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herself
at the time, and though she was aware that there was someone , she didn’t
know who. The proposal had been so impulsive, the subsequent rejection so
swift, that Derick didn’t have time to tell Sophie about it. Almost like it
never happened, he thought. There and gone, like a deceptively sweet
dream.
    “Thanks
for breakfast, sis,” he told Sophie, gathering his things and trying not to
sprint back to his room and through the back door. “See you later.”
    “Say
no to hoochie shorts!” Sophie called after him.
    He
responded by letting the screen door slam shut behind him.
    Though
he absolutely detested the thought, he was going to have to clue Sophie in
about Hanna. Otherwise he would never hear the end of it. It was funny, but he
didn’t remember his sister being quite the Olympic nagger she had become.
Perhaps marriage did that to women. He shuddered at the thought.
    As he
neared the back door of Uppercross, the sound of a familiar song floated out to
meet him—one of those tunes that was overplayed on the radio. When the house
came into view he saw Hanna there, her back to him as she leaned over a large
notepad on her lap. On the little table next to her was an I-pod with portable
speakers that blared the melody he’d just remembered the name of: “Someone Like
You” by Adele. Derick wasn’t big on angst-ridden ballads, but he knew the gist
of this one—some heartbroken wretch was pining for the love of her life, who
had moved on.
    Appropriate.
    Derick
considered going around to the front of the house and ringing the doorbell
instead—at least that way he wouldn’t have to walk past Hanna to get inside.
The thought was preposterous, calling up Derick’s first-grade year when he had
taken the roundabout path to school to avoid the vicious dog on his normal
route. He squared his shoulders, planning on walking right past her without a
glance, without a word, without so much as a thought.
    But
then her head listed to the side as she held up the notepad, giving Derick an
unobstructed view. On closer inspection he saw that it was a sketchpad. Her
eyes kept darting up to the view before settling back on the picture she was
drawing: the Lymelight. Where had she learned to draw? How long had she been
doing it? He didn’t remember its being among her talents all those years ago.
The thought made him feel somehow resentful.
    Hanna’s
ashy blond hair was piled on top of her head, and sunlight bathed her in gold.
An image of a Greek goddess came to mind, but Derick batted it away. Then she
started singing along to the music, and he found that he couldn’t move.
    Her
voice was soft and clear, with just a hint of vibrato. He didn’t remember her
singing before, either. What else did he not know about her? He found himself
shoving his hands in his pockets, leaning up against the side of the house, and
listening.
    “Hey!”
came a bubbly shout a couple minutes later—Ella coming out the back door.
    Hanna
pivoted with a partial smile, assuming that Ella addressed her—and froze when
she found Derick watching her. She turned back to her sketch, her shoulders
hunching over as if she was trying to roll herself into a ball. Though Derick
could only see the side of her face, he noted the furious red flush spreading
over her skin.
    At
least one thing hadn’t changed.
    “When
did you get here?” Ella asked, sidling up to him.
    “Not
long,” he answered, tearing his eyes from Hanna and focusing on the reason he’d
come in the first place.
    “You
ready?”
    “As
I’ll ever be,” Derick replied, rewarded by Ella’s beaming at him. The weight
that had settled on his shoulders this morning during Sophie’s pep talk
suddenly lifted, taking flight and evaporating into the atmosphere as they made
their way downtown. Rag doll or not, Derick couldn’t imagine anyone else he’d
rather be with at the moment.
     
     
    TEN
    KITES
and CONES
     
    “He saw you then
at Lyme, and liked you so well as to be exceedingly