My Little Giraffe

15 Trethowan Road.

The house which had stood empty for the past year, now boasted a lawn cluttered with furniture. I sat on my bike, taking in the sight before me. I’d heard from Sophie Morris, who lived two doors down from me, that apparently the O’Neil’s were buying back their old home from the current owners. Until I’d seen the removal van parked in front of the house, it had been nothing more than mere speculation. Curious to find out whether there was any truth to the local gossip, I rode my bike closer to the house.

Three men stood in the front garden talking amongst themselves. These were most likely the removal men but they were young, probably near my age. Two of the men walked forward and picked up a sofa and carried it into the house. The third guy picked up a really large vase and made his way to the front door. Unfortunately, the height of the vase encumbered his sight, and it was with a grimace, I watched him trip. As the vase fell with a crush, a fourth guy came rushing out of the house. I watched the newcomer let loose some unsavoury words. Chuckling under my breath, I wondered if the guy who’d dropped the vase would fork out money to replace what he’d broken.

As if the newcomer felt himself being watched, his head swivelled in my direction and his eyes met mine. He said some final words to the other guy and started to walk towards me. Rather than make a getaway, I stood my ground and waited for him to reach me.

He walked through the gates and then there he was, standing in front of me.

“Hi,” he said.

I noticed then just how tall he was. Standing over six feet, I had to crane my neck to look up into his face. I felt intimidated as he stood there looming over me, and for a girl like me, that was a difficult task to achieve.

I got off my bike and leaned it against the wall.

“Hi,” I replied, squaring my shoulders until we stood toe to toe. At 5’8 I was not a diminutive girl. This was a problem when it came to boyfriends, in my experience, boys did not like it when potential girlfriends were as tall/or taller than them.

His lips twitched as he watched me, my posture daring him to stare me down. “Can I help you?”

His politeness was unexpected; obviously this guy had some manners. Unwittingly, some of my defences fell and I relaxed my stance.

“I heard from a neighbour that the O’Neil’s were moving in, I thought I’d check it out when I saw the removal van.” I heard the rather nosy note of my question and pointed towards my own house, in case he thought I was some random stranger. “I live at number 35.” I dropped my hand then and waited for his reply.

There was some commotion and we both turned our attention to the house where the noise was coming from. I frowned in thought as I took a moment to consider what the local gossip could mean.

“You don’t seem so keen on the idea?” His question broke my line of thinking and I turned to find him watching me.

I shrugged my shoulders. “The O’Neil’s had a little boy.” I released a sigh at the memory. “Let’s just say we did not get on.”

He smiled at me then. A full smile that revealed two dimples in each corner and for a few seconds there I was blinded. I blinked back and discreetly pinched myself.

He laughed softly. “Reminds me of our last neighbours little boy. He was a little bugger, used to put some kind of gunk all over the handles of my bike.”

“What kind of bike do you have?” I asked. I was proud of my snazzy, orange, Santa Cruz mountain bike and couldn’t help the slight note of arrogance in my voice.

He looked over my bike, perched against the brick wall, and smirked. “Yamaha YZF-R6,” he drawled. He casually leaned back against the wall and put his hands in his pockets. I had to force myself not to stand there with my mouth hanging open; motorbikes were a passion of mine. Instead, I shrugged my shoulders, trying to act all nonchalant and again those dimples made an appearance.

I cast my eyes downwards and quickly looked the guy over. I had to admit he was cute, from the tousled hair and that smile. If I was the swooning type, I would have been at his feet at the mention of that Yamaha; but I was a smart, intelligent female. Somehow I managed to stop myself from drooling. Just.

“So, are the O’Neil’s moving in?” I asked impatiently, he’d still yet to answer my earlier question.

“Yeah,” he replied simply. “Are you worried the little boy’s going to be a problem?” He teased.

I glared at the note of familiarity in his teasing. “He’s not a little boy anymore,” I scoffed. “Hopefully, the brat has grown up.” The smile returned but I ignored it and continued. “None of the neighbourhood kids would play with him,” I muttered as I recalled the past.

He frowned, “Isn’t that a little – mean?”

I rolled my eyes, “Please. He was a whiny, cry baby. None of the kids liked him and none of them would play with him.”

“Really,” he said sardonically.

“Yep.” I nodded my head and thought back to a decade ago. “He used to call me a giraffe.” I frowned at that unpleasant memory. Even at eight I’d been taller than all the other kids and it had been a sensitive subject for me.

I nodded my head. “This one time my ball fell into their garden but would he give it back? Oh no – that is until I kicked him in the shins. Hard.”

“Yeah.” He said a little irritably and focussed his gaze at something behind me. I turned to see what had caught his attention but could see nothing noteworthy.

Shrugging it off I continued to regale him with my story. “He just kept on calling me names.”

“Kids will be kids,” he said, sounding a little bored.

I ignored his comment and scoffed in indignation, “he was a fat, little brat.” His eyes widened but it didn’t faze me.

“What was his name?” I stopped to try to remember his name while he stood there murmuring under his breath.

“Todd…Tommy…” I scratched my head in thought.

“Steve?” He suggested.

I shook my head, “no it began with a T.”

I stood there trying to think what that little boy’s name had been, while he stood there watching and waiting. A voice in my mind whispered that I should try talking to the cute guy in front of me, instead of some pointless task. But that elusive memory kept taunting me and then it hit me.

I snapped my fingers and beamed, “I got it. It’s T-.”

“Hey,” shouted one of the removal men, who had popped out of the house. We both turned to face the guy. “You gonna give us a hand, Toby, or just hang around chatting?” Without another word, he went back into the house and left us alone.

Blue eyes collided with brown.

With a look of horror, I finished my sentence. “Toby,” I squeaked out.

“Yeah,” he muttered quietly.

An uncomfortable silence fell. We stood there facing each other and with each passing second I willed the ground to open up and swallow me, but it wasn’t to be. With my cheeks on fire, I briefly considered apologizing but decided against it. After everything I’d said it wouldn’t have sounded sincere.

I shuffled my feet, “so…” I said nervously.

He rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah,” he murmured with a small smile.

I opened my mouth but was interrupted before I could get my words out.

“I better go in and help out.” He nodded at the house and without another word made his way back in.

With his retreating back facing me, I slapped myself on the forehead for my stupidity.

“You and your big mouth,” I mumbled to myself.

“Hey, Sam?”

I lifted my head to see him, Toby, standing near the front door.

“I’ll see you around, little giraffe.” With another flash of those dimples, he went back into his house.

A/N: This is just a little short story that popped into my head yesterday, hope you like it.

I'm working on the next chapter of Hit and Run, and will hopefully update it a lot quicker than the last update. Just to remind you, I've now moved the story from the Romance category to Young Adults.

I'm going to try to keep my profile updated on a regular basis, so keep an eye out for story progress.