homecoming.