TWENTY-TWO YEARS EARLIER
“WHO’S THAT?” FOURTEEN-YEAR-OLD BEN SAMUELSON ASKED, NODDING to a tall, slender girl with long strawberry-blond hair in line ahead of them.
“That,” Henry Sanders said dramatically, “is Macey Lindstrom.” Henry was Ben’s best friend—a friendship that had begun in kindergarten when Henry’s last name serendipitously placed him in line behind Ben.
“Did she just move here?” Ben asked, reaching for a lunch tray and putting an overflowing fried clam roll on it.
Henry nodded, eyeing the menu options and taking a clam roll, too. “She’s from Maine—Cape Beth or something. Today’s her first day.” Henry scanned the bowls of canned fruit cocktail for one with a cherry. “She has a sister in sixth grade . . . May something.”
“How do you know so much?” Ben asked, distractedly reaching for a fruit cup.
Henry reached for a carton of chocolate milk. “Were you asleep this morning? She’s in our algebra class.”
“I’m not in your algebra class,” Ben reminded as he grabbed a milk, too.
“Oh, right,” Henry said, handing his lunch money to Mrs. Lyons.
As Henry stood waiting for Ben to dig his money out of his pocket, he saw the new girl step back in line, and even though he tried to get Ben’s attention, it was too late. His friend turned at the very moment she passed behind him, and the scene that followed was just as cliché and mortifying as any teen rom-com. Hard plastic dishes clattered across the floor as Ben lost control of his entire lunch tray, causing everyone in the cafeteria to look up and begin clapping and cheering.
“Oh, Ben!” Mrs. Lyons said in an exasperated voice.
“I’m s-sorry,” Ben stammered, his cheeks aflame.
Henry and the girl both knelt to help him pick up the clams and chunks of fruit that had scattered and splattered all over the linoleum floor.
“Thanks,” Ben mumbled, feeling humiliated.
“No problem, kiddo,” she said, smiling as she tucked her long hair behind her ears.
“Okay, kids,” Mrs. Lyons said. “Thank you for trying to clean up. Mr. Fielding is on his way with a mop . . . and, Ben, you better get yourself another tray or you won’t have time to eat.”
Ben stood up, and the girl handed him the one thing that hadn’t spilled—his milk. “Thanks,” he said, realizing, now, that she towered over him.
“I’m Macey,” she said, extending her hand with a grin.
Ben looked up and was immediately captivated by her sparkling green eyes and her sun-tanned face sprinkled with cinnamon freckles. He looked down at her outstretched hand and, barely mustering the presence of mind to not lift it to his lips and kiss it, replied, “It’s nice to meet you. Welcome to our humble school.”
Macey’s smile immediately stole Ben’s heart, and he stood dumbfounded, gazing into her eyes until another girl called her name and she turned away. “Coming, Steff.” She turned back to Ben. “See ya ’round, kiddo.”
He nodded, awestruck, and seemingly nailed to the floor, watched as she walked away.
“Kiddo?” Henry teased, elbowing him. “Welcome to our humble school?”
“I know,” Ben said, shaking his head. “I didn’t even tell her my name.”
“That’s okay,” Henry said. “I think she knows it.”
But in the months that followed, Macey never let Ben forget their encounter, and if she knew his name, she never used it. “Hey, kiddo,” she’d tease whenever she walked by with her friends, “it’s clam-roll day—try to keep ’em on your tray this time.”
Ben would feel his cheeks get hot, but deep down, he didn’t mind. In fact, he loved it. It meant she knew who he was—she remembered him.
Ben and Macey’s friendship didn’t truly blossom until the following year, though, when they found themselves in the same honors French and geometry classes.
“I don’t know why I’m even in this class,” Macey said gloomily as she plopped her books down on the desk next to him. “I barely passed algebra.”
Ben looked up in surprise. “Geometry’s different,” he offered. “It’s about shapes . . . and it’s easy.”
“Easy for you, maybe,” she said, rummaging through her backpack for a pencil. “My brain isn’t equipped for equations that include letters . . . or for calculating the hypotemus of a triangle. I honestly don’t know when I’ll ever use algebra or geometry anyway.”
“You’ll use them someday if you ever have to remodel a house,” Ben said with a grin, “and it’s hypotenuse not hypotemus.”
“There you go,” she said, laughing. “My hypotenuse has already crossed paths with a hippopotamus and we can only hope my kids will be smarter than me.” She continued to unzip the pockets of her backpack. Finally, she gave up. “Ben, would you happen to have an extra pencil?”
“I would,” Ben answered, astounded to discover she knew his name. “Here,” he said, thrusting his only pencil, new and freshly sharpened, in her direction and pulling a pen out of his corduroy pants pocket.
She looked up. “Now you won’t have one.”
“I don’t think I need one. We’re just going over stuff from last year.”
“Are you sure?”
He nodded—he would’ve given her his kidney if she asked.
When the bell rang, she tried to give it back to him, but Ben shook his head. “Keep it.”
“Thanks,” she said, smiling. “Where’re you headed next?”
“French,” he said, gathering his things and sliding them into his backpack.
“With Mrs. Pease?”
“Yes,” he said, looking up in surprise. “You, too?”
She laughed and nodded. “I heard she wears her hair in a bun most of the time, but when there’s going to be a quiz, she wears it down.”
“I heard that, too.”
“I saw her this morning, and her hair is down. How can we be having a quiz on the first day?”
Ben shrugged as he held the door open. “I don’t know, but it can’t be too hard.”
“Well, it will be just my luck to start off the year with an F.”
“That won’t happen,” Ben said, laughing. “Believe it or not, teachers are not out to get us on the first day.”
“Ha!” Macey said. “I had social studies before this, and we already have three chapters to read about primitive man.”
Ben smiled. “Mr. Hughes?”
Macey nodded.
“I heard he’s really hard.”
“Great,” Macey said, shouldering her backpack. “So are you going to help me survive geometry? Because I’m already confused.”
“Sure,” Ben said, smiling.
In the years that followed, Ben helped Macey survive more than geometry. He got her through Advanced Math and Calculus, as well as all four years of French, making sure she knew, early in the day, if Mrs. Pease had her hair down. He also helped her with her jump shot when she made the basketball team, her pitch when she played softball, and his was the reliable shoulder she cried on every time another boy broke her heart. All the while, he fell more deeply in love with her.