I don't think it's normal for a teenage boy (wearing a bright blue plaid jacket, worn jeans with holes at the knees, and ratty black Converse) to walk past you and whisper 214 while you check your mail.

I never saw his face, just wild, curly brown hair. Therefore, I couldn't search for him and confront him.

It's not every day you get somebody that whispers 214 to you. What the hell was 214 anyway? It could have been anything. Even the teeniest hint would have helped. Alas, no hint. So, I was left alone, leading me to endlessly replay the scene.

Two weeks later, while flipping through the mail, mainly my parent's bills, I found a misplaced letter. It was for a Harry Potter at 214 Butmer Avenue. The house was two down from ours.

I burst out laughing, disturbing an innocent dog walker. I understand that Harry Potter could be a common name, but it doesn't detract from the irony. It was doubtful anyone in our town knew that Harry did not live in England but in Abbotsford, Canada.

After calming down, I traveled past my own house and down two more houses. I rung the doorbell and waited for someone to take this mail. The door swung wide and revealed the boy that whispered 214 two weeks ago.

The only reason I knew that it's the same boy was simple really: he was wearing the same outfit.

"About damn time," he muttered. I disregarded his annoyance.

"You're that boy."

His mouth formed a cross between a smile and smirk. Let me just say, that hybrid was sexy.

"I'm sure there are many boys in your life. Could you specify which 'boy' I am?"

I wrinkled my nose and stuck out my tongue.

"You're that boy that walked past me two weeks ago and whispered 214," I said.

He turned the hybrid into a full smile.

"Well, now that you've figured it out could you please tell me what you're doing on my porch?"

I blushed.

"Your mail was in my mailbox."

I held the letter out for him to take.

"So are you 'Harry Potter'?" I used finger quotations and a heavy British accent. The look on his face said he wasn't pleased with my humor.

"It's my real name. Thank you very much."

I blushed again.

We stood on his porch. Harry leaned against the doorframe, while I shifted from foot to foot.

"Have you figured it out yet?" Harry asked, breaking the silence.

"Figured what?"

He sighed and shook his shaggy brown hair.

"I told you 214. My house number is 214. So what you do you get?" he said as if I was mentally slow.

I would have yelled at him for the tone if I hadn't been slow to get the hint. Finally, a light bulb turned on, but I couldn't get the words out. I never said that the light bulb was fully functional.


He took a step towards me.

"I'll tell you. You get me and a kiss."

He closed the gap between us before I can say anything. It was one of those bone melting, brain oozing kind of kisses, in which the guy grabs you by the waist to hold you up. We pulled away for air. He still had an arm around my waist and I was leaning slightly backwards.



"214, you say?"

A/N: I have been neglecting FictionPress. I've had this sitting in my documents and decided to clean this up. Please critique this.