I had to see Max again.
I only caught the barest glimpses of him at the next few spelling club meetings both our siblings attended. I had to straighten things out between us… was that a poor choice of words? Max was a giant loose end. I couldn’t afford another screw up.
I had to get this sorted out with Max. I hoped we might be even. I embarrassed Max years ago when I defeated him and now he’d settled the score. It was all water under the bridge now. We could start over, right? And if that meant we could act like nothing happened and I wouldn’t have to worry about him telling anyone about our tryst… well, that was just a pleasant side effect.
My family may be well off, but we believed in practicality. Our motto was substance before style; style was still important as image was everything, but substance mattered too. No, our motto would probably be ‘Beat Everyone, Win Everything.’ We had a lot of mottos. The point was that I don’t drive a flashy sports car unlike some kids in my grade who were gifted with glitzy vehicles when they turned 16. I owned a modest, dependable Honda Civic. At least it was dark green. I had begged for any color, literally any color except the beige my parents wanted.
An excerpt from my story, What Love Means.