At least he didn’t act as if she had just opened some previously closed door in their relationship. The two of them walked through the silent corridor of their elementary school campus, and Christy said three times in a row, “It’s so much smaller than I remember.” And three times in a row Matt answered, “You were smaller.” “Do you remember Mrs. Elmadore and the way she used to tuck a handkerchief up the sleeve of her blouse? I thought she was trying to perform some kind of magic trick every time she pulled it out to blow her nose.” Christy peered into the window of their fourth-grade classroom. Matt stood beside her, peering inside too. “She used to write our names on the board in those big, flowery letters whenever we got in trouble.” “I wouldn’t know,” Christy said, playfully flipping her hair over her shoulder. “I never got in trouble in Mrs. Elmadore’s class.” “Right, but you were always in trouble in sixth-grade band,” Matt reminded her. “Why was Mr.
