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not like I meant to do it, but what could I say? Jeter has the moon in his garage, or whatever? Give me a break. This is why I haven’t been thinking about her.
    I get up to grab a glass of water and try to figure out what to do for the rest of the day. I already went running. Jed was busy with a big crowd of senior citizens in for a bingo tournament at the rec hall this afternoon, so I didn’t hang out long at the Opera Café. It’s too early for lunch, and I’m not really in the mood to do more stupid multiple-choice practice questions.
    If I’m honest, I have to admit that I really only want to do one thing: hang out with Annabelle. Gingerbread isn’t Gingerbread unless I’m hanging out with Annabelle. For the zillionth time, I think about how good she looked when she came over, her caramel curls falling out of her ponytail onto her face, her eyes all lit up and excited.
    All right, all right; I have been thinking about her.
    My mom has always says Annabelle has “a true zest for life,” which is a painfully dorky way to put it (though not as dorky as her orange snowsuit), but it’s true. Annabelle gets so into things you can’t help getting into them too. Except…I just can’t go along for the ride with this astrology junk. But maybe if I don’t respond, she’ll just let it go and we can talk about other stuff, normal stuff, like baseball and school and who is going to cream who at mini-golf.
    Screw it. I can’t wait any longer.
    Yes, part of me is still worried Annabelle has changed or was hiding a freak side this whole time, but I’m picking up my phone and texting before I think about it too much.
    Meet me @ the beach in 15?
    A walk in the rain is one of our usual summer rituals. Walking in the rain may not sound fun to most people, but Annabelle could make rummaging through a garbage dump a blast. Besides, it takes a certain special kind of person to appreciate a rainy beach. The sand is packed down tight so it’s easy to walk, and we always have the whole place to ourselves—just the waves, the sky, the sand, and us. Honestly, it might be my favorite way to spend time outside of Fenway Park.
    I know she’ll show, so I don’t bother waiting for her reply. I just put on my beat-up sneakers and old navy raincoat and head out. I jog over to our spot: a little dune almost exactly halfway between our two houses. The rain is a light mist, so I take off the jacket and toss it on the sand. For a moment, I just watch the rain hit the churning ocean, tiny droplets disappearing into the gray-green water.
    â€œForgot your skis?” I hear behind me.
    I turn, unable to hide my smile. She’s got on her green army shorts and a pink camisole. Corny? I don’t care: I swear the sight of her makes my heart stop for a second. Her hair is back in a headband, flying free behind her, and her eyes are sparkling. She walks right up and punches me on the arm. I’d forgotten how strong she is, and I yelp before I can stop myself.
    She laughs. “Uh-oh. You’re not getting soft on me, are you?”
    â€œThat’s so weird…I just had the funniest sensation I was bit by a mosquito…”
    â€œMacho is worse than soft,” she says.
    â€œI don’t care,” I say, wrapping an arm around her. “I’m all guy all the time.”
    â€œI wish I had a tape recorder to broadcast that across the boardwalk. Just to clarify: that wasn’t you tearing up last summer when we watched The Notebook at my house?” She leans into me, and for a second, all I do is inhale the mix of her rose shampoo, fresh coffee, and the smell that is just her, Annabelle.
    â€œI was crying from boredom.” Yes, I am a total sucker for tearjerker movies, but I’ve never actually admitted it out loud. Yes, with Annabelle, there’s no need.
    â€œYeah, keep telling yourself that. Just like you’re going to keep telling