MILO
I pullinto Sadie’s driveway at 7:57 a.m. I could have been here three hours ago. Sleep evaded me last night. I get out of my truck, the hinges groaning, and head for her front door just as it swings wide open.
“Morning!” Sadie says brightly as she attempts to lift a massive suitcase. Her forehead is glistening, her cheeks rosy. She’s wearing jeans and an oversized blue T-shirt that hangs off one shoulder.
“Here,” I say, swooping in to grab the handle, my hand brushing against hers. “Let me get it.”
Her shoulders slump in relief. “Thanks.” Then she suddenly straightens. “Oh, I’ve got something for you.”
Seconds later, she’s back with something I haven’t seen in years—my old ball cap.
Of course it’s the hat.
Senior year, I made another one of those bets I never planned on winning—told her she couldn’t outrun me. She took off, fearless and laughing, and I followed just close enough to make it look like I was trying.
She didn’t beat me. I chose not to.
So she kept the hat.
And maybe that’s all those ridiculous bets ever were—ways ofgiving her something I didn’t know how to hand over any other way. Time. Attention. Pieces of me, disguised as losing.
It’s still faded blue, the gold thread along the brim worn soft with time. The Dusty Hollow Lark stitched on the front—wings lifted like it’s mid-song.
I never asked for it back.
She steps closer, close enough I can smell her vanilla shampoo, and tugs the cap over the hair I’ve let grow a little unruly.
“There,” she says with a warm smile.
“You kept it,” I mutter quietly.
Her brown eyes stare up at me. “Why would I get rid of it?”
I shrug. “Maybe you had a bonfire where you burned all my things?”
Her chin drops as her eyes widen. “Do I look like the kind who chooses spite?”
“I wouldn’t have blamed you if you did.”
“Well, I didn’t. Ready?” she says with an edge of determination.
“Where are we going?” I ask as I hoist the suitcase into the bed of my truck.
She shrugs. “I don’t know. Somewhere.”
I grin. “I’m not sure I know what to do with Sadie Summers and no plans.”
“I guess we’ll figure it out together, Hot Shot.” She smirks before she opens the passenger door and climbs into my truck.
My skin warms at the nickname spoken out loud, and I don’t hesitate. Sadie Summers has chosen me for this adventure, and I’m not going to let her down. I get in my truck and hand her a penny.
“What’s this?” she asks.
“Magic,” I say.
She tilts her head to the side. She’s sitting cross-legged on the seat, her hair loose around her face, coin resting in her palm.
“Flip it. You always said you wanted to,” I say.
