The season was over, but Derrick couldn’t shake the feeling inside him— a mix of disappointment, relief, and something softer he didn’t really have a name for yet. Well, part of that “something softer” had a name. Tasha. He’d been thinking about her since the final whistle blew. Not to talk about football— just to see her. To talk. To hear her laugh. To feel that calm she carried around like a quiet halo. But the idea of going to her house? That was different. He wasn’t sure what scared him more— seeing her, or meeting her mother.
It was an unusually warm day for late October in Minnesota. Derrick must have spent ten minutes standing at the Washingtons’ front gate, pretending to look at something in his hands, trying to decide whether to knock.
“You scared?” Marcus had teased on the walk home.
“Shut up,” Derrick muttered.
Now, alone, he wished Marcus was here just so he could threaten to punch him for saying it again. Finally, he took a breath and walked up the steps. Before he could knock, the door opened. Tasha stood there. She blinked in surprise.
“Derrick?”
He swallowed.
“Uh… yeah. I—uh—I came to see how you was doing.”
Her lips curved into that soft smile that always made him forget what he planned to say.
“I’m good,” she said. “Wanna sit down?” She asked, pointing at the front steps. They sat, knees close, shoulders almost touching. A few leaves rustled down the street from a gentle breeze. Kids played somewhere farther down the block. And soft jazz music was playing from the house next door.
“So… you okay about the game?” she asked.
“Yeah,” he said. “It hurt. But we played pretty good.”
“You did more than that,” she said. “I heard you kept everybody together.”
That made him look away. Nobody ever told him things like that. Not like she did. They talked— light stuff, funny stuff, little nothings that felt comfortable. But underneath it all, Derrick could feel the tension building. Something warm. Something shy. Something wanting. He wasn’t going to say anything, though. Not yet. And that’s when the screen door opened.
Her mother—Mrs. Washington—stepped onto the porch, wiping her hands on a towel, eyeing Derrick with polite curiosity and parental caution. She wasn’t mean. She wasn’t scowling. But she had that look— the look all mothers had when a boy sat too close to their daughter.
Tasha whispered, mortified.
“Oh no…”
Mrs. Washington approached slowly.
“So… you must be Derrick,” she said.
“Yes, ma’am,” Derrick said, sitting up straighter than he ever had in his life.
“I… I’m Derrick Johnson.”
She nodded.
“I’ve heard about you.”
Tasha’s eyes widened.
“Mom!”
“What?” Mrs. Washington asked innocently.
“Cathy talks.”
Derrick tried not to sink into the steps. Ms. Washington smiled to soften things.
“It’s nice to meet you. You seem like a respectful young man.”
Derrick nodded vigorously.
“Yes, ma’am. I try.”
Tasha buried her face in her hands.
Mrs. Washington looked at her daughter first, then Derrick.
“Now, I want to be clear about something,” she said. “It’s fine for you kids to be friends. Sit out here. Talk. Laugh. That’s alright.”
Derrick exhaled.
“But…” she added. His stomach dropped. Here it comes.
“Tasha doesn’t date until she’s sixteen.”
Tasha groaned softly. “Mama…”
Mrs. Washington crossed her arms.
“I’m not changing that rule.”
Derrick nodded quickly.
“Yes, ma’am. I understand.”
“Oh, I know you do,” she said, giving him a firm, motherly look. Tasha stared at her knees, cheeks burning. Derrick wasn’t sure if he should speak, leave, or disappear into thin air. Mrs. Washington softened again.
“I appreciate you coming by, Derrick. You’re welcome here. Just remember my rule.”
He nodded again.
“Yes, ma’am.” She returned inside, closing the screen door gently.
Tasha finally whispered:
“I’m gonna die.”
Derrick laughed—relieved, embarrassed, and weirdly happy all at once.
“She just… she just being a mom,” he said.
“I know,” Tasha sighed.
“But did she have to say it like that?”
He shrugged.
“At least she didn’t chase me off the porch.”
That made her laugh. They sat a little farther apart now— but the closeness felt the same. Warm. Safe. New. Derrick took a small breath and said quietly:
“I don’t mind waiting.”
Tasha looked at him. For a moment, neither spoke. Then she smiled—small but beautiful.
“Me neither.”
The porch light clicked on above them. The evening deepened. And sitting there—two young teenagers with shy smiles and beating hearts— everything felt right. Awkward. Embarrassing. But right.
