The Buttercup’s Secret

The world holds strange truths when you’re six—or maybe seven. Grown-ups call them superstitions, but back then, they were rules. Real ones. Like the one that said, if a buttercup flower left a yellow reflection on your chin, it meant you had a secret crush.

But sometimes, the yellow stuck. Mine always did.

Her name was Goldie. Honest to goodness, that was her name. And yes, her hair caught the sun like sugar syrup, and her laugh sounded like the jingle of the ice cream truck.

One afternoon, we sat under the jungle gym, hiding from the game of Red Rover because we were both hopeless at it. The sun was low and slanty, and our shadows stretched across the mulch like two friendly ghosts.

She poked my arm, holding up a Buttercup flower, before slipping it under my chin, “You have yellow!” she whispered dramatically.

My heart did something weird then. Skipped, maybe–or it hiccuped.

“You know what that means,” she said, grinning wide, “you have a secret crush.”

My face betrayed me. I could feel it turning pink.

Then Goldie leaned in, close enough for her whisper to tickle my ear. “It’s okay,” she said. “I have one too.”

And then she kissed me—on the cheek, right there under the jungle gym.

We didn’t say much after that. We just sat quietly, sharing the silence like it was the best toy on the playground.

We both knew it wouldn’t last forever–first crushes never do.

But sometimes, when I see a Buttercup flower, I smile because once, a long time ago, a girl named Goldie kissed me while under the jungle gym. And for a moment, the Buttercup told the truth.