How to Steal a Happy Ending

•six• But we were never lucky in love anyway.

Some houses have a garden. My garden has a house. It lay moderately sized and tucked into a small, unassuming corner bordered by the hedge my mother religiously trims every Sunday morning. There were rose bushes on either side of the wrought iron gate, shrouding our post box in thorns. There were daffodils, bluebells and a whole bunch of ornamentals whose names nobody, not even my mother, bothers to remember.

Then, of course, there was the cactus standing like an outcast amongst the rest. It wasn't pretty or nice to look at. It didn't bear fruit or flowers or even give shade. Regardless, it was my favorite. It gave me hope for the future; the one where I unearth the plant and throw its prickly ass at Kate's face.

I dragged our recycling bin in front of the car and sprinted to the front porch to take a look. Nope, a little more to the left .I jogged back and rearranged the set up. I leaned back as far as I could, trying to determine whether the bin would cover the scratch. What if she looks out the window? I scanned the yard for another inanimate object I could use to do my bidding. Pitchfork, lawn mower, a boy, water can...wait what? I spun back to face item number three.

Of all the boys in all the world, fate had to choose this one to decorate my lawn with. Pretend you didn't notice and go inside. Ignoring my inner voice of reason, I threw a feeble wave in his direction, "Hey."

He gave me a nod in place of an actual greeting and made his way across the garden. Dear legs: I, your brain, command you to move. My feet stayed firmly on the ground as I watched him saunter towards me. Dear brain: We, your feet, refuse to function in the presence of hot guys.

"What are you doing here?" I blurted out as he planted himself three feet away from where I stood. Real smooth, Heathrow. "I mean-uh- hi." Well, look who just bought non-refundable tickets to Loserville!

A hybrid between a laugh and an exhale escaped from his mouth. I'm guessing that was code for 'You're a weirdo, but at least you amuse me'. I ran my fingers through my hair as he gave me a cursory once over. Vince then shoved his hands into the front pockets of his tan jeans.

My own hands desperately tried to find a suitable position. Arms crossed. No, he'll think I'm pissed. Behind my back? Nope, projects my boobs forward. Okay, fingers on collarbone. Nah, too provocative. I settled on having the damned things lay limply by my sides, resisting the childhood urge to swing them back and forth.

"So listen," he addressed it to a spot above my head and took a deep breath, "That Kate girl told Mr. Cruz you were skipping so I-um" He scratched his left shoulder blade with his right hand, "You know my boy, Fred? He's on the team. You know him right? He's got cornrows?" I had no idea who he was talking about, but I nodded vigorously in an attempt to quickly dust my hands clean of this awkward conversation. Vince lightly bobbed his head in acknowledgement. "Yeah, so he said that you were sick and that the nurse gave you a note to go home. So yeah," he shrugged, "Just a heads up."

"Okay, thanks?" Why couldn't you just text me this shit, you caveman?

"I was actually heading to my aunt's house." He pointed across the street, "So it's not like I went out of my way or anything."

"Of course not." A short, vapid laugh escaped me, "why would you?"

We both stood there in silence for a couple of seconds, each hoping that the other would say goodbye first. Finally, realizing that Vince wasn't going to do it, I sucked in a breath to do the deed myself. "Okay, so my mom's inside. She's probably waiting for me..."

Refusing to make this any easier, Vince just gave me a curt nod.

"Bye." I spoke the word almost as if it was question. Cringing at the way that probably sounded, I barreled into my house.