He's sitting on his porch tossing a baseball around in his old, weathered glove when he first sees her.
She's stepping out of her parents' yellowed station wagon, which is filled to the brim with boxes and lamps and quilts, and the only thing he can think is that she has to have the shiniest hair he's ever seen. It's long and dark, falling down her back in one tight braid, secured at the end with a rubber band, and offset by a pink headband at the crown of her head. She's wearing a pair of denim short overalls, exposing legs that remind him of the coffee his mother pours every morning when she's sending him off to school, and the yellow tank she has tucked inside reveals smooth, chubby arms. He watches her adjust red glasses propped on her face, pushing them up on her nose with the palm of her hand, before turning around to reach into the vehicle. After a moment, she turns back around, hand firmly clasped around a much smaller brown one. It's a little boy, no older than two or three, with hair just as shiny as hers but in a mass of curls all around his head.
"Looks like we got new neighbors."
He turns to see his mother standing in the doorway, wiping flour covered hands on her checkered apron. "Why don't you go see if they need any help? Go introduce yourself."
He shrugs, back to watching the girl help the little boy up the stairs before disappearing into her home.
"Nah, it looks like they got it."
"Excuse me?" She's giving him that look now, the one that says my suggestion isn't actually a suggestion and it's also not debatable, and he heaves a heavy sigh before dropping his baseball and glove and heading over. He reaches the edge of her stoop right as she prepares to come down and he runs a hand through his hair. She spots him and pauses at the top.
"Hi."
Her voice reminds him of Saturday morning cartoons.
"Hey," he replies, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jeans.
She's smirking at him now, still standing at the top of the porch. "Did you need something?" she asks, leaning on the rail.
"Uh, no. I- I mean, I guess." He's nervous looking at her and he doesn't understand why. She's just some chubby brown girl that's moving in next door to him. There are plenty of other girls on their block. Of course, they're all older and in high school, but they're there. This isn't his first time talking to a girl his age.
It's not.
He clears his throat, rocking back in ratty old high top Converse. "I mean, my Ma told me to come over and see if you guys needed any help. I live next door."
She's about to speak when her mother appears behind her. She's all bright colors too- pink cropped pants, floral top- and a wide grin.
"Oh, look at you, Mindy! Already making friends!"
So her name is Mindy.
He likes it.
Not her of course. He just met her, for crying out loud. And yeah, he may have just spent the last fifteen minutes staring at her from the stairs of his house, but not because he likes her. He's... he's taking notes, is what it is. Making observations, making sure they're not like crazy or something like that. Trying to see if they have any weird items he should look out for, like an abundance of knives or cages but no dogs.
Definitely.
"Hello?" She's waving her hand in his face now, glitter covered nails sparkling in front of his eyes. "Did you hear me?"
"What?"
"I said, what's your name?"
"Oh. Uh- Danny."
She's flashing him a smile now and before he knows it, she's grabbing his hand and dragging him towards the car. "Well 'Uh Danny', you can help me carry stuff to my room," she says. She releases his hand to grab a rather large box from the back and he notes that his palm is tingling.
He wipes it down the front of his pants.
"Here." She drops the box into his arms. It's heavy.
"Aren't you going to grab something?" he musters.
She grabs a backpack out and slips it onto her shoulders. "I've got this," she smiles, and then she's off back up the stairs.
"Come on, Danny!" she calls from inside.
He feels a small smile creep across his face before biting it back. Get it together, Castellano.
And then he follows her.
"So how was next door?" his mother asks later that night. He's sitting at the kitchen table waiting for dinner.
He shrugs. "It was fine."
"Just fine?" she prods from her position at the stove.
Another shrug. "Yeah."
He hears her chuckle softly. He doesn't know what she's laughing about. It was just fine. Yeah, he may have spent the whole day over there- helping her hang up posters of guys he didn't know, arranging copious amounts on to her bookshelf, watching her pull out several dresses that she planned on wearing on the first day of school and asking his opinion, eating homemade cookies on her bed as she rambled on about nail polishes- but that didn't mean anything.
He was just being nice, like she told him to.
"Well, okay," she says lightly, stirring sauce on the burner. "Why don't you go get Richie and make sure you both get cleaned up. Dinner's almost ready."
He nods, scooting back in his chair and heading towards the room he shares with his younger sibling.
He misses his mother's knowing smile.