A Bee in Her Bonnet by Jennifer Beckstrand

lungs and legs to feel like they were on fire. Lord willing, her legs wouldn’t give out before her determination did.
    All those recesses spent trying to prove herself to the boys paid off. She pulled ahead of him, but only by a little, and she could hear his heavy steps close behind her. Oh, sis yuscht ! Luke Bontrager was a lot faster than he looked.
    The bridge waited twenty feet ahead. In a surge of speed, Luke came even with her. She made the mistake of glancing at him. He grinned, as if he were enjoying himself or confident he was going to win. “You’re pretty fast for a girl, Poppy Christner,” he said, panting and chuckling as he pulled ahead of her.
    Luke Bontrager would not win this race. His laughter slowed him down enough to give Poppy a chance to catch up. She didn’t think she was even breathing as she ran for all she was worth, stretched out her foot, and stomped on the bridge half a second before Luke did.
    She felt so happy, she could have taken flight. Unfortunately, she didn’t have wings. Her last desperate stretch to reach the bridge catapulted her through the air with no place to land gracefully. Though she was too busy falling to see it, for sure and certain it was a truly spectacular landing.
    And truly painful. By the grace of the good Lord, she caught herself with her left hand—instead of her already injured right one—and her knees. Her left knee hit the bridge hard. She’d probably have a very large bruise by the end of the day. Her right knee landed on something sharp, like a pebble or the edge of one of the boards on the bridge. The searing pain took her breath away.
    Oy , anyhow.
    Since her face was getting to know the bridge up close, she didn’t see him, but she could feel Luke looming near her like a black storm cloud. “Are you okay?” he said, with more anxiety in his voice than Poppy would have expected.
    Before she could right herself, he slipped a firm arm around her waist, pulled her to a sitting position, and squatted next to her. Taking her left hand in his, he brushed the tiny pieces of gravel from her palm and examined the scrape she’d gotten from falling. His big hands were amazingly gentle, and she could almost have believed he cared that she’d gotten hurt. “Does it sting?”
    She nodded, not about to let Luke hear her shaky voice. He had enough to gloat over. Her embarrassment was almost as acute as the pain, but she met his eye, ready to show him contempt if he wanted to laugh at her.
    He didn’t laugh. Gone was the arrogance and self-assurance of a few minutes ago. His eyes glowed like dark, liquid chocolate. She saw nothing but concern. She hadn’t expected that. His look made her iron will feel sort of mushy.
    â€œWhere else does it hurt? Did you get your knees?”
    Her knees throbbed with every breath she took, and she could feel warm, sticky moisture oozing down her right leg, but if Luke knew there was blood, he’d probably insist that she go into the house and take a nap. Or he’d run to the phone shack and call for an ambulance to take her to the hospital. She didn’t want a nap or the emergency room. She wanted to build a chicken coop.
    â€œI’m okay,” she said, trying to sound perfectly healthy. “No harm done.” Almost no harm done—if she managed to stand up.
    A lock of hair had come loose from the scarf around her head. He nudged it behind her ear with his thumb.
    A butterfly fluttered its wings in her stomach.
    Okay.
    Luke Bontrager wasn’t the kind of boy who tenderly smoothed girls’ hair. He was the kind of boy who wouldn’t let her join in a game of tackle football.
    She held perfectly still and watched him carefully, just in case he did something else unexpected.
    â€œCan you stand up? Do I need to carry you?”
    If she needed any motivation to stand, that was it. Luke Bontrager wasn’t going to carry her anywhere. “ Nae