Well perhaps not so sweet. I was never a bad girl. I was in the top sets, got great results and got on well with my parents and my teachers. However at 16 I had romance, I was dating a bad boy. Someone who was not in the top sets. Someone who’s mum drove way to fast with her music way to loud and wore her tops way too tight. He had blonde tips to his dark hair, wore a chain along his with his baggy school trousers and had a tattoo. I simply thought he was amazing.
He wasn’t all bad though. Our first day we spent together, we all hung out at a local skate park. I lived just outside of town about a 2 mile walk from the park and was under the instructions to be home before dark (a common rule in our house). As the night got later we headed back taking a short cut across the farmer’s field. My bad boy and his friend throwing sugar beets at one another while my friend and I giggled happily at them. By the time we got to the end of the field, it was almost dark and I knew I wasn’t going to make it on time. I told everyone I would go the rest of the way on my own and he rushed to my side saying he did not want me walking this late on my own. I refused to let him walk with me, as we spoke rain started to spit gently from the sky and I dreaded walking in late and soaked but at that moment he took his jacket off and wrapped it round me. As he hugged it around my shoulders he leaned in and kissed me. My stomach churned with butterflies as the rain fell around us. I pulled away and ran up the path, but when I got to the top I turned and waved, he was still watching.
When I arrived home, I traipsed soddenly into the house expecting to be told off but my mum told me to sit by the fire and dry off a bit while she made me a hot cuppa. My two dogs pranced around me eager to say hello. I buried my face into their fluffy backs trying to hide the smile that was glued on my face. Returning with the cuppa my mum sat on the chair nearest me and asked what I’d been up to. “Just hanging out at the park”, I answered. She nodded her head knowingly. After the cuppa I went upstairs to get changed into my pyjamas, only then did I realise I still had his coat on. How had my mum not said anything? It didn’t matter, I took it off his lovely masculine scent passing me as I hung it up on the back of my door. For now he was my secret, even if I hadn’t been as secret as I thought!
In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Only Sixteen.”