I sat on the bumper of my dad's Silverado trunk, parked in the mud of the ground outside of the baseball game.

My brother played, but I hated watching the game. SO boring. I was forced to come, nonetheless, and read a book on the tailgate of my dad's sleek, red Silverado, outside of the boys' locker room.

The game must have ended, because people came pouring out of the field. I also heard cheers; our team must have won.

Then he walked out. Scott Blunder. The tall, blue eyed, brown haired, deep voiced boy that everyone adored. I had a huge crush on him, even though we were so different. Scott, a country, sporty, popular boy. Me, Avery Goodman, rocker chick, skinny but out of shape, unpopular, considered weird by most, girl.

I was always too nervous to say anything to him, yet I found a word spilling out of my mouth:

"Hey."

I couldn't believe I had said it. And, surprisingly, he acknowledged me. Scott looked at me and smiled a pearly smile of perfect teeth.

"Hey, there," he said. Deep, country voice.

That was the first time we exchanged words.

-----------------------------------

A few months later, Scott walked me to that same old Silverado. By this time, though, it had been passed down to my brother. Tears were welling up in my eyes. I didn't want to leave. I didn't want to leave my town, my friends, and, most of all, I didn't want to leave my Scott.

He helped me up into the not-so-sleek red truck. I kissed him one last time.

"I'll call you tomorrow."

Scott let go of my hand.

That was a call I never got to make.