LITMIR.BIZ

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Facebook made her feel worse. Her news feed was full of pictures Stephanie and the gang had just taken at the mall, where they’d gone to see a movie. “Less than a minute ago” they’d been horsing around at the Organic Highway counter at the food court. Laughing, throwing stuff at each other, making funny faces.

      And, look at that shot! Becky stood so close to Gregory Parr the whole world could see she had a crush on him.

      Well, Gregory Parr was the cutest guy in school. Ellen had a graph in her diary tracking how long it would take her to lose fifteen pounds, and what she’d do then to make Greg notice her.

      Except for Stephanie, who had been held back in first grade and was older than the rest of them, no one in their group had a boyfriend. Not outright. But everyone knew who liked who, and everybody knew you didn’t go after the boys your friends had chosen.

      But here was Becky, clearly trying to call dibs on Gregory. Ellen’s fury rose. If greasy Becky Fife thought she could just move in and take over every single part of Ellen’s life...her guy, her friends...

      Ellen could imagine her dad’s reaction. “Could they really have been friends if they have forgotten about you in a week?”

      Could Dad really be that clueless?

      Of course they were going to forget her. They hung out together every day, and when you were gone, you were gone. You could hardly expect them to sit around for nine months waiting for you to come back.

      Her tears had begun to fall. She reached up and ripped off her left earring angrily. They were only hooked over the edge of her ear, anyhow, because her ears weren’t pierced.

      Thanks for that, too, Dad.

      She yanked the second one, and the filigreed hoop went flying out of her hand into the tall grass around her.

      â€œOh, my God. No!” She got on all fours and tried to comb the grass, praying to see the winking gold. “No!”

      A sudden rustling in the tree overhead startled her. She felt a spasm of fear and froze in place. No bird could possibly be that big. Not even an eagle. Well, maybe an eagle. What did she know about eagles?

      She sniffed, trying to keep her nose from running. She hated hick places like this. It could be anything up there. A snake, or a cougar, or...

      â€œWhat’s the matter? What are you looking for?”

      And abruptly, there he was. A boy, draped over the lowest big branch like the Cheshire cat, his skinny blue jeans and sneakers dangling, his grin and upturned eyes laughing at her.

      Suddenly, she was madder than ever. He must have been in the tree the whole time. He’d probably been watching her when she took the picture of herself. Pictures. She’d taken fifteen different shots, trying for one that looked perfect.

      She blushed furiously, thinking how she’d smirked at herself in the camera, trying to look happy and cute.

      â€œWho are you?” She lifted onto her knees, fists on her hips. “That’s pretty rude, to spy on people.”

      â€œHey, now.” The boy swung himself down like a monkey and plopped onto the grass a couple of feet away. “I wasn’t spying. I was sleeping, and when I woke up, you were there, acting weird. I didn’t say anything because I was waiting for you to go away. It’s my tree, after all.”

      â€œIt can’t be your tree. This is a school playground. Playgrounds belong to the city, not to people.” But then her curiosity got the better of her. “How can you have been sleeping in a tree? Isn’t that dangerous?”

      The boy dusted off his hands. “Not if you know how.” His grin broadened, his sunburned face busting out in white teeth, practically from ear to ear. “I know how.”

      For a minute, when he smiled, he looked kind of cute. He was a few inches taller than she was, and wiry, like boys were when they had too much energy and never stood still. His hair was blond and thick, and his eyes were a sparkly blue—just about the same color as the sky, now that it was almost evening.

      Ellen still thought Greg was cuter, because this guy looked like he might be a hick, with his dirty blue jeans and cowboy boots and flannel shirt with the cuffs rolled back. But he was pretty cute, anyhow. Stephanie would definitely think so. Stephanie had a thing for cowboys.

      â€œSo.” The boy took a Tootsie Roll out of his pocket, unwrapped it, and stuffed it into his mouth. As he started to chew, he paused. He let his hand hover over his pocket, looked at her and raised his eyebrows. “Want one?”

      She did. Though she hadn’t noticed it before, she was starving. But she thought about the diet chart in her diary. And she thought about how she’d look like a cow, chewing away at the sticky candy. He certainly did, although he obviously didn’t care what she thought. “No, thanks.”

      â€œâ€™K.” He chewed a little more. “So what are you looking for?”

      The sudden recollection of her awful mistake shot through her like a hot poker. How could she have been thinking about cute guys, or even her diet, when she’d lost her mother’s earring?

      â€œMy earring. It fell off.”

      â€œYou yanked it off, you mean.” But the kid didn’t sound judgmental, just factual. He chewed thoughtfully, his gaze scanning the overgrown grass. “What does it look like?”

      She held out her hand, opening the palm to show him the match. He walked closer, put his hands on his knees, bent down and studied it without touching, the way he might look at a specimen in science class.

      â€œIs that really yours? It looks kind of grown-up for you.” He tilted his head. “How old are you?”

      â€œI’m eleven,” she said, lifting her chin to look older, and, she hoped, skinnier. “I’m plenty old enough to wear earrings. Why? How old are you?”

      He chewed on his lower lip briefly. “I’m ten,” he said.

      â€œWhat grade?”

      â€œFourth.”

      Oh, man. He was a whole grade below her. She felt stupid for having thought he was cute. No wonder he carried Tootsie Roll candy around in his pocket and didn’t care if he looked ugly chewing a wad of caramel in front of a girl.

      â€œWell, I’m going into fifth,” she said. “And these earrings are definitely mine. My mother gave them to me. It can’t have gone far, but the grass is so high....”

      She got back on her knees and started ruffling her palm over the grass, inch by inch. “It’s important.”

      She glanced at him over her shoulder. “It’s real,” she said. Then, in case a cowboy kid wouldn’t know what that meant, she added, “like, I mean...real gold.”

      He nodded, dropped to his knees and started combing the grass, too. He was working an area much closer to where she’d been sitting, and she suddenly realized that was smarter. The earring wouldn’t have flown this far.

      She subtly worked her way back toward him, but her hopes were fading. This was like the old cliché—finding a needle in a haystack. The thatch of golden-brown dead grass below the new growth was almost exactly the same color as the earring.

      And it would be dark soon.

      â€œSo will your mom be super mad? Will you get in trouble if we don’t find it?”

      She glanced over at the boy. It was nice, him saying we like that, as if they were partners in the hunt. He didn’t have to help. He could have walked away and gone home.

      â€œNot

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