Chapter 1

Really, what did I have to complain about? I put the novel down on the stand beside my bed and thought about it. The girl in the book grew up dirt poor in the Deep South. We were rich enough—three bedrooms (even if one was made into a family room) and two cars. Even had a second TV, one of those little black-and-white ones, in the kitchen. Dad gave us a good life in the suburbs, better than he’d had growing up on a farm or Mom as a coal miner’s daughter - but most of the kids I knew were eager to get the hell out.

It was a dirty, dingy, dying steel town, like several in the valleys surrounding Pittsburgh—but for me, it was home. It was terrifying to picture myself anywhere else—all on my own, not knowing anyone. On the other hand, how could I stay in a place with twenty-five percent unemployment? I’d barely made it through two years of college while living at home and driving to the branch campus on the other side of town. In another two years, I’d be out on my own regardless.

I looked at the calendar on the wall. Friday, July 20, 1979. Six weeks until school started again. Six months until a new decade, just over a year until I could vote for president for the first time. The day itself meant nothing to me. I grabbed a sock off the floor, balled it up, and fired it at the calendar.

The door opened, and Dad’s head popped in. “If you’re looking for something productive to do, the lawn needs mowed.”

I sighed. “Yeah, okay, when do you...”

“Now!”

“I’m coming.”

He could’ve been harsher, like when he’d say, “Find a job yet?” or “What kind of grades are these?” but I’d learned a long time before to never talk back or say anything bad about my father. A downside of being an only child was not having anyone else to vent to. Also, no one else to do the chores.

I retrieved the sock from the other side of the room and found the matching one on the desk. After grabbing my tennis shoes from under the bed, I was on my way to the garage.

He still hadn’t thought it necessary to invest in any kind of power mower. Regardless of how hot it might be, I needed to keep the push mower moving at a sufficient speed to keep the spiral blades spinning fast enough to chop the grass. Fortunately, the yard wasn’t very big. The house and garage filled the long, narrow lot side-to-side, leaving three chunks of grass to attend to.

An hour later, having finished the lawn, I didn’t want to read anymore. I couldn’t sit still, cooped up in my room. I had to do something—but little satisfied me.

Heading out the door, keys in hand, my mother called out after me, “Joe Long—just where do you think you’re going?”

“Oh, sorry, Mom—bowling alley. Won’t be long.”

I could hear her sigh as the door closed behind me. “Supper’s in an hour. Don’t be late.”

The pinball machines suddenly sounded exciting, and I didn’t have the patience to walk. Five minutes later, I’d parked and headed inside, looking for an empty machine. Wendy was there with another girl. She was always there. I swear she lived at those alleys. She looked over and sort of smiled.

“Hey,” I said, too softly. I should’ve said more. Should’ve said something cool or clever. But the longer I waited, the dumber I felt. So I just walked away. Again.

Eh—maybe next time.

How long are you gonna keep telling yourself that?

She turned away, back to her friend and whatever they were talking about.

Once a machine became available, I dropped a quarter in the slot and pressed the button on the front panel to start a new game. Mata Hari. Exotic dancer turned German spy and executed after the war. The game depicted her in a traditional Hindu outfit, with flowing robes from the waist down and a bikini-type top, laying seductively on her side.

As I zoned into the machine, I was oblivious to anything around me.

The silver metal ball was released, and I pulled back gently on the plunger. The impact drove the ball at medium speed up the chute and into the play area. Bing-bing-bing-bing, my gentle nudges helped the ball shoot back and forth before it escaped the baffles and rolled unobstructed down the middle of the board. My middle finger flicked the button, which commanded the flipper, driving the ball back up the board.

Left, right, up, down, fast, slow.

I knocked down a bank of targets to have them pop up again. I kept the ball moving well, but eventually and invariably, the ball found its way to a dead spot and left the game.

Sometimes it was bad luck, sometimes bad play, the latter of which was becoming increasingly frequent. I only had one more quarter.

I’d bested it for a while, but the machine endured. You only get to play until you’ve used up the allocated number of failures. Then it was done and gone, just a memory.

At least I had baseball. The Pirates were on at seven-thirty and were only two and a half games out of first, having won four straight and eight of nine. But I’d miss some of it as I had to be down at the stadium at six for my own game in our collegiate summer league, hoping the coach would let me play.

