Out of my League

Hi, I'm Samantha. Or Sam, for short. My dad hates that nickname so he calls me Samantha all the time. This is quite confusing, really. Aren't parents supposed to call you by your full name when they are mad at you? So when my dad would call me out, I could't really tell if he's angry, upset, happy or just calling me for the sake of calling me. It doesn't help that his voice is so monotonous that deciphering his mood is really out of the question.   My mom, on the other hand, loves calling me Sam. She has this preconceived notion that any girl with a boyish nickname is supposed to be cute. Cute, in my mom's world, means blonde pigtails, rosy cheeks and a devil-may-care attitude. Much to her disappointment (although she doesn't really tell me that right in my face), I came out getting 100% of my dad's genes. None of those gorgeous blue eyes or shimmering strawberry-blonde hair. My unruly mop of brown hair is somewhere between being straight and  curly, and my olive skin cannot decide if it can tan or not. Yes, I'm as mousy as it can be.  I'm an only child which was a conscious choice by my parents. "We want to give you our 100% attention, Sam, " coos my mom. "Having a brother or a sister would remove all that attention from you!" her eyes widening. Yeah, right. I suspect she just doesn't want to gain a single pound or give birth to an exact replica of Uncle Tony, my dad's brother.  It doesn't mean that I was lonely growing up. In fact, it was exactly the opposite. I had the best childhood as far as great childhoods go. Thanks to Kier. Ah, Kier. My knight-in-shining-armor. My hero. My savior. He with his stereotypical blonde hair and glistening blue eyes. He probably descended from a line of Vikings. Did I say my mom adore him? Of course, she does. They look like mother and son when we are all gathered together. I would always look like the odd one out. So typical.My dad couldn't care less. He was just probably thankful that there was someone for me to play with. Kier literally lives next door. Yes, as in next door. I walk out the house, take a few steps and he is just right there. Always.  He's a year older so he seems to think he's the wiser one. Not that I mind. I know I AM the wiser one. but I don't need to tell him that. Deep inside, he knows the truth.  Our small town is called Saint John. It is a quaint and picture-perfect neighborhood full of cul-de-sacs, pine trees and community events. We don't have fast-food restaurants or giant retail shops. Oh no, no. That would be the biggest nightmare of the town council. It doesn't matter that we live just 20 minutes away from San Francisco, the city of innovation. We live in a town that's stuck in the 1950s. Or 1960s, let's say. Kier and I grew up naming herds of deer and turkeys that roamed in our backyards. There was Bambi (of course), Happy, Doc and Grumpy. As you can see we were not very creative when we were kids. But boy, oh boy. Did we have fun or what? We fed ducks in the lake, imagined shapes from clouds, deciphered animal sounds. A gecko? An owl? A bobcat? Luckily, we didn't encounter any other wild animals like bears or gasp, lions.  When Kier went to Kindergarten ahead of me, I cried for hours and hours. My parents couldn't console me. They tried talking to the school superintendent to allow me in as I was way advanced than the other students, but alas, I was not allowed to get into the class. Too complicated, they said. I wonder what the complication was all about? It was not a university degree!  I spent hours and hours pouting while Kier was away. The minute he would come back from school, he would come pounding into our front door and we would spend the afternoons playing in the garden. It was like he was making up for all those times without me by his side. Like me, Kier is also an only child. Unlike my parents, Kier's parents would have loved to have a dozen more children running around their ranch house. Alas, it was not meant to be. His mom had some health complications that stopped her from having more kids.  So it was a win-win situation for both families.  He was like an older brother for me, and I, a younger sister for him. That was great when we were five-year olds, right? But not as seventeen-year olds. But I digress. I was always in awe of him. Kier. Even his name sounds exotic. I don't know of any other boy with that name. His mom, who is of Irish descent, told me that it means "little dark one." I remember guffawing and saying out loudly, "He is not a little dark one! He is a big blonde one!" Kier was so annoyed that he didn't speak with me for a day. Then he came knocking at our door and declared, "Since you are the little dark one, you shall be called Kier, and I would be called Sam!" I stared at him, wide-eyed and agreed, "Of course, Sam!" That didn't last long. My dad didn't find it funny and we resorted to calling each other Booger and Pooper. Sometimes I was Booger, sometimes I was Pooper. I've always loved books. Whenever Kier was not around, I would bury my nose in books. I loved devouring them. Fiction. Non-fiction. History. My mom couldn't understand why I would rather read a novel than go to the beauty parlor with her.  Meanwhile, Kier was already showing his love of sports even at the tender age of five. He was into every sport you could think of. Tennis. Swimming. Football. Baseball. We would always watch him compete with other youngsters his age. Sometimes I would catch my dad watching him longingly. Would he have loved to have an athletic child? I've tried joining Kier's classes. The coaches would always run whispering to my mom after each class, and then I would get pulled out from that class as quickly as I was enrolled.It was probably because I was running away from the ball and not towards it or it was probably because I got so many bruises from balls hitting me as I could not catch them fast enough. When it was my turn to get into Kindergarten, Kier couldn't wait to show me off to his first-grade classmates, "This is Sam, my pretty best friend!" His friends would stare at me, not say a word and go back to their coloring sessions. Meanwhile, I was so proud to be there in the same school with him. At last, we would be together again.  We took the same school bus and we would always seat together. Sometimes, we would sneakily exchange snacks and lunches together.  He would play in the playground with other burly boys, and I would sit in the corner, watching his golden hair shine in the morning sun. Sometimes I would be so blinded by it, that I had to close my eyes. "Sam! Sam!" he called out. "What?" "The school bus is there. C'mon, we have to hurry!" "Oh ok," I stood up wearily, clutching my school bag. He took my hand, and held it tightly as we walked towards the school bus together.