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I toss my towel into the sink before heading out the back door. As the door latches behind me, Dana glances over her shoulder and hides her phone away in her dress pocket before sitting a little taller on the swing. I can’t tell if she wants me to go or not, so I continue forward across the lawn.
“Hey,” I say.
“Hi,” she says with a smile.
“You want some more cake?” I ask. “Last chance before your brothers devour the rest of it.”
A chuckle. “No, I’m good.” She looks at her shoulder again toward the house. “They still chatting away in there?”
“Oh, you know they are.”
“Have I missed anything good?”
“Nope.”
She lightly nods as she kicks the ground with her sandal. Golden locks blow in the breeze, her clean scent teasing my nose. I realize I’ve lingered for far too long, though I’m not sure why it matters. This is Dana. I used to push her on this swing all the time.
Higher, Connor! Higher!
“Hey, Connor.”
I blink. “Yeah?”
“Did you really read my story?” Dana asks, her eyes primed to judge my response.
“Yeah,” I answer. “I did.”
“Really?”
“Twice.”
A short squint. “Hmm.”
“Why?” I ask, stepping forward to lean against the tree.
She shrugs. “Just curious.”
“Have you written anything else since?”
“No,” she says. “It was just for an English assignment, anyway.”
“I think you should write some more,” I say.
Her eyes tilt downward. “I dunno. Maybe.”
“No, really. You’re good at it.”
“It was just one good story.”
“And if I scored touchdowns my first night on the field, people would be demanding more from me, too.”
Dana goes quiet, her body still drifting an inch back and forth on the swing.
I raise my hands. “All I’m saying, think about it. Better yet, talk to Grant. He’s teaching a writing class at Chicago North this semester.”
“He is?”
“Well, playwriting. I think. But it might be worth looking into.”
