Grammy wanted effort. She can deal with this I suppose.
She does more than deal with it, actually. “Oh, Andrea,” Grammy sighs as I enter the living room. “You look beautiful.”
“Absolutely stunning,” McKayla agrees. She’s changed into her own purple tunic, a light lavender garment with cap sleeves and a lace overlay everywhere but the sleeves, paired with floral leggings that go down just below her knees. Just then, Papaw walks in. He whistles.
“Where are you girls headed?” he interrogates.
“Sawyer’s birthday party,” I reply.
“Well, don’t get near me with that white dress,” he cautions. “I don’t want to get you all messy.”
“Believe me, I’d love it if motor oil got on this dress right now,” I tell him.
“Andrea! Effort!” Grammy repeats.
What I say: “Sorry, got it, effort.” What I mean: “Sorry (not sorry).”
“Good,” Grammy says, nodding. “In the car, both of you.”
The drive is only about ten minutes to his house, which is a decently-sized Victorian with the garage on the right side. The driveway and street are both full of cars, so we park a bit down the road and walk up to the door. Mrs. Hensley answers it and smiles. “Look at you girls! McKayla, Michael is in the kitchen waiting for you,” she says, waving us in. Mac heads into the kitchen and I linger for a moment in the large, high-ceiling entryway. “Andrea, you look gorgeous.” I grin, unable to help myself. Mrs. Hensley is kind of impossible not to like.
“Thank you,” I reply. “Your house is amazing.”
“We like it,” she agrees, nodding, then she turns back to greet more guests. I slowly venture down the hall in what I think is the direction of the kitchen.
I discover I am correct as I enter the room, lined with white cabinets and stainless steel appliances. It’s neat and big, but very cozy as well. My eyes travel around the room, taking in who is here until they land on Sawyer. His gaze is fixated on me from his spot across the room. He pulls at the red polo he’s wearing and smiles, making his way towards me. I take a few steps closer, but it only takes him a few strides to cross the space between us.
“Andrea,” he greets breathlessly. “You look… wow, you look amazing.” A light giggle comes out of me, from where, I have no idea.
“Thanks,” I say. “You’re not so bad yourself.”
“Thanks. My mum told me to wear something nicer than a t-shirt,” he laughs. I laugh, too.
“Ditto. My grandma and McKayla both kept telling me to make an effort.”
“Well, it looks to me like you made a huge effort,” he compliments. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you with your hair down before. Well, down and dry.”
“I don’t wear it down very often,” I explain.
“You should,” he recommends. “It’s nice.” I giggle again and glance down shyly. This girl is not me. I don’t know who she is, but it’s not me. This girl is gorgeous and giggly and getting along with Sawyer Jerkface Hensley. Although, he seems to be different, too in a way. “Do you want to head outside?”
“Sure,” I answer, smiling.
We exit through the sliding door in between the kitchen and living room and into the yard. The backyard is large and filled with people, most of whom I recognize from when I lived here or surf competitions, a few of whom wave or say hi.
In the corner of the yard to my right as I exit through the back door, a PVC rectangle with a white sheet strapped over the edges stands erect just off the patio, with a projector sitting on an old table about twenty feet back. Just after the table, the yard begins to incline up to a lovely little garden that I’m guessing is Mrs. Hensley’s. On the hill, blankets and pillows cover the lawn.
To my left on the patio is a table, overshadowed by an umbrella. Various candies, popcorn and other snacks are scattered across the table, with two blue coolers underneath for drinks. “Want something?” Sawyer inquires, noticing me
She does more than deal with it, actually. “Oh, Andrea,” Grammy sighs as I enter the living room. “You look beautiful.”
“Absolutely stunning,” McKayla agrees. She’s changed into her own purple tunic, a light lavender garment with cap sleeves and a lace overlay everywhere but the sleeves, paired with floral leggings that go down just below her knees. Just then, Papaw walks in. He whistles.
“Where are you girls headed?” he interrogates.
“Sawyer’s birthday party,” I reply.
“Well, don’t get near me with that white dress,” he cautions. “I don’t want to get you all messy.”
“Believe me, I’d love it if motor oil got on this dress right now,” I tell him.
“Andrea! Effort!” Grammy repeats.
What I say: “Sorry, got it, effort.” What I mean: “Sorry (not sorry).”
“Good,” Grammy says, nodding. “In the car, both of you.”
The drive is only about ten minutes to his house, which is a decently-sized Victorian with the garage on the right side. The driveway and street are both full of cars, so we park a bit down the road and walk up to the door. Mrs. Hensley answers it and smiles. “Look at you girls! McKayla, Michael is in the kitchen waiting for you,” she says, waving us in. Mac heads into the kitchen and I linger for a moment in the large, high-ceiling entryway. “Andrea, you look gorgeous.” I grin, unable to help myself. Mrs. Hensley is kind of impossible not to like.
“Thank you,” I reply. “Your house is amazing.”
“We like it,” she agrees, nodding, then she turns back to greet more guests. I slowly venture down the hall in what I think is the direction of the kitchen.
I discover I am correct as I enter the room, lined with white cabinets and stainless steel appliances. It’s neat and big, but very cozy as well. My eyes travel around the room, taking in who is here until they land on Sawyer. His gaze is fixated on me from his spot across the room. He pulls at the red polo he’s wearing and smiles, making his way towards me. I take a few steps closer, but it only takes him a few strides to cross the space between us.
“Andrea,” he greets breathlessly. “You look… wow, you look amazing.” A light giggle comes out of me, from where, I have no idea.
“Thanks,” I say. “You’re not so bad yourself.”
“Thanks. My mum told me to wear something nicer than a t-shirt,” he laughs. I laugh, too.
“Ditto. My grandma and McKayla both kept telling me to make an effort.”
“Well, it looks to me like you made a huge effort,” he compliments. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you with your hair down before. Well, down and dry.”
“I don’t wear it down very often,” I explain.
“You should,” he recommends. “It’s nice.” I giggle again and glance down shyly. This girl is not me. I don’t know who she is, but it’s not me. This girl is gorgeous and giggly and getting along with Sawyer Jerkface Hensley. Although, he seems to be different, too in a way. “Do you want to head outside?”
“Sure,” I answer, smiling.
We exit through the sliding door in between the kitchen and living room and into the yard. The backyard is large and filled with people, most of whom I recognize from when I lived here or surf competitions, a few of whom wave or say hi.
In the corner of the yard to my right as I exit through the back door, a PVC rectangle with a white sheet strapped over the edges stands erect just off the patio, with a projector sitting on an old table about twenty feet back. Just after the table, the yard begins to incline up to a lovely little garden that I’m guessing is Mrs. Hensley’s. On the hill, blankets and pillows cover the lawn.
To my left on the patio is a table, overshadowed by an umbrella. Various candies, popcorn and other snacks are scattered across the table, with two blue coolers underneath for drinks. “Want something?” Sawyer inquires, noticing me
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