• "He loves you, doesn't he?" Red remarks. It's more of a statement than a question.
    Now, this might have nothing to do with anything, but "Red" isn't his real name. His real name is Devon, but everyone, at least all his friends, call him Red. He got that nickname one summer when he fell asleep on the beach without sunscreen and woke up red as a beet.
    Red is a tall boy with straight, light brown hair long enough to fall over his deep chocolate eyes. He has a thin layer of dark stubble covering his strong jaw.
    Right now we sit on the small incline of the hill by the high school, gazing out at the field and the boys' soccer practice.
    Ron, the subject of our current conversation, plays on that very soccer team. As I watch him, he gains possession of the ball and dribbles down the field for a final kick, which sends the ball flying past the goalie and into the goal. His team cheers, and there are high fives all around as the goalie jogs after the ball.
    I wouldn't describe Ron as a total, hands-down attractive guy, but he's not bad, and he's got a nice personality. His sleek, chestnut brown hair hangs down over the left side of his face, covering his left eye and reaching down to just above the corner of his mouth.
    Ron turns and starts jogging back to center field. As he does, he catches sight of us and waves, and I wave back.
    "He does," I finally answer. "But I don't love him. Not the way he wants me to." I pause, then add, "He tries to win me over with gifts and sweet words, but he doesn't understand that's not what I want."
    "Isn't that what all girls want?" Red asks in that ironic, snickering tone he has.
    I glance sideways at him, then gaze back out at the field. "How stereotypical of you," I tell him drily. Then, sort of sadly, I murmur, "I've fallen for it twice."
    Suddenly I'm engulfed in memories. Memories that I hold a strange nostalgia for, but I would never wish to relive.
    It was about four years ago. I was seven, and he was in grade five. I know, it seems like a huge age difference, but at the time, I couldn't have cared less. At the time I thought he was so mature for his age, but really, what is maturity at, what, ten years of age?
    He didn't go to the same school as me, so I only saw him three times a week, and even then it was only for, well, less than an hour. So it should've been pretty obvious it was a dumb idea to begin with, right? Wrong. I fell so deep for his gifts and his way with words, I couldn't see the idiocy of it all.
    I remember one time he gave me a little green box, and when I opened I found a beautiful bead bracelet, with gold, blue, and purple beads. Along with the bracelet was a note, which read, "The gold beads are your hair, the blue beads your eyes, and the purple... well, I don't know what the purple are, but they're beautiful, just like you." Or something along those lines. Pretty good for an eleven year old, hey?
    Seeing as I only saw him three times a week, I should've known he was one person when I was there and another when I wasn't. But, of course, I didn't. To me, he was the perfect gentleman. Goes to show how much I knew.
    One night I saw who he really was, when he decided to ignore me, and when he wasn't ignoring me, he was insulting me to his friend as if I weren't there, which I guess could still be categorized as ignoring me. He was never the same gentleman I used to see him as again.
    For two years after that I would wonder what I did to make him hate me, until finally I understood it wasn't necessarily me at all.
    Again, just over a year ago, I fell for another guy who whispered sweet words in my ear, so to speak. It didn't last too long this time, as I like to think I was at least a little smarter after that first ordeal.
    I knew he had a reputation as a natural flirt, and, once again, I should have known it was a bad idea from the beginning. As a matter of fact, I did know, I just chose to ignore myself. People even tried to tell me it was a bad idea from the beginning, but did I listen? Of course not.
    Near the end of this sort-of,-not-really relationship, maybe about a month after it began, he told me there was this other girl he liked. He said he wouldn't flirt with her if it would hurt me, because, his words exactly, "I would rather have you around than her." I told him I wouldn't try to change who he was, and now that I think about it, my own words should have been a hint at how much of a bad idea this was.
    For a while he tried to keep us both, which, yeah, made me kind of mad, and eventually he started spending all his time with her. I guess by that time I didn't really care all that much anymore, but I was still a little hurt by how it ended.
    Bottom line: I'd learned my lesson.
    Don't fall for sweet words and beautiful gifts; it'll only bring you pain.
    Some may disagree wholeheartedly with that logic, but hey, everyone's entitled to their own opinion.

    "I've fallen for it twice," I repeat, louder this time, more confidently. "But never again." I stand up and walk back into the school, each of my strides carrying me farther from my past and farther into my future.
    It's a happy future.