Why Don't You Want Me?

"Are you into me, Riaya?" The words hit me like a ton of bricks before I realized what was happening. The sun began its descent, casting a warm, golden hue over the quiet suburban streets of Ridgewood. My house, a charming two-story with white siding and a neatly trimmed lawn, contrasted starkly with the grand, colonial-style mansion next door where Angel lived. His house was imposing, with dark brick, towering columns, and an expansive front yard that hinted at a life of wealth and privilege. Despite our close proximity, our worlds felt miles apart. It was 5 p.m. when Angel Daughtry appeared at my front door, his silhouette framed against the fading daylight. I had been lost in a book, trying to escape the noise of my thoughts, when the sudden knock interrupted my solitude. The unexpectedness of his visit made my heart race as I opened the door, my mind scrambling to understand why he was here. “What are you doing here?” I asked, trying to keep my voice steady as I opened the door. My heart pounded in my chest. Angel shifted uncomfortably, running a hand through his tousled brown hair. “I—uh, I thought I’d drop by. Is that okay?” I hesitated, then nodded. “Sure, come in. I was just about to head to the backyard. Do you want to join me?” As I led him through the house, I could feel my pulse quicken. My home was modest, decorated with cozy furniture and family photos that spoke of a warm, if unremarkable, life. My sandy brown hair was loosely tied back, and I wore a simple blue dress that highlighted my tall, skinny frame, my curvy figure subtly emphasized by the way the fabric clung. My bluish-green eyes darted nervously as I led him out the back door. The backyard was our sanctuary, a small haven surrounded by a wooden fence and a scattering of trees. It was here, in this secluded spot, where we had spent countless afternoons talking and laughing, away from the prying eyes of the world. A rickety wooden swing hung from one of the trees, and a small, round table with two mismatched chairs sat nearby. This was where we had shared our secrets, dreams, and plans when we were still close. Angel followed me into the backyard, and I noticed how the light played across his features. He looked different now—more mature, his once-boyish face marked by the beginning of manhood. His eyes, a deep blue, held a hint of confusion as he looked around, seemingly lost in thought. “Remember this place?” I asked, trying to break the silence and ease the tension. “We used to come here all the time.” Angel’s gaze softened for a moment, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah, I remember. It’s been a while.” We sat down at the table, the air between us thick with unspoken words. I tried to ignore the way my heart fluttered at the proximity of his presence, focusing instead on the familiar comfort of our old spot. Angel shifted in his seat, clearly struggling with something. “So, um, I heard some things lately… about you.” My stomach churned. “About me? What kind of things?” He looked at me, his expression guarded. “Just… stuff. I heard that you might have feelings for me. Is that true?” My heart skipped a beat, and I looked away, suddenly very interested in the grass at my feet. “Why would you ask that?” I managed to stammer, trying to keep my voice neutral despite the heat rising in my cheeks. Angel’s face flushed slightly, his unease evident. “I don’t know. I guess I’m just curious. I mean, we haven’t talked in years, and now I hear that you might be into me? I didn’t think you were—well, I didn’t think you cared.” I took a deep breath, trying to steady myself. “And why should it matter to you now?” Angel looked taken aback by my response. “I don’t know. I guess I just didn’t expect—” “Are you into me, Riaya?” Angel’s voice pierced the stillness, cutting through the fragile space between us. His blue eyes locked onto mine, searching, daring me to admit something I had buried for years. My heart raced, my throat tight. I was too aware of him—of how dangerously close we were. I felt my cheeks heat. "Into you?" I forced out, voice strangled, trying to swallow the nerves crawling up my spine. "Why would I be into you?" Lame. So, so lame. Angel Daughtry, my next-door neighbor and the guy every girl in school secretly or not-so-secretly crushed on. But to me, he was more than just that. We had history. A tangled, messy history that went all the way back to childhood. We used to be best friends. Now, it felt like we were circling each other—stuck in a weird love-hate limbo. Except, the only one feeling the "love" part was me. He probably thought I hated him. I shook off the growing tightness in my chest, taking a step back, desperate to create space. It felt like the air was thickening, suffocating me the longer I stood there. I crossed my arms, trying to shield myself from the heat of his gaze, from the truth clawing at my insides. "Not every girl is into you, Angel," I snapped, my voice sharper than I intended. But inside? Inside, my heart screamed: I’ve been in love with you forever. His lips curled into that signature smirk, one that made my stomach flip and burn. He raised his hands in mock surrender, like this was all some big game. "Alright, alright. I’ll just chalk it up to rumors then." "Rumors?" The word slipped out before I could stop myself, my heart stumbling over itself. "What rumors?" Angel leaned in slightly, the mischievous spark in his eyes deepening. "That you’re obsessed with me. Totally head over heels." My world tilted, the ground suddenly feeling unsteady. No. No, no, no. Who told him? Only one person knew the truth, and Kaya would never betray me like that... would she? Panic bubbled up, clawing at my throat, making it hard to breathe. And of course, Angel noticed. He always noticed. "Relax, Yaya," he murmured, stepping closer. His hand landed on my back, warm, steady, rubbing gentle circles like he used to when we were kids and I’d get worked up. But now, every stroke sent electricity shooting through me. My skin tingled where he touched, and I felt dizzy, lightheaded from the proximity. He leaned closer, his breath brushing against the side of my neck. "Talk to me, Yaya," he whispered, his thumb brushing the curve of my cheek. That stupid nickname. The one he used to call me because he couldn’t pronounce Riaya properly when we were little. I hadn’t heard him say it in years—since before everything fell apart in seventh grade. And now? Now it shattered every defense I’d built around my heart. His eyes searched mine, those crystal-blue depths trapping me. And I was helpless, completely hopeless. Every time he looked at me like that, I felt seen—like he saw past all my walls and excuses. And I hated how much I wanted him to keep looking. I had to get out of here before I slipped and gave myself away. "I should... uh, Mom needs help with dinner," I blurted, the lie rushing out clumsily as I stepped back, away from his touch, away from the intoxicating pull of him. "She’s calling me." Without waiting for a response, I turned and rushed toward the house, my pulse racing. I could feel his eyes on me, and it took everything I had not to look back.