going if I hadn’t said something.
Nyelle pauses and turns around. People continue to pass between us, making it difficult to see her. “The Frosting Tree. Wanna come?”
“Sure,” I answer warily. I’ve never heard of it.
I cut through the steady stream of pedestrians and continue walking with Nyelle as she leads us away from campus. She’s wearing the big brown jacket again, despite the warm day.
“Aren’t you hot in that jacket?”
“I’m not wearing anything underneath it,” she replies flatly.
My eyes widen. She laughs.
“Wow, Cal. Relax. I was only kidding. I need this jacket, and I’m wearing a tank top underneath. But thanks for your concern.”
I press my lips together and nod.
We cross a street that takes us off campus and into a residential neighborhood. I don’t spot anything that resembles a store or a restaurant.
“Where is this place?” I ask when we cut down another street.
“Not too much farther,” she explains. “When’s your next class?”
“In about an hour.”
I follow her down another street. “Here we are.”
Across from us is a large park with a baseball diamond, basketball court and playground. I’m trying to figure out where the Frosting Tree is when she walks in the direction of a bench. Maybe she changed her mind. I’m about to sit on the bench when she approaches the tree behind it.
She sticks her foot into a deep V where the main branches split and grabs ahold of the branch above her head to hoist herself up. My mouth opens, but nothing comes out. Nyelle continues to climb up another five feet before looking down. “Are you coming?”
“You want me to climb a tree?”
“You don’t have to, but I am. Besides, when was the last time you climbed a tree?”
“Uh, not since I was a kid. And where we… I’m from, they’re mostly huge evergreens. Not too climbable.”
“C’mon,” she encourages one more time. “Climb a tree with me.”
I look around to see if anyone’s watching. This is crazy. But I follow after her anyway, up the tree.
Nyelle picks a thick branch toward the top to sit on, and I choose a sturdy-looking one across from her, keeping hold of the limb above me. I never thought I had an issue with heights, but the fact that I can’t see the ground through the crisscross of branches and that we’re higher than the power lines is making my palms a little sweaty.
“I like it up here,” Nyelle says with a deep breath, like she’s at the peak of a mountain, taking in the view. She has her back against the bark, with one leg resting on the branch and the other dangling. “This is a great place to think.”
“How often do you do this?” I ask, eyeing a group of kids approaching the tree, dribbling a basketball. They continue to the court without noticing we’re above them.
“Think? Only when I need to,” she replies sarcastically.
“Nice,” I respond. “No, how often do you climb this tree?”
“This is my first time.”
“You’ve never been here before? But you seemed to know where you were going.” This girl continues to confuse me.
“I knew there was a park over here,” she explains. “So I figured there would be a frosting tree too. The perfect tree to sit and… reflect on life.”
“Another first for you, huh? This on the list too?”
She nods.
“Why do you call it the
frosting
tree?” I ask.
She thrusts her arm, elbow-deep, into her jacket pocket and pulls out a tub of vanilla frosting. “I like to have something sweet while I’m thinking.”
“Of course you do. I should’ve known.” I shake my head with a laugh. “And that’s why you’re wearing the huge jacket—to carry your groceries. What else do you have in there?”
“What else do you want?” she responds with a smart-ass grin. She pops off the plastic cover and peels back the foil before dipping a finger in and removing a huge glob of white frosting that she plops into her mouth. She tilts the container toward me.
I hold up my
Nyelle pauses and turns around. People continue to pass between us, making it difficult to see her. “The Frosting Tree. Wanna come?”
“Sure,” I answer warily. I’ve never heard of it.
I cut through the steady stream of pedestrians and continue walking with Nyelle as she leads us away from campus. She’s wearing the big brown jacket again, despite the warm day.
“Aren’t you hot in that jacket?”
“I’m not wearing anything underneath it,” she replies flatly.
My eyes widen. She laughs.
“Wow, Cal. Relax. I was only kidding. I need this jacket, and I’m wearing a tank top underneath. But thanks for your concern.”
I press my lips together and nod.
We cross a street that takes us off campus and into a residential neighborhood. I don’t spot anything that resembles a store or a restaurant.
“Where is this place?” I ask when we cut down another street.
“Not too much farther,” she explains. “When’s your next class?”
“In about an hour.”
I follow her down another street. “Here we are.”
Across from us is a large park with a baseball diamond, basketball court and playground. I’m trying to figure out where the Frosting Tree is when she walks in the direction of a bench. Maybe she changed her mind. I’m about to sit on the bench when she approaches the tree behind it.
She sticks her foot into a deep V where the main branches split and grabs ahold of the branch above her head to hoist herself up. My mouth opens, but nothing comes out. Nyelle continues to climb up another five feet before looking down. “Are you coming?”
“You want me to climb a tree?”
“You don’t have to, but I am. Besides, when was the last time you climbed a tree?”
“Uh, not since I was a kid. And where we… I’m from, they’re mostly huge evergreens. Not too climbable.”
“C’mon,” she encourages one more time. “Climb a tree with me.”
I look around to see if anyone’s watching. This is crazy. But I follow after her anyway, up the tree.
Nyelle picks a thick branch toward the top to sit on, and I choose a sturdy-looking one across from her, keeping hold of the limb above me. I never thought I had an issue with heights, but the fact that I can’t see the ground through the crisscross of branches and that we’re higher than the power lines is making my palms a little sweaty.
“I like it up here,” Nyelle says with a deep breath, like she’s at the peak of a mountain, taking in the view. She has her back against the bark, with one leg resting on the branch and the other dangling. “This is a great place to think.”
“How often do you do this?” I ask, eyeing a group of kids approaching the tree, dribbling a basketball. They continue to the court without noticing we’re above them.
“Think? Only when I need to,” she replies sarcastically.
“Nice,” I respond. “No, how often do you climb this tree?”
“This is my first time.”
“You’ve never been here before? But you seemed to know where you were going.” This girl continues to confuse me.
“I knew there was a park over here,” she explains. “So I figured there would be a frosting tree too. The perfect tree to sit and… reflect on life.”
“Another first for you, huh? This on the list too?”
She nods.
“Why do you call it the
frosting
tree?” I ask.
She thrusts her arm, elbow-deep, into her jacket pocket and pulls out a tub of vanilla frosting. “I like to have something sweet while I’m thinking.”
“Of course you do. I should’ve known.” I shake my head with a laugh. “And that’s why you’re wearing the huge jacket—to carry your groceries. What else do you have in there?”
“What else do you want?” she responds with a smart-ass grin. She pops off the plastic cover and peels back the foil before dipping a finger in and removing a huge glob of white frosting that she plops into her mouth. She tilts the container toward me.
I hold up my
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