Mollie Carter
I will never forget the first time Chase Richards actually spoke to me.
We were in the tenth grade at Centerville High. I was the brainy girl who headed up the yearbook committee and Chase was the star quarterback that every boy wanted to be like and every girl wanted to be with. You could say we were a mismatched pair from the start.
The boy who normally took the pictures of the sports teams for the yearbook was out with mono that week, so it fell on me to take the camera and go out on the football field to snap individual and group pictures of the football team and coaches.
I guess I was a pretty girl out on the outside, but a total nerd on the inside (I haven’t changed much). I wouldn’t settle for anything less than straight A’s and perfect test scores.
I was also a skinny redhead with more boobs than I needed and freckled skin that wouldn’t tan no matter what. I was Irish on my mom’s side and she always said the pasty Irish DNA runs deep.
I remember setting the camera up on the tripod and waiting impatiently as the coaches wrangled the players into two lines, with the tallest and broadest players in the back, the smaller ones in the front.
And there was Chase Richards, front row center, even though he was tall enough to be in the back row. I understood the logic: Chase was the star quarterback of the Centerville Trojans. He belonged front row center and that’s where he stood, grinning at the camera like the Cheshire Cat.
Chase’s star was on the rise. College recruiters from Alabama, Auburn, and Tennessee were already sniffing around, trying to lure him to their top 10 universities with winning football teams and fat alumni wallets.
Chase could stand anywhere he wanted and go to school anywhere he wanted. Even though he was barely sixteen, Chase had the world by the tail and everybody, including Chase, knew it.
Which made it really shocking when he came over to me after the photo shoot with his helmet in his hand and a big smile on his face.
Of course, I had been aware of Chase Richards for years, but had never even spoken to him. You couldn’t miss him because he stood out from the crowd because he didn’t look like a tenth grader. He looked older, more mature.
Chase was six feet tall and had broad shoulders, even without the football pads. I’d seen him at the pool once without his shirt. Talk about muscles. And unlike me, he seemed to always have a tan, even in the winter time. Oh, be still my heart!
His hair was long and dirty blonde. He had the bluest eyes I’ve ever seen and a smile that made me weak in the knees. He kind of reminded me of Brad Pitt, only better, if you can imagine that. Or maybe I was just partial.
Chase was always surrounded by cheerleaders, all of which would give him what every horny boy wanted any time he wanted it.
I was not like them. I wasn’t a prude, but I was no slut, either. Yes, I was a virgin and I totally intended to save myself for marriage.
I stuck to my intentions… right up to the point that Chase took my virginity in a sleeping bag in the back of his daddy’s old pickup truck just a few months later.
Oh well, I tried…
“Hey, nice job,” he said, coming to stand next to me with his helmet cupped under his right arm. I was packing the camera gear into a bag that was sitting on the sideline bleachers and not really paying attention. When I turned at the sound of his voice I saw the most beautiful blue eyes I’d ever seen smiling back at me.
“Uh, thanks,” I managed to say. I tried to return the smile, but honestly, I was so shocked that he was talking to me that I could barely remember my name. I just swallowed hard and went back to packing up the gear.
“Hey, so, are you coming to the game tonight?” he asked. There was an air of hope in his voice. He clutched the helmet to his chest and drummed his fingers against it. He kicked at the grass with the toe of his muddy cleat. “I mean, of course you are, you’re always there, taking pictures.”
I frowned at him for a second, then the smile I’d been too nervous to offer came to my lips. I was the one who took pictures during the home games because the aforementioned staff photographer with mono, a chubby boy named Arnold, was too out of shape to run up and down the sidelines.
I gave him a look of disbelief and said, “You’ve seen me taking pictures from the sidelines?”
He held up a dirty finger, then set the helmet on the ground. With his hands at his face, he mocked taking pictures and stumbling around, doing a pretty accurate impression of me running along the sidelines trying to get good action shots for the yearbook.
He stopped after a minute and bent over with his hands on his knees, pretending to be out of breath. We smiled at each other and I could almost feel the electricity dancing on my skin, like being outside before a thunderstorm.
He poked my arm with a stiff finger and said, “Of course I’ve seen you. You run almost as fast as some of our running backs. I keep telling the coach he should put you on the team.”
I heard myself laugh. God, I sounded like a little kid. I put my hands behind me and bounced on the balls of my feet. I tried to think of something clever to say. I tried to remember how to flirt. Heck, who was I kidding. I’d never flirted a day in my life. I was doing good not to wet myself!
Finally, after a moment of awkward silence, I said, “Well, I need to get this camera gear back to the yearbook office. Mrs. Wiggins will kill me if it gets broken.”
“So you’ll be at the game tonight?” he asked again.
“I will be there,” I said, hefting the heavy camera bag over my shoulder. I found myself grinning at him now. “I assume you’ll be at the game, too?”
“Wouldn’t miss it,” he said. When he smiled his entire face lit up. I suddenly felt dizzy, like his eyes had shot their arrows into my heart. He stuck out a hand and wiggled his fingers at me. “By the way, I’m Chase.”
I put my hand in his and felt his fingers close around it. A tingle went up my arm and spread throughout my body. It was the first time the word “horny” had ever entered my mind.
“I’m Mollie,” I said after clearing my throat.
“I know.” He gave my hand a squeeze and leaned in toward me until the scent of him filled my nostrils. He smelled of grass and sweat and dirt. It was a wonderful scent.
He said, “Hey, maybe we can hook up after the game. A bunch of us are going to a party at Mandy Smith’s house to celebrate our win.”
I looked at him sideways. “How do you know you’re going to win?”
He leaned in closer until our noses were an inch apart. His breath was hot on my cheek. His breath smelled of Gatorade and wintergreen.
With a wry smile he said, “Because I want us to win. And I always get what I want.” He gave me a wink. “So, see you tonight?”
I don’t remember answering, but I surely must have said yes or nodded my head because he said “Cool!” and gave me the smile again.
He scooped up his helmet and waved back at me as he jogged away.
Watching him go it never occurred to me that those few minutes standing on the practice field in the warm sunshine would determine the path of my life for many years to come.
Chase would steal my heart, then break it. But he would leave me with the greatest gift I’ll ever know.