Right after the game started, I was in my usual spot on the bench in the bullpen, back against the fence that ran the length of the walkway in front of the stands. It offered a good view of the young ladies making their way from their seats to the restrooms and concession stands, then back again.

In the third inning, I tapped my teammate Randy on the arm. “Whoa, dude, look at this one coming.”

He glanced over and said, “Oh, damn. That’s Patty.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Yeah? Do you know her?”

“From school. Why don’t you ask her out, instead of just gawking?”

I looked down and kicked at the dirt. “I don’t know...”

“Hell, I’ll introduce you.”

“It’s just—”

“Bullshit. Are you just going to do the five knuckle shuffle every night or—”

“Up yours!” I cut him off indignantly.

“Don’t you mean you want it ‘up hers’?” He leaned in closer, slowly pistoning his fist in front of his chest. “Just look me in the eye and tell me you don’t do it.”

I drew in a deep breath but, without a word, let the air slide back out over my lips. Turning my eyes to the middle of the diamond, I yelled, “C’mon Jim—strike him out!”

Around ten the next morning, I walked into the kitchen just as Dad asked Mom, “Was that your sister Janet?” as she hung up the phone.

“Yep,” Mom said with a smile. “All of them will be over in half an hour or so.”

I grinned. “About time we got to see them—it’s been over a month since they moved back from Texas.”

Dad, however, frowned. “Not like they were in our backyard before. No way I was driving a hundred miles just to sit and gab for a few hours.” He turned back to Mom. “How many husbands is this for her now?”

Mom hesitated, but I cut in. “Two, actually. She married Dave’s dad, but not Hannah’s or Sarah’s.”

Dad shot me a look. “I was talking to your mother.”

I dropped my gaze to the floor. “Sorry. I just remember yunz talking about it.”

Dad turned back to Mom. “That first guy thought he was hot shit with his red Camaro. You say this one’s a real estate agent?”

Mom nodded. “That’s what I hear. Apparently, Janet had him helping her find a house, but she ended up moving into his place instead.”

“It’s been years since they came to a reunion,” I added quickly. “Back in seventy-three, when Pete Rose beat out Willie Stargell for the M.V.P.”

Dad smirked. “Well, if you want to see them this time, you’d better go get presentable. Put on some pants—and maybe shave.”

Later, my neck still stung from razor burn when a BMW pulled into the driveway. Before I could say anything, the women were already hugging.

“Oh, Meredith, it’s been too long!” Aunt Janet exclaimed.

Then she turned to me and wrapped me in a tight hug. “And my favorite nephew...”

Even at thirty-six, she still looked, and felt, pretty damn good.

Her new husband, looking quite a bit older than her, stepped forward and offered a firm handshake to my father. “Michael Roudabush—pleased to meet you.”

“Michael—I’m Chris Long,” Dad replied.

“Oh, call me Mickey. I’ve heard a lot about your family.”

“And I’ve seen your face on billboards,” Dad chuckled.

Mickey grinned. “What do you teach again?”

“Algebra and calculus,” Dad replied. “To kids who’d rather be anywhere else.”

As they continued talking, my eyes drifted to the backseat, where Dave climbed out—hard to miss at well over six feet tall. Then another figure stepped out.

Ho. Lee. Shit. Is that Hannah?

A force field seemed to pass through me, leaving me a little dizzy.

Those big, round, brown eyes, with light brown hair that flowed over her shoulders and a gorgeous smile framed by oh-so-pink lips. A quick glance down revealed small breasts and perfectly tanned, toned thighs. But it was her eyes—her eyes and her smile—that had me transfixed. My heart pounded, and I felt myself getting hard just looking at her.

She’s your cousin!

“Hey man, how’re you doing?” Dave’s voice jolted me out of my trance as he extended a hand. “Looks like we’re gonna be neighbors!”

“Oh, yeah, hi. You gonna play ball this summer?” I asked, trying to shake off my embarrassment.

“I really want to. I know you guys already started, but it’d be great if you could help me line up some tryouts.”

“Uh, yeah ... we’re more than halfway through the season, but I’ll see what I can do.” My mind was still reeling from seeing Hannah again after so long – no longer a child, but an exquisite young woman.

She greeted my parents quickly before slipping in next to Dave, her presence drawing me in like a magnet. She extended her hand, and instead of shaking it, I lightly held it in mine. Our eyes met, and I felt a jolt as her warm, dry fingers rested against my palm.

