I want to tell her high school isn’t all it’s cracked up to be, but I bite my tongue in the name of keeping the younger generation optimistic.
“Name?” a lady with glasses the size of Coke bottles and a brown perm asks from her seat once I come to a stop in front of the pickup table.
“His name is Remington Winslow,” Winnie answers for me, still perched on my shoulders. “He’s all growed up. Sixteen years old. He plays football and can drive, but he doesn’t drive that much because we live in the city. Though, I really think he should’ve driven today. My feet hurt.”
The woman smiles up at my baby sister. “And what is your name, sweetheart?”
“Winnie Winslow. But I’m not in high school. I’m only six years old and will start first grade this year. I’m the youngest in my family, and I have four brothers. Jude is in fifth grade. Ty is in seventh grade. Flynn is gonna be a freshman, and this is my oldest brother, Remy.” She continues to tell this poor woman her whole life story as she pats the top of my head. “He’s gonna be a junior this year.”
Already knowing it’s a useless endeavor to get Winnie to stop talking, I just stand there, smiling knowingly at the lady.
“Oh my goodness,” the woman responds, and she flashes an amused smile at me before looking back up at my sister. “You know, I swear, I thought you were at least fourteen.”
“Nope.” Winnie giggles. “Only six.”
“Well, you sure are a gorgeous, smart girl. And it’s very nice of you to help your brother today,” she tells my sister and then meets my eyes again, amusement still in place on her face. “Give me one minute, Remington, and I’ll get your things.”
Out of her chair and toward several shelves the staff have set up, she searches for my packet and books. And the entire time, the chatterbox on my shoulders doesn’t stop moving her mouth.
“Do you know that man standing by the lady getting your books?”
“Yes.”
“Is he a teacher? He looks like a teacher.”
“Yes, he’s a teacher, Win.”
“What about him? The guy with the bright-red hair talking to that lady over there?”
“That’s Freddy Harrison.”
“Why aren’t you saying hi to him?”
“Because I don’t know him that well.” And because he’s an asshole.
“What about her, Remy? Do you know her?”
“Who?”
“That pretty girl over there.”
Pretty girl? Say what?
Instantly, I look up to meet Winnie’s eyes and then follow her little finger that’s stretched out toward the other end of the room.
Dressed in jean shorts and a tank top, my sister wasn’t wrong, the girl in question stands at another pickup table and is definitely pretty. Truthfully, she’s way more than just pretty. Long brown hair, tanned skin, and the kind of big, warm eyes that make guys like me stupid, she’s downright gorgeous.
And I’ve never met her before. Which is crazy because I pretty much know everyone who goes to Hidden Hills High.
Damn. Who is that? Is she new?
“Do you know her, Remy?”
“Nope.” But I certainly want to.
“I think she has a little sister like you do. See that girl with her? I bet that’s her sister.”
My observant baby sister doesn’t miss a beat. Standing right beside the mystery girl of my dreams is a shorter, younger version of her. She can’t be older than nine or ten.
Instantly, I get an idea.
“She looks like she’s close to your age, Win,” I comment. “You should go say hi.”
“Okay,” Miss Chatterbox responds like it’s completely normal to just walk up to random strangers and introduce yourself.
That’s Winnie, though. Never met a stranger in her life.
Frankly, it’s almost too easy.
I help Winnie off my shoulders and to her feet. And in a matter of two minutes, she’s already across the room, chatting up the two girls.
“Remy! Remy! Come over here!” Winnie shouts toward me as the nice lady with the Coke-bottle glasses is handing me my stack of books.
The beautiful mystery girl and her sister look in my direction, and I silently thank the Big Guy Upstairs for blessing me with the most talkative six-year-old in history as my sister.
I close the distance between us, and it’s no surprise that Winnie is the first one to speak when I come to a stop near their little group.
“This is him,” she says proudly. “My big brother Remington. But you can call him Remy. Everyone else does. Isn’t he handsome?”