Sam pulled his red convertible, the one he worked oh so hard for, on the curb of your house, turning down the blaring radio and putting the baby in park. He honked his horn three times, presumably signaling you to come out.

See, you didn’t know who this was. You weren’t expecting anyone to be visiting you today. Your parents and sister were at a neighborhood cookout. The one you dreaded because the heat was turned to a thousand, kids spraying you with water guns, women gossiping about the next. It was a nuisance to you.

You turn down the radio in your kitchen, dropping the magazine you were reading as you stand in front of the screen door. Who was this guy? And why is he at your house?

“You coming or what?” He flashes you a cheeky smile, his pearly whites shining from the sun.