Lizzie

If there is something Brandon can do, it's eat until the cows come home. I'm not kidding you. He can eat for an army and still not put on any weight. But then he does work out a lot and burns off so many calories playing football. He has to train with the team four nights a week and spends a session in the gym most mornings before school. This guy is dedicated to his sport, and one day for sure, I know that Brandon is going to be a hot shot. In school, he already is.

That is precisely why it makes my life so difficult. All the girls want him, and I am so sick and tired of seeing them all flirt with him, touching him, and just getting in his face. I wouldn't say he adores the attention. Much. Okay, maybe just a little bit. Denver loves it; oh my God, that boy loves the attention. I honestly don't know how Lilly puts up with it. Love and trust, I guess.

I have come close to slapping some of the girls who fawn all over Brandon. All of this never bothered me before; I was just a kid, but I'm not a kid anymore. I'm growing up, and so many things are changing that it's scary. "It's all part of becoming an adult." My mom had said. I didn't, of course, tell her I fancied Brandon or had the biggest boy crush ever.

Actually, if I'm perfectly honest, I wish I didn't. It aggravates me that I feel this way about my best friend. It makes me so damn angry that I know at times I can be awkward and difficult and Brandon can't read me.

Talking of Brandon, he is practically standing inside our large triple fridge. "What are you doing? Get your disgusting body out of our fridge. Damn it, Brandon, that is unhygienic sticking half your body in there."

Although looking at his rear view does have some attraction since he does have one of those tight butt things going on. All that training, even though he claims it's all his genetics. Ha. I mean, I love his parents; of course I do. They're like my second parents, only his dad could never be described as sporty.

His father, Patrick, isn't fat, but he is on the larger side and definitely has a stomach. That I put down to all his mother's home baking and cooking. That woman sure likes to cook. I thought my mother was the award winner, but hell no. Brandon's mom can bake for America.

"I'm hungry." He says, not budging, whilst I ogle his backside some more. It's a good view. I wish you could see it.

"When aren't you hungry? Here, get out of the way." I leave, looking at his view, shame, but I do need to get his face and half his body out of our fridge. "What do you want to eat?"

"Oh, I don't know. You fix me something, Lizzie." He says it with that voice that is like a purr; my insides melt, and of course I'll do anything for him. Brandon knows that. This is why he does it. Ever since I was a little girl, I've always done whatever Brandon has asked. And sometimes it has gotten me into trouble.

Like the time he said we should try climbing up his mother's trellis and pretend we were burglars. He had bought us these weird black balaclava things to wear. We were only eight years of age, and I was, if I'm honest, a bit scared to be a big girl's blouse about it. The thought of climbing his mom's trellis with all those prickly, thorny roses all over it didn't hold much appeal.

Anyway, he made me wear the balaclava and gave me a pair of his mom's gardening gloves; needless to say, they were huge on my tiny girl hands and off he set. Climbing up in front of me like some koala. I was only halfway up when I heard his mother's voice. "What on earth are you doing up there? Get down right now, Lizzie, or I will call your mother." That was before she saw her very own son right up ahead of me. "And you, Brandon, get your butt down here right this second."

There have been other incidents, but right now, I've got these arresting blue eyes looking at me with raised eyebrows. "Well, Lizzie matey, what are you going to make me?"

"I don't know. Get out of my way, and I'll take a look. What about chicken breast sandwich with jelly and some salad?" He cocks his head to the left like he's thinking about it. "Or you can have some cold salmon; I could whizz up some scrambled eggs if you like."

"Thinking." He says and takes a seat lazily on one of our high stools at our island.

"Well, think quickly; we've got homework to get done. Besides, you'll be eating in an hour." I remind him. "You've not got long to grab something here, do some homework, get back to yours and be ready for practice tonight." I start taking random stuff out of the fridge; he's not going to make a decision. No, not Brandon. He's going to wait for me to make it for him. I start to butter some crusty white bread, his favorite.

"It's cool, Lizzie baby." Okay, so when he calls me that, it makes my inside go mushy and my stomach flutters. I know he only sees me as his best friend, but still, the whole Lizzie Baby thing, it really gets to me.

"So where are you and Jennie going tonight then?" I ask him, wishing I hadn't bothered.

"Nowhere special. Maybe go grab a couple of games of snooker then hang in my truck." Right. Well now I really wish I hadn't bothered asking him. We all know what hanging in his truck means.