“Wow, Hannah, you’ve, um ... grown so much since the last time I saw you.” My chest tightened, and a tingling sensation swept through me.

She blushed slightly and smirked. “Well, looks like you’ve grown up too, Joe.”

Her head barely reached my chin. “So, how old are you now?”

“Almost fifteen,” she replied confidently. “I’ll be going to ninth grade in the fall.”

Damn. If she hadn’t told me, I’d have sworn she was at least sixteen.

Her mother chimed in with a smile, “Oh, you got another four months till your birthday!” Turning back to my mom, she added, “Kids—they want to grow up so fast these days.”

I smiled weakly at my aunt, but Hannah leaned closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. “I am grown up,” she said with a mischievous glint in her eye.

I chuckled nervously and decided to let that one go. “I’m going to be a junior in college. Your school’s right across the street from mine.”

“Nice!” she exclaimed, her enthusiasm lighting up her face.

Then her little sister Sarah, a few inches taller than Hannah but with a face and figure that didn’t draw my attention the same way, hit me lightly on the arm. “Hey, Joe.”

“Hey, Sarah,” I replied, forcing a smile.

That was ... weird.

A few more minutes of small talk passed before my heart started pounding too hard to ignore. I mumbled an excuse and headed into the house, making sure no one followed.

In my room, I shut the door behind me and took a deep breath, pressing my forehead against the cool wood.

What the hell is wrong with me?

I turned and moved to the window, careful to remain out of sight. Outside, Hannah was still talking and laughing with my parents, glowing in the early afternoon sun.

She was just standing there—smiling, relaxed, unaware of what she was doing to me.

My stomach twisted.

I tried to shove the thoughts away, but my body wasn’t cooperating. My pulse pounded in my ears, and a restless ache coiled low in my gut.

God, she’s beautiful.

My fingers clenched at my sides, nails biting into my palms.

I can’t.

I shouldn’t.

I squeezed my eyes shut, sucking in a deep breath. But the pressure inside me was unbearable, a frantic need clawing at me.

With shaking hands, I unbuckled my belt and slipped a hand inside, gripping tight.

Ten ... eleven...

My eyes flickered open, drawn back to the window. Hannah tilted her head, brushing her hair behind her ear as she laughed at something my dad said.

Thirty ... three ... thir ... TY ... FOUR!

My body locked up, every muscle seizing, my breath catching in my throat as the release washed over me, warmth spreading across the back of my hand. A moment later, it was over. The tension drained from my limbs, leaving me slumped against the wall, panting.

Well, that didn’t take long.

My chest heaved as the realization set in.

Shame burned in my stomach, spreading to my face, my neck, my ears. Once again, I was disgusted with myself.

A memory flashed—Randy’s voice just the night before, taunting me.

” ... just tell me you don’t do it!”

I gritted my teeth.

I didn’t even bother sitting down, just grabbed a Kleenex from the desk and wiped my hand clean.

“Nineteen years old and still a goddamn virgin” I muttered.

I tossed the tissue in the trash and ran to the bathroom, scrubbing my hands under scalding water.

By the time I made it downstairs, Mom was setting the table. She glanced up.

“Joe, you okay? You look a little flushed.”

I forced a weak smile. “Nah, I’m fine. Just a little hot out.”

She had loaded the dining room table with sandwich fixings and cold drinks. With my plate stacked high, I joined Dad and Mickey in the living room, where Dad was showing off his gun collection.

Dave followed me in flopping onto the couch. “So, you follow the Pirates?” I asked.

“Yeah, ever since they moved back. In San Antonio, all we had were box scores and games of the week. What about you—what position do you play?”

“Pitcher. I get some time in the outfield too, but my hitting’s been crap lately.” I could hear the faint chatter of the women in the kitchen and caught a glimpse of Hannah at the dining room table. Again, I felt a tightness in my chest.

Don’t stare—just a second or two.

“How hard do you throw?” Dave pressed.

“Probably in the top ten for our league, but I’ve gotta throw more strikes. Not much pro potential for a guy who’s five-nine and can’t even make his college team.”

“Well, I’ve got seven inches on you,” Dave said with a grin. “I’m hoping I can snag a scholarship somewhere next year. Good lefties don’t grow on trees, you know.”

Hannah and our moms moved toward the chairs by the fireplace. My breathing was shallow.

