the old treehouse.”

Her shoulders slumped. “Oh, no. Why?”

“Well, the tree's growing around the boards now, and if I don't remove them,

it'll probably kill the tree.”

“Really?” She frowned. “I always liked that old tree house. I used to play dolls there with my friends when you weren't around.”

Peter smiled. “I know.”

“What, really? You were spying on me?” Her eyebrows arched.

“I wouldn't call it spying. I would call it paying very close attention from a

distance. Besides, I kept finding little Polly Pocket shoes in the cracks of the floor. Pretty big clue.”

She smiled, looking down at the grass. “Well, I guess all good things come

to an end.”

It was a statement that seemed to carry more weight than it should have. He

watched as she turned, touching the rough gray bark of the old tree, looking up

at the jumble of scrap boards joined together in a crude box in the center of the

tree. The limbs of the giant oak seemed to cradle it in its arms. “Do you really

need to tear it down?”

Peter joined her. “Well, how about a last look around? Most of it's still there.

The ladder should work.” He tugged on the first couple of boards nailed at intervals up the side of the tree. Kate grabbed the first and started to climb, Peter holding her side for safety, hoping his palms weren't too sweaty. Lucky You fogged his brain a little. “Make sure they aren't loose.”

He watched her reach the top of the climb and disappear over the side.

Her head popped out a small side window. “Come on up.” She disappeared

inside again.

Peter followed, testing each board as he climbed, and soon joined her in the

cramped space. It smelled like damp, old pine. A few boards were loose, and some were even rotting, but most of the roof was still there, and the floor seemed safe. He hadn't been up here in years. No reason to until now, he supposed.

“Smaller than I remember,” he said, scootching to a place opposite Kate, who ducked her head under a branch poking through the roof.

“Pretty cozy.” She pointed at a board. “Look—there's the drawing I made of

the two of us.”

She was pointing at a sketch of two kids done in magic marker, one rail-thin

with oversized round glasses and the other in a dress. “Hmm,” he said. “I'd say I

look about the same. You look as good as always.”

She shot him a glance as if she wasn't sure if he was making a joke.

“Thanks.”

He peered out the larger window on the opposite side, looking down towards

the back fence. “Man, the snowball fights we used to have.” He pointed to a black burn mark near the window. “Shot a rocket from here one night when my

parents weren't home.”

He wasn't sure, but he thought he saw her flinch at the word rocket. Stupid,

Peter.

“Look, Kate…” He stopped. Go on, get it over with.

She was looking at him, her brown eyes liquid, her hair falling in a flowing

river over her shoulder.

He swallowed. “I want to apologize. For the whole Scholarship Fair thing in

high school.”

She shook her head. “No, it's not necessary.”

He shook back. “No, please. I know it hurt you. A lot. Not getting that scholarship, and my experiment destroying your mobile. You'd worked so hard

on it. I can't imagine how you must have felt.”

Kate looked down, but she had a small smile. The evening sun arced through

a crack in the treehouse, lighting her hair with even more gold. Not fair.

“It's not a big deal,” she said. “Besides, you did me a favor.”

“How's that?”

She gestured with her hands. “Well, if I had gotten that scholarship I would

have gone to some place like Mason and gotten a degree in art, instead of graphic design. I'd probably be sitting at some abandoned gas station trying to sell velvet Elvis paintings right now.”