I gazed out the window. Storm clouds blocked the afternoon sun. A gray shadow had fallen over the forest and the wind had picked up.
“Suddenly so quiet?” William asked and a smile pulled my mouth.
“As miserable as sixth grade was, it was the year I met Isaiah,” I said.
“Isaiah?” William whispered and I listened to him take up his bag from the floor and shuffle through the contents.
“Yes,” I said before he could find one of my books and pull it from his bag to check the dedication. “That Isaiah. Sweet Isaiah. I remember no other in sixth grade as I remembered Isaiah. He was shy and quiet. He said not a word. His eyes were warm and, thinking back, the day I saw him watching me from across the room, I think that was the moment he fell in love with me.”
I sighed and abandoned the memory.