Don’t turn your head, just sweep the room when there’s movement.

I said to Dave, “We only have three weeks left before the playoffs. Games are at six Monday through Friday, with makeups on the weekends - and there’s usually a double-header at the stadium downtown.”

I could clearly see Hannah’s thigh as her brother said, “Doesn’t give me long to line up a girlfriend!”

“What?” I asked, incredulous. “You’re already looking for a girlfriend?”

Dave shrugged. “I don’t wanna go home alone after the games!”

I chuckled, stealing another glance at Hannah. She stretched, her t-shirt pulling tight across her chest. I forced my eyes shut. The trip to my room was supposed to have taken the edge off, but she was still dangerously distracting.

Then I was thinking of how much Hannah looked like my mother. Many of the Mathiesen women shared features, and I found myself trying to imagine what my mom would have looked like twenty-five years before.

“Earth to Joe?” Dave snapped.

“Huh?” I shook my head, trying to refocus.

“You seem lost in space today. I was asking if you have a girlfriend.”

I squirmed. “Uh, well ... no...”

Dave leaned in closer, his tone teasing. “What’s the matter? You gay?”

“Oh, hell no!” I said quickly. “It’s just...” I hesitated, running a hand through my hair. “Do you know what it’s like to want something so bad but be so afraid to try? Afraid of getting shut down?”

“Nope,” Dave said simply.

“Dammit.” I muttered under my breath. “You’re no help.”

He clapped me on the arm. “Don’t worry, cuz. Just stick with me—I’ll get you hooked up.”

An hour later, our guests began preparing to leave. Mom, Dad, and I stood in the driveway, reversing the earlier process of greetings.

I shook Mickey’s hand with a firm grip, letting him know I’d look forward to seeing him again. Aunt Janet kissed me on the cheek, leaving a faint trace of perfume that lingered. A fist bump with Dave came next, followed by a quick “See ya” to Sarah.

Hannah hugged my mother briefly before turning to face me. Our eyes met, scanning each other from head to toe in a moment of silent appraisal. Then she extended her arms in invitation, and I stepped forward, eagerly wrapping mine around her.

Not too tightly, but close enough to feel her warmth. The scent of strawberries from her hair made goosebumps sweep over my body.

I squeezed her gently before letting go. She smiled up at me, and I could only grin awkwardly in return, my eyes following her as she walked back to the car.

As their car disappeared down the street, Dad turned to Mom and said, “Seems like a nice guy. Wonder how long he’ll stick around.”

Mom arched an eyebrow, her tone dripping with sarcasm. “I wonder how many blow jobs it took to get that ring so quickly. She never did marry Tom.”

My head snapped back and forth between them. “How can you say that about your sister?” I asked, disbelief thick in my voice.

Mom shrugged nonchalantly. “She’s always had a problem keeping a guy—three kids, three different last names.”

“But she was with Tom for over ten years,” I shot back. “It wasn’t her fault he died.”

“Shacking up with a man thirty years older didn’t help any,” she retorted, her words sharp. “Look, I love my sister, but she’s only known Mickey a month or two, and now she’s married him and moved her kids into his house.”

Dad chimed in, his tone more resigned than angry. “Son, your grandparents had such high hopes for Janet. She had good grades and was heading to college, but she was boy crazy and ended up dropping out her senior year when she got knocked up with Dave.”

I clenched my fists. “Well, Mom did go to college—at least until she got pregnant with me—so what’s the difference?”

Mom’s face flushed with anger, but before she could respond, Dad snapped, “Boy, don’t you have something to do in your room?”

“Yeah ... uh ... I’ll find something,” I stammered before retreating upstairs.

That night, I lay in bed staring at the ceiling while the rock station out of Chicago played softly on the radio. The events of the day replayed in my mind, the lingering scent of strawberries haunting me.

“Dammit,” I muttered to myself. “I finally say more than two words to a hot girl, and she has to be my cousin.”

Forget it, she’s never going to want you.

Can’t I just fantasize?

I reached for the Kleenexes.

Dave called just before I was leaving for my game on Monday. “Hey, I got signed up by Coca-Cola.”

“Congrats!” I replied. “Figures—last place gets first choice in waiver picks.”

“You know it,” Dave boasted. “But with me around, they won’t stay in the cellar for long.”

“Ha! Someone thinks highly of himself.”

