I am the poet of the Body and I am the poet of the Soul.

—Walt Whitman, “Song of Myself”

Saturday, September 27, 1:15 p.m.

Busy week, no time to write

We had our first dance competition this morning, and our team did really well! Everyone was laughing and talking on the bus ride home. Brynn sat next to me, and we chatted the whole way about the other teams and how they performed. We were just a few minutes from school when I got a text from Sophie asking me if I wanted to hang out this afternoon.

Brynn looked over my shoulder at my phone and read the text. “I was going to ask you if you wanted to do something,” she said.

I couldn’t believe she’d read my text, and it made me kind of mad because we’d been on the bus for almost an hour and she hadn’t said a word about doing anything until she read the text from Sophie. I felt like she was trying to make me choose between her and Sophie, and I wasn’t going to do that.

I couldn’t hang out with either of them anyway. Mom had already asked me if I’d come downtown when I got home and help her paint the store. When she’d asked me, I’d grumbled something about child labor laws and how they were enacted for a reason. I’d already babysat three nights during the week while mom sewed. But I knew Mom needed my help, so I begrudgingly agreed to do it.

I’m glad I did. I’d much rather paint than deal with this drama.

7:52 p.m.

While painting a store wouldn’t be on my top ten list of fun things to do on a Saturday afternoon, I actually enjoyed it today.

Mom and I painted the walls white and one wall robin’s egg blue. “It’s very tranquil,” said Mom. “I’m thinking about making it my signature color.” She showed me samples of the other shades of blue she’d considered, and we both agreed this one was the nicest. Then she showed me where her antique sewing table was going to go and the cabinet she’d custom ordered to hold all of her fabrics. It was nice bonding time with Mom. But that wasn’t what made the day so good.

When Mom and I had been painting for hours and we were both hungry, I went to the deli next door to get us some sandwiches. I had on overalls with a tank top and my hair was piled on top of my head in a messy ponytail. It was still dirty from sweating at the dance competition this morning. I wasn’t thinking about what I looked like, but I wish I had been.

“What can I get you?” the guy behind the counter asked when I walked in.

I looked at him. He was skinny and tall, and he had big blue eyes and he was wearing glasses that made him look like a teacher. I read his nametag: Leo. It suited him.

I looked up at the handwritten menu behind the counter. There were way too many choices to make this easy. Leo must have been a mind reader. “First time?” he asked.

I nodded. “My mom is opening the store next door.”

“Welcome to the neighborhood.” He gestured to the menu behind him. “This can be overwhelming, but don’t worry. It’s my job to make sure you get the perfect sandwich. You can go the ham and cheese route, which I believe is greatly enhanced with honey mustard. Or you can try my favorite, which is turkey, avocado, and organic sprouts with cranberry mayo. And if neither of those appeal, knock yourself out choosing from the thirty-three options on the board behind me, or you can make something up. Dealer’s choice.”

I laughed. He was cute, in a funny sort of way.

“You take your sandwiches very seriously,” I said.

“That I do.” I looked down at the gloved hand Leo had extended in my direction. “Oops!” he said, recognizing what he’d done. He peeled off the glove and started over. “Leo,” he said less formally.

“April,” I said as I shook his hand. I was surprised at how warm and smooth it was, for a guy.

He read my mind again. “I have very soft hands,” he said. “I always have. Or at least that’s what my mother tells me.” The thought of his mother telling him that made me laugh. Leo smiled. “You didn’t come here for a comedy show,” he said winking at me. “What will it be?”

“I’ll have the turkey and avocado with sprouts and ham and cheese for my mom.”

“Excellent choices, April. Might I suggest that you have both on the multigrain bread. I believe the subtle nuttiness of the crust enhances the flavor of any sandwich.” It was a weird thing to say, but it sounded cute when he said it.

“Sure,” I said. I bit my lip to keep from smiling. Leo looked at me and our eyes met. It was kind of embarrassing, like we both knew it had happened but there was nothing we could do about it, so we both looked away.

Leo started making the sandwiches, and I pretended to read through the choices on the menu board behind him. When he finished, he wrapped the sandwiches in butcher paper and put them in a take-out bag. “Drink and chips to go with this?” he asked.

I nodded and asked a question of my own. “What’s the name of the sandwich you made for me? I don’t see it anywhere on the menu board.”

Leo smiled. “It’s the Leo Special. I only make it for special customers.”

“Am I a special customer?” I couldn’t believe I’d been so flirtatious.

But Leo didn’t seem to mind. “Quite possibly,” he said.

I have to admit I liked his answer almost as much as his sandwich.