For the past six years, Saturday mornings in my house have always meant waking up at the crack of dawn, loading up moms Jeep Cherokee, and going to watch Melanie play soccer. I don't think our family has ever missed one game. This morning is no exception and the dew that coats the shiny, freshly mowed field sticks to the bottom of my pale blue Keds. Behind me my younger brother Jaime lugs our lawn chairs grumpily, and behind him is dad carrying the cooler, looking tired. It's a quarter to seven am and it took an hour's drive to get here. Melanie's already on the field warming up with the rest of her team, taking practice shots in the goal, while we set up shop on the sidelines with the rest of the families.
As we get settled, I pull up my long curly silver hair into a neat topknot at the crown of my head. Though I've never been big on fashion, these mornings are always particularly bad. Today for instance I'm wearing one of Mel's old warm up suits that she probably wore when she was about twelve and a pair of oversized Ray-bans to shield my eyes from the strengthening sun.
"Here honey." Mom hands me a Ziploc baggie full of chilled grapes, my favorite morning snack, and a tiny bottle of orange juice to sip on while we wait. Jaime sits in his chair beside me, headphones jammed into his ears, loud angry music filling the air around us. Mom rips one ear phone out to scold him "You better keep the volume down James, You'll ruin your hearing" and tosses a baggie of orange slices into his lap. I giggle at the affronted look on his face and he jams his elbow into my arm in reply.
There's still about fifteen minutes before the game begins so when Mom asks me to buy a Gatorade for Melanie at the snack bar, I don't hesitate. At this early hour the snack bar is practically empty and I wait patiently behind the pair of loud raucous boys in front of me. When they finally turn to go, the shorter of the two catches my eyes and I realize that I know him.
It's Melanie's boyfriend of two years, Jared Howe. He's a soccer player too, so he doesn't often make it to Mel's out of town games. He must have driven up today to surprise her. When he realizes who I am, he snags me up into a Jared patented bear hug, that has my feet dangling an entire foot off the ground and squealing in protest. Jared was the first boy that I ever had a real crush on. He and Mel started dating when I was only thirteen and he was everything I wanted in a boy: kind hearted, handsome, and could make me laugh without even trying. Eventually I lost my infatuation with him and we settled into an easy friendship.
"Hey little sister. I was just on my way to Camp Stryder." He sets me gently back down on my feet and pats the top of my bun good naturedly. Jared and Melanie have been together so long that he's more or less a part of our family now. "What are you doing over here?"
I hold up the Gatorade in means of explanation "Mom thought Mel needed another Gatorade. You know how she worries."
Jared's friend elbows him in the stomach and he laughs. "Sorry Wanda this is my best friend Ian O'Shea, Ian this is Mel's baby sister Wanda." I take a minute to examine Ian from behind the protective shield of my sunglasses. He is tall, a few inches taller than Jared's own six foot one, and very, very cute. His shaggy ink black hair is messy like he just rolled out of bed, but his sapphire blue eyes are sharp as they watch me, full pink lips quirked in a smirk. He and Jared are dressed similarly in charcoal gray hoodies advertising their club soccer team, ratty khaki cargo shorts, and weather beaten sneakers.
"Nice to meet you" I squeak out shyly, cursing myself as my neck and cheeks flush pale pink. Jared laughs at my embarrassment. My voice is achingly soft, and breathy and unfortunately squeaks whenever I get the least bit flustered.
"Your Mel's little sister, huh" Ian cocks his head and squints at me thoughtfully "you two look nothing alike."
While Mel is tall and athletic with tawny golden skin, pin straight shoulder length auburn hair, and almond shaped amber eyes, I am her exact opposite. I'm small, at five feet even, I'm shorter than my younger brother Jaime. My waist length silver blonde hair is a mess of curls, my skin is so pale it's almost translucent, and my gray eyes are practically white. So yeah, we don't exactly look alike.
"I'm adopted" I explain quickly flushing even more at his raised eyebrows "the Stryders took me in when I was eight."
"Y'know Ian, Wanda's full name is actually Wanderer Cloud Spinner." Jared waggles his eyebrows playfully at me. He knows I hate it when he brings up my full name, so he makes a point to tell it to everyone I meet. We start the trek back to where my family sits and I notice that they're both carrying their own lawn chairs.
"That's . . . definitely different. But it's cool." Ian smiles fully at me and I momentarily melt, stunned by his blinding, Crest approved teeth.
"My parents immigrated to the US from Russia when I was a baby. Apparently they wanted to give me a more American name." I shrug my dainty shoulders.
When we reach the field my family greets Jared enthusiastically. Mom hands him his preferred snack, dad shakes his hand and he and Jaime bump fists. He waves at Mel out on the field and she blows him a happy kiss in return. Ian props his chair up beside mine, and shoots me a friendly grin when I look at him.
"You mind if I sit beside you Wanda?"
"Um . . . sure." I snuggle deeper into my chair.
"So you don't play soccer?"
"No. I'm not really built for it." I played soccer with Mel exactly one time and after ten minutes on the field I'd tripped and broken my arm in three places. I've always been extremely delicate and very sickly, and with my incredibly short stature, Mom thinks I must have been premature.
"Oh well, what do you like to do then? " Ian leans forward resting his chin in his hand as if he's really interested in my answer. My stomach floods with butterflies and I look away from his inquisitive blue eyes, flushed from embarrassment.
"I don't . . . uh do much." I pick at the chipped pink nail polish on my tiny fingers nervously. I've never been good around boys. I'm too small, too squeaky, too delicate, like a little porcelain doll. They make me nervous and I can hardly think straight, let alone talk like a normal human being. Ian however doesn't seem freaked out by my lack of conversation skills. In fact he's smiling at me like we're old friends, and like I'm not a totally antisocial weirdo that he somehow got saddled with.
"Well maybe we could 'not do much' together sometime. Like hangout?"
I'm speechless for a moment and my hands shake until I wrap them around the chilled bottle of orange juice in my lap. A few seconds pass before I manage to squeak out a soft uncertain "Sure." And Ian seems incredibly pleased for some reason as he leans back into his chair and slips on a pair of his own sunglasses.
"Little Wanderer I think you and I are going to get along just fine."