“No clue,” I reply, whistling for Sprite, my Labrador. “And don’t forget, strong wrist, elbows in, bump hard.”
Imake it in thirty, and Story’s sitting, waiting for me.
In all fairness, she lives way closer to the hill than I do, which is why I brought the four-wheeler with me. Because the less time it takes to travel back, the longer I get to spend with Story.
Sprite rushes up to her, hurling himself on her hard enough that she falls on the ground. The pale purple sundress she’s wearing lifts up to her thighs as her feet kick in the air. I pause, watching her squeal and playfully shove Sprite aside while he covers her in kisses. I wish I could do the same.
“Sprite, leave her alone.” I laugh, pulling a ball from my pocket, and throw it as far as I can so we get at least thirty seconds alone while he fetches it and sprints back.
As I wander over and she pulls her dress down, her legs seem so long that I wonder if she’s gotten taller, which makes me sad because then she won’t fit under my chin. Holding my hand out, I pull her up to standing and tuck her into me.
“Oh thank God.”
“What?”
“You’re still short.”
She reels back and slaps me hard on the arm—hard for her, anyway—which only makes me laugh more, and it gives me the chance to properly look at her.
Even though we talk every day, we don’t spend as much time together as we used to. Today’s the first time I’ve seen her in a few months—since I was last home for the weekend. I wonder if I look different to her in the way she looks different to me. It always feels like I spend the first five minutes wondering what’s changed.
Today her face is tanned, there’s a thick line of freckles along her forehead, and her dark brown hair looks like it’s been dipped in bronze.
Even her eyes seem lighter. Milk chocolate instead of plain.
And when I shove her gently with my shoulder and say, “I missed you,” her cheeks turn ever so slightlypink. It’s always like this with us in person, ten seconds of coyness while we check we’re still the same.
Still Hendricks and Story.
Still best friends.
“Missed you too, Hen.”
I drop onto the blanket next to her, in the spot she’s patting. The scent of flower meadows invades my next inhale. It’s exactly how the Bluebell woods are at Burlington in the height of spring, but they’re done for this year, so it can’t be that. “What am I smelling?”
Story pulls her long ponytail around and holds it out to me. “I got a new shampoo.”
My nose brushes against her cheek as I lean in and breathe deep. “Nice.”
“Thanks,” she says, flicking it back over her shoulder, but she stays close.
Sprite returns with the ball and drops it for me to toss again. “Are you nervous about exam results?”
She shakes her head. “Not really? I worked hard enough, except in science. I hate that.”
“What? Science is the best.” I gasp, shoving her again even though I know she only said it to get a reaction in that casual, flirty way she does.
And I’ll give her all the reactions she wants.
“Not all of us can be brainiacs in that department, you know.” She laughs, though it’s more a snort than a laugh. Whatever it is, it’s a noise unique to Story and always has me laughing harder. “We’re not all Mr. Straight As.”
“Hey, I won’t be a vet without them.”
“I know.” She grins, leaning back on her elbows.The movement has the hem of her dress rising up her thighs again, and I force myself to look away. “Proud of you, Henny. You’re going to be the best vet.”
“Thanks. And you’re going to be the best teacher. Benson the ballbreaker, part two.”
“As if.” This time, she attempts to kick me, and it shifts her body enough that her fingers settle against mine. They glue me in position. No matter how uncomfortable I am right now, I’m not moving.