“Well, Pepsi can’t stay ahead of Coke forever,” he quipped.

I chuckled. “Hey, Pepsi’s definitely better than Coke. We’re making the playoffs this year. Might even get to the tourney.”

“That’d be cool. Oh, hey—Mom wants to talk to you.”

“Sure, put her on,” I said.

My aunt sounded anxious. “Joe? Hey, um, Dave’s first game is tomorrow night down at the stadium. I can take him and the girls there, but I can’t stay until his game’s over—I gotta get to work. Could you give them a ride back to the house?”

“Yeah, no problem. I’ll come over as soon as my game is done.”

I didn’t play either night, and on Tuesday, I was still in uniform when I got downtown. It was almost eight-thirty, and Dave’s game was in the second inning.

My aunt’s face lit up when she saw me. “Hey, Joe! Thanks for coming. I gotta run, but here’s ten dollars in case the girls want anything.” She turned to Hannah and Sarah. “Be good for Joe. Bye!” Then she kissed me on the cheek and hurried off. It was hard not to give a glance as she walked away.

As I dropped into the first-row seat beside Hannah, she shot me an irritated glare. “What, are you our babysitter now?”

“Lighten up. I’m just giving you a ride home—and making sure you don’t get kidnapped or anything,” I said. “Besides, it’s a chance to get to know each other.”

Sarah had other ideas. “Hey, not that y’all are boring or anything, but I wanna wander around. Can I get a couple bucks?”

I handed her two dollars. “Just don’t leave the stadium.”

“Thanks. Come get me if I’m not back when it’s time to go,” she said, heading off.

“Like I’m going to know where you are!”

With Sarah gone, Hannah wasted no time. “Joe, will you get me a couple wieners and a soda?”

“Sure. Be back in a few if there’s no line.” I stood, then froze and turned back. “But if you’re gonna be a real yinzer, that’s a couple hot dogs and some pop.”

“Oh, same difference!” she said with a grin. “Mustard and onions if you can.”

As I walked to the concession stand, my mind drifted.

When I returned, Hannah was intently watching the game. I handed over her food and sat down with fries for myself.

She grabbed a fry and waved toward the field. “Do you know all these guys?”

“Most of their names. A bunch are friends,” I said, leaning back. “We come from over ten high schools, and more than half of us are in college now.”

Will Martin stepped into the on-deck circle, just ten feet from us. As I dipped a fry in ketchup, Hannah leaned in and whispered, “What’s his name? He’s got a nice butt.”

I nearly choked. “Shhh, he can hear you!”

“So what?” she said, her eyes glinting with mischief.

“He’s twenty!”

“And what am I, a baby?”

“No! It’s just—” I stumbled, then sighed. “You know what I mean.”

“You’re such a fuddy-duddy,” she teased. “I just say what I think—lighten up!”

She returned to her hot dog, but mustard clung to the corner of her mouth. I wiped it away with my napkin, making her grin. Then she reached for my fries, starting a playful battle as I tried to fend her off.

The players standing by the dugout began glancing our way. Hannah noticed and asked, “Why are they looking over here?”

“Because I’m sitting with a girl.”

She frowned. “Is that unusual?”

“Well...” I shrugged. “I haven’t had much luck with girls.”

“You’re a good looking guy. What’s the matter?”

I let out a sigh and kicked at the floor. “I get scared around girls. Afraid to screw up and make them hate me. It’s been getting better, but it’s still a struggle.”

“You’re doing fine talking to me,” she said warmly.

I had felt surprisingly at ease with her. “True, but you’re my cousin. I’m not trying to hit on you.”

She leaned closer and rubbed her hand over my chest. “They don’t have to know that. What if I gave you a big, sloppy wet kiss? Would that help your reputation?”

Her touch sent a shiver down my spine. “I’m sure it would,” I croaked.

Then she suddenly pulled back, her face filled with shock. “Wait, so you’re just sitting with me to improve your reputation?”

“No, that’s not what I meant!” I blurted.

She punched me lightly on the arm. “Take a chill pill, I was teasing. So, what’ve you been doing to get more comfortable around girls?”

I sighed, shaking my head. “You’re gonna kill me, you know that?”

Hannah grinned, waiting.

“Well, my mom got a C.B. radio for the car last year.”

Her brow furrowed. “And how does that help?”

