Tucker

How's it going? What have you discovered? Don't assume this is a romance... it's far from that.

“I saw you from across the field and your beauty blinded me so I’m going to need your name and number for insurance reasons.”
I glanced up from my pre-calculus assignment to see a boy roughly my age staring at me, amusement lined in his eyes. I recognized him from one of my classes, maybe physics, but couldn’t put a name to the face. Tall with dark curly hair and a bright dimpled smile that turned up on one side into a congenial half-grin, he appeared confident yet entertained.
“You know what I hate,” he asked, settling down next to where I had been waiting for Sean’s soccer practice to end. He unconsciously wiped a curl out of green eyes, the color of nature after hours of rain.
“I detest,” he stressed, pulling out a turkey sandwich from his backpack, “clichés. People are rather unimaginative. It’s not as if the girls actually fall for the lame pick-up lines! Or do they?” he glanced at me quizzically before taking a bite out of his already soaked-through sandwich. The curl had again fallen forward over his eyes and I suppressed the urge to brush it away.
“I don’t know,” I muttered, immersing myself once more into my homework. I pondered my escape route options, but nothing decent came to mind.
“Tucker,” he stated matter-of-factly, as if the name was supposed to trigger a reaction from me.
“17 years old. Two younger siblings. Moved here a couple years ago from Chicago. Big city, lots of interesting people. I like sand dollars, black and white photographs, and strawberry lemonade even though it doesn’t quench your thirst. Your turn.” He took another bite from his sandwich and awaited my reply.
“What?” I was exhausted and only desired a mint-chip ice cream cone and my Jodi Picoult book, which I’d conveniently forgotten at home.
“We’re skipping the awkward getting-to-know-you phase,” Tucker remarked with a sauce-covered smile, “It takes too long. So now it’s your turn.” He finished his sandwich with a final bite and wiped his hands on his jeans.
“What’s your name?” he encouraged, leaning back and observing me.
“Hey Callie, who’s this?” Sean came up beside the bleachers and glanced at me questionably. He had every right to be taken aback. Besides my friend Leah, whom I’d known since first grade, I had a strict no new people policy as well as an absolutely no guys rule. I was not going to be made a fool by the idiots that had overtaken my generation.
I shrugged, refusing to make eye contact with anyone. Instead, I busied myself by meticulously placing my homework into my red Jansport backpack.
“Tucker,” he said, “But not Everlasting. Although plenty of people call me Tuck.” He winked at me before sliding out of the bleachers. Two boys around 10-years old ran up to us and I was unsure as to whether they were bickering or joking around. Their hair was a miniature version of Tucker’s and their thin faces were mirrored onto one another.
“Tucker! I want to go swimming but Liam says that he won’t go unless you go, and I was thinking that maybe you could take us to the lake instead of the pool because it’s cooler there and maybe we could bring a soccer ball so I could work on my pass because I’m getting better, right Coach?” he looked up at Sean.
“Alright Champ,” Tucker responded, “let’s go. See you later, Callie!” he called back at me, hoisting Liam onto one shoulder in a firefighter fashion. The boy giggled uncontrollably screaming with protest. I rolled my eyes and followed Sean to his car.