Personal Touch by Caroline B. Cooney

Author:Caroline B. Cooney [Cooney, Caroline B.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-1-4804-5179-7
Publisher: Open Road Media
Published: 2013-09-27T01:58:00+00:00

8

WE WENT TO THE back of the Green, where it dwindles away into a patch of unused ground and eventually becomes the rear of the elementary school playground. There is a little hill and then two tennis courts on the flat top of the rise. Long ago, some do-gooder decided to beautify the courts by planting pretty little roses along the outside of the wire enclosure of the courts. As the years passed, the roses became huge, vicious thorn bushes. Anyone trying to play tennis when the courts were locked would definitely not climb the fence!

Tim and I found a narrow pocket of thorn-rimmed space between two of the huge roses. Very carefully, we stretched out a Chair Fair blanket and crawled in backward so we could lie facing the fireworks, propping our chins in our hands. “From up here,” said Tim, “we’ll have the best view of anybody in town.”

I quite agreed. Although I was not looking at the sky. I was looking at Timothy Lansberry and thinking that the second Tim around was the most wonderful boy I’d ever come across. Forget Albany, I thought. Forget Ken. Forget everything. Think Tim.

We didn’t talk.

We just looked at each other for a few moments and I found myself shivering again. Tim put his arm around me. The first of the fireworks went off with a tremendous boom which startled both of us enough so that we clutched at each other and then giggled nervously. The clutch relaxed into a hug. The hug moved into a kiss. After that, the fireworks and the crowd below us could have done almost anything and I, at least, would never have known…

They were putting on the last great splash of fireworks, splendid bursts of red, white and blue, accompanied by earth-shaking booms. Tim traced a path around my face with his fingertip. I shivered and kissed him again. “We’d better head back,” he said. He had to try twice to get his voice clear enough to speak. “We’ll never find our folks in the crowds if we wait much longer.”

Reluctantly we slid out from under the thorns and threaded our way through throngs of people to the maple tree on the Green.

“Hi, darlings,” said my mother, waving. “Weren’t the fireworks wonderful this year? I’m such a kid. I love fireworks. I liked the tiny silver ones that popped in sprays all over the sky.”

I couldn’t remember the fireworks. “Yes,” I agreed. “Those were lovely.”

Tim looked at the smoking sky and laughed to himself.

My father gave Mrs. Lansberry a neighborly squeeze. “We must have a picnic like this again some night,” he said. “That food of yours was delicious.”

How about every night, I thought. Not to mention morning and noon!

There was no way to say a special goodnight to Tim. My father just paused at the edge of their drive and they got out and slammed the doors. “See you, Sunny,” said Tim.

Well, I hadn’t really expected him to shout, “I love you passionately, Sunny, I can’t live till tomorrow!” but on the other hand “see you” left a lot to be desired.

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