A pretty girl dropped to her knees in front of Franklin. She had honey-colored eyes that seemed to glow next to her dark skin and bright smile. He stared at her, his mouth opening slightly in shock. “I’m sorry—” he started. “No, no, don’t be, I’m just so excited!” The girl slid off her knees, sitting down fully in the grass beside him. “I’m Heather.” She stuck her hand out. He looked at it. “Heather Gardner-Wells,” she added, as if that made a difference. Franklin hesitantly shook her hand, barely touching her fingers, then dropped it. Heather scooted closer. Below them, a car blared its horn on Elm Street. Dealey Plaza wasn’t an ideal place for a study session, but Franklin loved it. He loved the history of the place. It felt momentous, just being there. “I thought I might see you here,” the girl said eagerly. “I mean, you told me not to track you down, and of course I tried, but I’d be lying if I didn’t say I figured that, of all the places in Texas you’d be, it’d be here.”