I took a deep breath, preparing to explain for the hundredth time. “Normally, you see a girl or a guy, and if there’s a physical attraction, you have to figure out how to talk to them without scaring them off. On the radio, you talk first—see if they’re a nice person—then arrange to meet and find out what they look like. If it clicks, you ask them out. If not, you can just stay friends.”

Hannah nodded thoughtfully. “Does it work?”

“Definitely. It’s way easier to just be myself and learn to like girls for who they are, not just for their looks.”

She struck a playful pose, sticking her hip out dramatically. “That’s good—because we’re so much more than just our good looks! So, what’s your handle?”

“Spock.”

Her face went blank. “Spock? What’s that?”

My eyes widened in disbelief. “Really? Mr. Spock—the science officer of the Starship Enterprise?”

Her expression didn’t budge. I tried again. “Star Trek. With Captain Kirk?”

“Oh! Star Track? That Saturday morning cartoon?”

I groaned, burying my face in my hands. “Nooo! It was a TV show—from sixty-six to sixty-nine—with Kirk, Spock, Dr. McCoy, Scotty, Sulu...”

“I was born in sixty-four,” she retorted. “You expect me to remember that?”

“Okay, that’s fair. But they’re coming out with a movie in December! I can’t wait to see it.”

“I’ve seen Star Wars!” she announced proudly.

“Not the same thing,” I shot back.

“Okay, fine. So why are you Spock?”

“He’s the science officer, the smartest guy, no emotion—”

A voice cut in from the press box. “And he’s the one who never got laid!”

I shot back, “That’s not true—there was that cavewoman on the ice planet!”

Hannah looked at me, incredulous. “And this is the show you drool over?”

“You’d like it if you saw it,” I said, grinning.

She tilted her head toward the press box. “And who was that yelling at you?”

I rolled my eyes. “My so called friend Paul. Loves to give me shit.”

She narrowed her eyes briefly, then returned to normal. “Can you get me some ice cream?”

“Yeah, sure thing.” A few minutes later, I jogged back with a Klondike bar, trying to get it to her before the chocolate started melting.

As she peeled back the foil, she continued her interrogation. “Okay, Spock—what are you taking in college?”

I felt free to relax as she took charge of the conversation. “Math and Computer Sscience. I’ve taken a few Econ courses too.”

“What kind of grades do you get?”

I winced and turned my head. “Uh ... not great. I’ve got a one-point-eight G.P.A.”

Her eyes widened. “One-point-eight? That’s a D, right? I thought you were the brainiac? Mom’s always saying how smart Joe is, Joe this, Joe that—and you’ve got a one-point-eight?”

My chest tightened. “Math is fucking hard!”

“Language!” she scolded, her expression mock-serious.

Still stung, I snapped back, “Now who’s being the babysitter?”

She glanced down, then replied softly, “Sorry about the babysitter crack earlier. I just don’t like anyone telling me what to do. And I don’t like people swearing.”

I couldn’t resist. “Oh, forgive me, Your Royal Highness!”

Hannah burst out laughing. “Now you’ve got it! Remember that, and we’ll get along fine.”

We both laughed, breaking the tension.

But then she pressed on. “Back to where we were—what’s so hard about math?”

I sighed, took a deep breath, and replied, “I did pretty well in high school—A’s and B’s. I even took calculus in twelfth grade. I was always playing with numbers, so I thought that was what I was good at. Then I get to college, and math majors don’t just need to know the rules, like how to get the mean of a set of numbers—you add them up and divide by how many...”

“Well, any idiot knows that!” she interrupted.

“ ... but they want math majors to be able to prove it!” I said, exasperated. “There might be three questions on a test. Don’t do homework for a night, forget your book, forget your calculator, and you’re screwed. That’s just not how I work.”

The weight of my failures pressed on me, and I decided I’d had enough of reliving them. Shifting the conversation, I asked, “So what did you get in math?”

“I got an A,” she said proudly, her eyes lighting up. “And an A in history. And an A in English. In fact, I’ve had straight A’s since third grade!”

My mind reeled—it wasn’t what I’d expected at all.

Hannah suddenly broke into a little victory dance, swaying her hips and shoulders side to side with her hands pointing to the sky. “Woot, woot! I’m smarter than the brain!”

Her Klondike bar had been forgotten, melting as she waved her hands in exaggerated motions. Realizing the mess, she shoved the remains toward me. “Here, eat this!”