homecoming.
“Hmm?”
“I'm tired of being afraid. It's tiring, you know?”
“I agree.”
“It's so inconvenient. I think maybe we should stop being so afraid.” She twirled a lock of hair by his ear. “Maybe we should trust each other a little more.
Maybe we should just throw bunches of leaves up into the air and see where they
blow. Maybe we should drink some pie shakes.”
“That's a lot of maybes.”
She smiled as she moved towards those blue eyes again. “Maybe.”
The second kiss was even more cheer-worthy, and the crowd of students
obliged.
“It's getting crowded in here,” she said.
“I agree. C'mon,” he said. “I have something to show you.”
* * *
Peter led her by the hand through the gym and to the back door of the school, the
door she used to take on her way home from school. He pushed it open, and she
walked through.
The day had decided to be sunny. The pea gravel she remembered was gone,
replaced with wood mulch. The ground was scattered with orange and yellow leaves, a fall breeze blowing a few in tiny whirlwinds.
He passed her and took her hand again. She wanted to ask where they were
going, but she just followed.
It was only a few steps until she realized he was taking her to The Tree. The
Tree was their childhood rendezvous point, their secret playhouse up until third
grade. She'd bring her Barbies, he'd bring his whatever robot thing he was
fixated on that week. So long ago. She looked up. It was still huge, its arms stretching over almost the whole playground. Some of its leaves still clung to branches, fluttering sunlight on her face.
He walked her behind it, then stopped, turned, and took her other hand. He
drew in a deep breath. She exhaled shakily.
“Katie Brady, I've decided I super-love you,” he said.
Super love? Her note…
“I love that you danced with me even though everyone was watching. I love
how I got my first kiss from you, and, even if it wasn't yours, it's still my best.”
She leaned against the tree trunk for support, still holding his hands.
“I love how you snort when you laugh really hard, and you bend over with
your hands on your knees.”
“Oh, geez…”
“I love how the bridge of your nose wrinkles when you're angry, and I love
your feet.”
She looked down. “My feet?”
“Um, I just think you have nice feet.”
“Okay…”
