I glanced out the window at my inspiration. We'd talked about me writing this, debating how right it was. In the end, we decided it wouldn't hurt, so here I was. I pressed my pen to the paper, and the soft scratching of it filled the room.
I dribbled the ball lazily, and perched myself on the step. Giving the ball a shove, I watched it bounce down the lane, stopping just before the road. I sighed. Summer, so far, was not all I had wanted it to be. My best friend, Kara, was away on holidays, and my other friend, Brandon, had just moved to Texas. Basically, I was bored. I kicked at the driveway with the toe of my worn shoe and thought for the billionth time about the nice life I was going to have when I grew up and got away from Tulsa. Nice dream. I was getting out of here someday. Just you watch. Someday you'd turn on a movie, and I'd be starring in it. That was my dream. I wanted to act. There was really nothing to keep me in Tulsa, anyway. I'd always known that I would move to LA as soon as I was old enough.
"Hey, is this your ball?" a voice called.
I jumped, and snapped out of my day dream. Standing at the end of my driveway, was a boy I'd never seen before.
"Oh, yeah," I stammed, standing up, "Chuck it over here!"
He glanced at the ball in his hands, and threw it to me. I caught it, and flashed him one of what I hoped was a "I look just like Katie Holmes" smile, and sat back down on my step.
"Are you from here?" I called, squinting in the sun.
The boy, to my surprise, had turned to leave, but at my voice, had turned back around. He nodded, and shoved his hands in his pockets.
I suppose it would be a good time to describe to you the shy boy in my driveway. He stood fairly tall (taller than I remember Brandon standing, anyway), and had dark blond hair that hung just above his shoulders. The top of his head was covered by a New York Yankees hat, and his brown eyes were shaded, but seemed pleasant to me.
"I haven't seen you around before," I stated, nonchalantly.
He laughed, "I'm not from here. I live across town. My aunt lives here. We're visiting."
I nodded, and flashed him the same smile.
"So, do you have a name?" People always said I was talkative.
He walked up my drive and extended his hand. Never before had I been introduced to a boy around my age (which was 17) with a hand shake.
"Isaac Hanson," he told me, taking my hand which I had hestitantly offered, "You?"
I guess he saw the shock in my face. I mean, here I had been, talking to Isaac Hanson, and I had just realized it. I began to grin goofily for a second, before controlling my face, and letting the "How the heck didn't you recognize him?" arguement contunie in my head. Suddenly, he laughed.
"Yeah, that Isaac Hanson," he said, with a note of humor, "Don't look so shocked. I look different in a hat." He laughed again, and I felt worse than I had a minute ago, "So, do you have a name or not?"
"Darl McGinnus," I squeaked out, looking up in a sort of awe.
He raised an eyebrow, "Darl?"
I shuddered, and muttered, "It's short for my real name."
He nodded, and I could tell that he wanted to know exactly what it was. I groaned. Here I was talking to Isaac Hanson, and I had to admit my name. I made a mental note to thank Mom and Dad for chosing that name later.
"Darling. Darling McGinnus."
I looked at my feet while I said it. I've hated the name Darling all of my life. By the time I was six, I had everybody calling me Darl, because I simply didn't answer to Darling. Besides, Darling was more of a girly name, and I considered myself more of a tomboy.
"Darling is a nice name," he complimented, grinning. He had taken the ball from me, and was dribbling it. I snorted, and began to feel a bit more at ease.
"If you are a character in "Lady and the Tramp.""
He smiled, "Her real name was Darling. That was her pet name."
I'd been chided in a nice way, and I knew it, but I couldn't help shooting back, "So, you've watched it."
"I have little brothers and sisters, you know."
I'd been put in my place, and I knew it, so I simply laughed, and got up.
"Want to play one-on-one?" I asked.
He glanced at the ball, and shook his head, "I don't really play that much."
"Afraid to lose?" I tried out an innocent smile for that line.
He raised an eyebrow at me again, but got in his position, "To a girl? Never!"
"My, aren't we sexist," I replied, going for my position too. I would have really let him have it for that comment, but I could tell he didn't really mean it, and was only saying it to bug me.
"Go ahead and prove me wrong," he dared.
I laughed, and excepted the challenge.
Ten minutes later, I fell on my lawn and laughed. I'd proved him wrong all right. Nobody can beat Darl McGinnus at basketball. It's almost a proven fact.
"Don't we have a nice little ego," he laughed, when I told him this.
"Whatever," I smiled, "Just trying to comfort you. I know it must be hard to lose to a girl."
He shot me a dirty look. That's what I lived for. To turn people's lines on them.
He stretched out on the grass beside me, and smiled again.
"You've got me beat, Darling."
I turned to face him in total shock that somebody had the nerve to call me Darling instead of Darl, and was surprised to see how close he was. He shrugged, when he saw the look on my face, and said, "I like that name."
"I don't, I think it's awful," I half-whispered.
He nodded, and before I knew what was what, his lips were against mine. They stayed there for a moment (which, in my opinion, wasn't long enough) before he pulled away, and stood up.
"Nice playing basketball with you, Darling," he called over his shoulder, as he walked away, "Maybe I'll come again, we can do it again sometime!"
I found my bearings, and called back, "Only if you want your butt kicked!"
He laughed loudly, and continued down the lane.
I smiled at him, and touched my fingers to my lips, before pushing myself up off of the lawn, and skipping into the house.
The End.
I hit submit and waited while the page loaded my story. When it was done, I flicked the off button and went into the kitchen. I heard the front door slam, and wondered if my "inspiration" would ever learn not to slam things shut.
"Darling, want to play basketball?" he called, from the entrance way.
I'd given up trying to make him call me Darl a long time ago. Besides, I liked how it sounded when he said it.
"Coming, Isaac!" I called back.
Smiling to myself, I shut the fridge door, and walked outside. I was going to kick his butt, but hey, he'd played me for 10 years, and he'd never learned that.