her skin.
“Who are you hiding from?” Jake Hanson’s freckles dotted the prominent bridge of his nose. He had dark hair that brushed the top of his shoulders and more than a couple of inches on her, which forced her to look up into his face as she barked her surprise.
“Jake the Rake” was Truro High School’s starting center. Even Andie had to admit he moved like a dream on the court, and she could definitely understand why the girls in her homeroom pretended to swoon when they said his name.
Andie had never been this close to him before, and had never felt the impact of the warm brown eyes focused entirely on her. She had the feeling he could see all the way inside her. He had a basketball in his hands.
Slowly, as if her heart wasn’t pounding and the blood wasn’t whooshing in her ears, Andie pushed off from the tree and took a step away from him.
“I’m not hiding,” she said. “I’m just checking out the view.”
Together they peered down at the parking lot, which was rapidly emptying. Her dad and great-grandfather were standing there watching the Ballantyne women get in their car. In a minute they’d be looking for her.
“Yeah, best parking-lot view in town.” Jake’s gaze swung back to her face. “I saw you in the game against Franklin.”
His voice was deeper than most of the other boys’, and he had what looked like peach fuzz on his cheeks. Andie flushed. They’d lost the Franklin game by a good ten points.
He smiled and spun the basketball around on his fingertip. “You all were looking pretty good right up until that last quarter.”
“Yeah.” Andie remembered her shot bouncing off the rim and into the hands of Franklin’s center and felt her face fall.
He spun the ball again, then let it plop into his hands. “It happens.”
Andie bristled. “Not to me.”
He shrugged and spun the ball again. For a minute she thought he was going to ask her to shoot some hoops with him, but then a female voice floated up to them on the wind.
“Jake?”
They turned to see Mary Louise Atkins come up over the rise. She was a good four inches shorter than Andie, with a figure full of curves that had been poured into a pale pink skirt-and-sweater set under a gray wool coat. Her dark hair stirred lightly in the breeze, and her lipstick was the exact same shade as her sweater.
Mary Louise pretended to be out of breath as she came to stand next to Jake, even though Andie knew she did the mile in under seven minutes and worked out with a vengeance. Her eyes skimmed quickly over Andie before dismissing her.
“Hey, Jake, what are you doing way up here?”
Her affected southern purr made Andie want to hurl, and she automatically rolled her eyes. For a wild moment she thought Jake had rolled his too, but when she looked again he was smiling down at Mary Louise.
“Just talking basketball, ML. Nothing you’d be interested in.”
He gave Andie a friendly nod and slipped an arm around the other girl. Then they turned and walked down the hill, the girl chattering and shooting adoring looks at Jake, the top of her head barely reaching his shoulder.
Andie watched until they disappeared from sight. Then she just stood there next to the tree, feeling tall and awkward and envious until, with a snort of disgust, she too, headed down to the parking lot. All the way down she wondered whether Jake Hanson even knew she was a girl.
Miranda spent Sunday afternoon in Tom’s study filling a yellow pad with notes and ideas on everything from new stalls in the Ballantyne ladies’ room—when you and your laptop spent long periods of time in one, you couldn’t help noticing its deficiencies—to developing a new product line. But her notes, like her thoughts, were an unsatisfactory jumble of images and fragments.
The house was too quiet. She could feel it pressing in on her as she stared out the study window.
Alone,
it seemed to say to her.
You’re all alone.
“Tell me something I don’t know,” she
“Who are you hiding from?” Jake Hanson’s freckles dotted the prominent bridge of his nose. He had dark hair that brushed the top of his shoulders and more than a couple of inches on her, which forced her to look up into his face as she barked her surprise.
“Jake the Rake” was Truro High School’s starting center. Even Andie had to admit he moved like a dream on the court, and she could definitely understand why the girls in her homeroom pretended to swoon when they said his name.
Andie had never been this close to him before, and had never felt the impact of the warm brown eyes focused entirely on her. She had the feeling he could see all the way inside her. He had a basketball in his hands.
Slowly, as if her heart wasn’t pounding and the blood wasn’t whooshing in her ears, Andie pushed off from the tree and took a step away from him.
“I’m not hiding,” she said. “I’m just checking out the view.”
Together they peered down at the parking lot, which was rapidly emptying. Her dad and great-grandfather were standing there watching the Ballantyne women get in their car. In a minute they’d be looking for her.
“Yeah, best parking-lot view in town.” Jake’s gaze swung back to her face. “I saw you in the game against Franklin.”
His voice was deeper than most of the other boys’, and he had what looked like peach fuzz on his cheeks. Andie flushed. They’d lost the Franklin game by a good ten points.
He smiled and spun the basketball around on his fingertip. “You all were looking pretty good right up until that last quarter.”
“Yeah.” Andie remembered her shot bouncing off the rim and into the hands of Franklin’s center and felt her face fall.
He spun the ball again, then let it plop into his hands. “It happens.”
Andie bristled. “Not to me.”
He shrugged and spun the ball again. For a minute she thought he was going to ask her to shoot some hoops with him, but then a female voice floated up to them on the wind.
“Jake?”
They turned to see Mary Louise Atkins come up over the rise. She was a good four inches shorter than Andie, with a figure full of curves that had been poured into a pale pink skirt-and-sweater set under a gray wool coat. Her dark hair stirred lightly in the breeze, and her lipstick was the exact same shade as her sweater.
Mary Louise pretended to be out of breath as she came to stand next to Jake, even though Andie knew she did the mile in under seven minutes and worked out with a vengeance. Her eyes skimmed quickly over Andie before dismissing her.
“Hey, Jake, what are you doing way up here?”
Her affected southern purr made Andie want to hurl, and she automatically rolled her eyes. For a wild moment she thought Jake had rolled his too, but when she looked again he was smiling down at Mary Louise.
“Just talking basketball, ML. Nothing you’d be interested in.”
He gave Andie a friendly nod and slipped an arm around the other girl. Then they turned and walked down the hill, the girl chattering and shooting adoring looks at Jake, the top of her head barely reaching his shoulder.
Andie watched until they disappeared from sight. Then she just stood there next to the tree, feeling tall and awkward and envious until, with a snort of disgust, she too, headed down to the parking lot. All the way down she wondered whether Jake Hanson even knew she was a girl.
Miranda spent Sunday afternoon in Tom’s study filling a yellow pad with notes and ideas on everything from new stalls in the Ballantyne ladies’ room—when you and your laptop spent long periods of time in one, you couldn’t help noticing its deficiencies—to developing a new product line. But her notes, like her thoughts, were an unsatisfactory jumble of images and fragments.
The house was too quiet. She could feel it pressing in on her as she stared out the study window.
Alone,
it seemed to say to her.
You’re all alone.
“Tell me something I don’t know,” she
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