Ms. White’s garden. Rose, eighteen years old.
I feel him before I see him, but I don’t respond to his presence. It’s garden day for me, and Mother is very particular about her flowers. My hands itch from the potting soil she’s chosen, and I know she did it on purpose. My skin turns red, and I get these horrible welts that burn. But I keep turning the soil in hopes that he’ll go away.
“You gonna keep your back turned to me?”
“You should go back inside with the others,” I say.
“Why?”
I don’t respond for long moments. I’ve tried being rude to him. I’ve even made it a point to go out of my way not to be in his way. My plan isn’t working. Where I go, he shows up. Nathanial Bear is arrogant. My mother either doesn’t see it, or she ignores it. It’s more likely the latter.
I turn and look up
