I input her password. “0817,” I say as I navigate to the contacts icon on her home screen.
“Your jersey numbers? Seriously?” She clutches her chest in mock outrage.
Chin still to my chest, my fingers freeze. I grin devilishly as I eye her from beneath lifted lashes. Gretchen Fisher remembers my jersey numbers.
She holds my stare for only a second before she rolls her eyes to the rafters and says, “Oh, shut up!”
I bite back my proud retort, confirm that she’s left me unblocked, and hand over her phone. Once she stuffs it back in her pocket, Gretchen yanks the handle of her rolling bag to the highestlocked position. I take the carry-on she has draped over her shoulder and throw it over mine.
I nudge my head toward the exit, signaling for us to go.
“Thank you.” Her words come quiet, reminiscent of the shy nine-year-old girl I met thirteen years ago. I look over at her and she says it again. “Thank you for coming.”
“You’re welcome.”
Chapter Eleven
THE NICKNAME
Gretchen
thirteen years ago, summer
I’m onlya few chapters intoAnne of Green Gableswhen my brother and his new friend rush onto the back porch in a mad dash. Mom’s stern voice telling them to close the door is cut off with the sound of the sliding door clicking shut.
The boy I don’t know runs past me with a football in his hand as Drew rushes past even faster on my other side. It happens so quickly, I pull my knees to my chest for a second, afraid they might crash into me.
“Vining! I’m open,” my brother yells as he hops over the corner of the pool with a hand in the air on his way to the yard beyond.
For the next several minutes, I read while they toss the ball around. My attention is mostly on my book but is occasionally pulled the boys’ direction when their voices are loud enough to distract me.
“Fisher! Go long!” I look up to see Drew’s friend jogging backward while my brother runs the other way to the far corner of ourlarge backyard. The ball flies through the air, but when Drew reaches out to catch it, it bounces off his fingers, hits the top of the fence and flies into the greenbelt.
Drew curses—as he always does when Mom and Dad aren’t around to hear it. Ha! Now he has to venture into the brush behind our fence that hasn’t been mowed in months. Serves him right.
“What are you reading?” I turn toward the voice. Drew’s friend now stands at the edge of the patio.
“Anne of Green Gables.” I hold up the book to show him the cover.
Drew yelps something about snakes and critters as he wades into the waist-high brush.
“I’m Connor.”
I hold a hand above my eyes to shield the sun when I look up at him. “My name’s Gretchen.”
“Do you read a lot?” he asks.
I shrug. “Yeah. I read about two books a week.” Mom tells me to say that proudly, but I’m usually nervous to tell people.
“Wow! That’s really cool.”
“Some of the kids at school think it’s weird.”
“Nah, those kids are weird. I think it’s awesome.” Connor winks at me and it makes me feel a little better.
We’re quiet for a few seconds as we watch Drew behind the fence,stillon the hunt for the football.
“Your brother gonna be okay back there?”
