I have the whole thing memorized, but he’s probably not interested in hearing it. Any of my classmates who ask aren’t interested, either.
“It describes winter,” I explain. “My mom said the poem made a cold and bitter season seem pretty. She said the beauty in life is what we live for, and it’s everywhere. You just have to look closer.”
He just stares out beyond the railing, looking thoughtful.
“I’m not sure why she named me that, but I like it,” I add.
He sits down, dangling his legs over the sides, and props his arms up over the wooden board nailed across to keep people from falling, and I hesitate for about three seconds before I join. I plant myself down next to him, hang my legs over the side and laugh at the butterflies taking off in my stomach.
&nbs
p; I peer over the side, my head feeling a little dizzy, so I draw back.
We sit there, quiet, and observing the view, but I notice my head ache and start to rub at my hair.
“It hurts,” I say out loud, shifting my bun. “My scalp…”
It always happens when my hair is in a tight style all day. It feels so good to let it out.
I pull out a barrette—the only other one in my hair that I didn’t leave in the fountain—and start pulling out the pins in my bun.
“Can you help me?” I ask. “Make sure they’re all out?”
He reaches behind and feels my hair, pulling out a few more pins, and then he helps me unwrap the twist, my hair coming down. I slide my hands underneath it, rubbing my scalp and sighing, because it feels so good.
I look over at him, and he’s just looking at me, his eyes moving over my face.
My skin under my costume starts to get too warm.
He turns away and lets out a breath as he stares ahead. “I might kiss you again when we’re older,” he says. “Just so you know.”
My mouth falls open a little, and I want to make some sound in disgust, just in case he’s kidding or teasing me, but…
Is he telling the truth?
I fold my lips between my teeth to keep from smiling. I don’t know why I want to smile, but I can’t help it.
He puts his hand down next to mine on the floor of the treehouse, and my heart beats so loud.
Is he gonna hold it?
“Winter!”
A shout pierces the air, and I jump.
Searching the ground, I see my father and mother storm up toward the treehouse, their gazes fixed on us.
“Why would you run off without telling your mom where you were going?” he barks.
“Dad,” I breathe out, suddenly scared I did something wrong.
Why is he here? He wasn’t here earlier. He looks upset.
“Come down, honey,” my mom calls, smoothing her clothes. “It’s time to leave.”
“You shut up,” Dad says. “She and Arion are not to come here again. You’ll be lucky if I don’t sue you for custody.”
Custody? Why is he mad at her?