“Mr. Waters?” Milo asks, breaking his gaze from me, which has made goosebumps sprinkle on my bare arm even though it’s hot enough to cook an egg on the sidewalk outside.
“Sadie still refuses to call me Matt,” Mr. Waters answers as he turns to walk away.
“Probably ’cause she still looks like she’s in high school,” Milo mutters as he looks intently at me. “Not an imperfection on this girl.”
My cheeks flush. “Good genetics and big sunglasses.”
“Or, you know, you just look good.” Milo laughs, and I hate that my eyes are transfixed on his Adam’s apple, but it seems more manly, as if excess cartilage is the new cleft chin.
I gulp and quietly murmur, “I’ve changed.”
He reaches over, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear, making my pulse stutter recklessly, before stealing the top book off my stack and looking it over. “Still Team Peeta?”
I nod politely even though I’d prefer snatching it out of his hands.
“Because Gale has his sights on success?” Milo questions as he flips through the pages.
“Because Peeta brings out the softness in Katniss when the rest of the world is hard,” I answer.
Milo’s mouth tips to the side. “You always rooted for the underdog.” Then his eyes flutter and his lips spread into a wide grin. “Remember that time you baked cookies for the opposing team? You knew we were going to destroy them, and you felt terrible.”
I nod, biting my tongue to keep from giving in to thenostalgia of this moment—the memory of taking three dozen cookies to the opposing team’s locker room and telling them they did a great job easily surfacing as if it happened yesterday.
“Your famous chocolate chip, right? I wonder what they thought of that when you were wearing my jersey.” He chuckles as he slides the book back onto my stack.
My mind snags on the way he sayshisjersey—number thirty-five, which was also painted on my cheek in blue and gold every Friday night during football season.
“Did I hear something about cookies?” Mr. Waters asks when he comes back with a plastic bin full of expired produce.
“Oh, we were just talking about Sadie’s chocolate chip cookies,” Milo replies.
“She still bakes them,” Mr. Waters interjects. “Signature Sadie.”
Milo smiles at Mr. Waters before he looks back at me fondly and says, “Same books, same cookies, same Sadie. You haven’t changed so much.”
The words shouldn’t irritate me.
I like my books, and my chocolate chip cookie recipe is flawless.
But the repetition of the wordsamecrawls under my skin and makes me itch. Milo isn’t the same.
I may not participate in Dusty Hollow gossip, but I did hear the whispers of his success, hisgirlfriends, and his life he lived without me. Just because he’s back doesn’t mean he can expect me to be the same girl who wore his jersey.
“I have to go. The produce.” My words are a whisper, but there’s a strength in my chest beginning to blossom.
Milo starts to take the plastic bin from Mr. Waters. “Let me help you.”
I turn on my heel, walking toward the glass doors. Milo follows behind.
“Thanks, Sadie!” Mr. Waters calls after me.
I put one hand up and wave. “It’s no problem!”
I hold the door for Milo, but as soon as he steps outside, I say, “I can get it from here.”
“I can go with you. I’d like to talk, if that’s okay.”
I shake my head. “I’ve got it. Thanks for offering.”
