LIAM by Kat Lieu Page B

her head at me.
    Mandi could call me Peanut-Head or Ding-Dong Brain, or whatever she wants, and I wouldn’t mind.
    “You need to cover up those little man pecs of yours, ASAP.” She points at my naked chest.
                  She did say the word “man,” so I’ll consider that a win. I normally don’t ride my bike shirtless, but I figured I’d run into Mandi today, and maybe she’d see me in a different light when she sees how much I’ve, well, grown. I’ve started working out this summer and eating better. Two eggs for breakfast, vegetables for snacks. Protein shakes. The occasional bag of chips. Hot dogs, fistfuls of bacon, and triple cheeseburgers.
                  Anyway…
    I think there are at least two curls of chest hair between my pecs. I have washboard abs—a six-pack in fact. I’m no longer that sniffling, scrawny little boy she met four years ago when her family moved next door.
    “I should cover up?” I give her my best Donald Trump face, eyes narrowed, lips pursed, and all. “Look at you…” Bad idea… Stop staring at Mandi’s gorgeous face and her big... gulp.
    Mandi arches her right eyebrow. “What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?” She frowns.
    There’s really nothing wrong with what she’s wearing: a white tank top, jean shorts, and flip-flops.
    The real problem here is that my hormones are freaking bonkers.
    She loosens her braid, and her long black wavy hair fans over her bare shoulders. You can’t imagine how many times I’ve yearned to press my face against her head, to smell her hair. To touch that silky skin and kiss those lips of hers.
    My heart, as always, pounds so hard that I’m afraid it’s going to rip a hole in my chest. Sweat floods my pits. How sexy, Liam Daniels. How sexy… Before I make a fool out of myself, I turn to run home.
    “Uh… I have to go, uh, clean my room… Bye!” Watch me run, Mandi, like Usain Bolt.
    Then I stumble on some damn rocks on Mandi’s lawn.
    My goddess laughs. My ego and something else (down there) start to shrink. God, why can’t I be the college junior and Mandi the high school junior who’s crushing hard on me? When I started high school, I thought this crush of mine would fade, at least a bit. There’s like a freaking sea of cute girls at school, many of them interested in me. (Can’t blame them, I’m a stud.)
    But as cute as some of them are, they just can’t hold a candle to my wonderful Mandi Lee.
     
    ~*~
    …Mandi’s 21 st Birthday…
     
    I curse at Carl. “What’s taking so long, dingbat?”
    “Stop rushing me, man.” Carl grunts.
    “Hurry up, she’s coming downstairs.”
    Remind me not to assign candle-lighting duty to chubby-fingered Carl again. He fumbles with the matches and, an eternity later, he finally manages to light the candles on the cake we baked for Mandi.
    His mom, Mrs. Lee, laughs at us. “Relax, boys. Okay, it’s show time.”
    When we hear the front door opening, I walk slowly out of the kitchen. We’ve turned off all the lights in the house so that we can surprise Mandi when she comes in. So far, we’ve done this three years in a row, and we’ve always managed to surprise her.
    It doesn’t take much to make Mandi happy. She finds joy in the simplest of things. That’s one reason why I love her so much.
    Mandi walks into her house. We move toward her, half hidden in the shadows, so that the candlelit cake appears to be floating toward her. Mandi claps.
    “I love you guys,” Mandi says. She comes toward us to blow out the candles. Carl, his mother, and I sing Mandi the happy birthday song in the dark.
    “Let’s go eat the cake,” Mrs. Lee says. “We’ll go cut the cake.” She switches the lights back on and walks toward the kitchen with Carl.
    Mandi blinks. She puts down a large bouquet of red roses and a teddy bear next to her keys. Those presents must be from some guy who is gaga-in love with her.
    The gift I have for her suddenly seems so small and