I startle and look to my right. I’ve been lost in thought, staring blankly across at Mrs. Merrill’s house. Bradley Stephenson approaches, stands at the curb—my curb—a hand cupped to his eyes, squinting at me. My heart pounds so hard, I’m sure he can hear it from there. “Me? Yeah.” He walks across the lawn—my lawn—smiling at me. “Thought so. Cool. I didn’t know you lived here.” “All my life.” He sits on the stoop. My stoop. Next to me. I try to tamp down the fire that’s spreading up my neck to my cheeks. “What are you doing here?” “Heading to Zette’s,” he says, but I know where he lives, and my street is out of his way from there. Stop it, Francesca! Maybe he wasn’t coming from there. “Oh, right, sure,” I say. “So, how’s your summer going?
What do You think about The Summer Of Letting Go (2014)?