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But I remember him. His mother and my family have been neighbors for ages, my mom and his are very good friends, and yes, I remember her bad boy son very clearly. I had the biggest crush on him in junior high. He is a few years older than me and never spent a lot of time here, but it still rankles than he has no memory of me.
“Remember that one time my cat Buster got stuck in your apple tree?” I ask as he finally releases my hand. I must’ve been eleven at the time. He was already in high school, I’m sure.
“Sorry,” he says, shaking his head. “My memory of back then isn’t good. I never really belonged here, so I should go.”
He walks back to his bike, not even glancing at me one last time.
“Well, I guess I’ll see you around then,” I say, much too loudly and shrilly.
He does look at me now, all that interest that I feel echoed in his eyes, but he grins and shakes his head.
“I doubt it,” he says, revs his bike, the sound vibrating right through me as he speeds away.
What just happened?
Nothing much, that’s what. And this abrupt ending to our reunion, so to speak, is making me feel all sorts of unsettled. I do want to see him again. That much I know.
