Then 8 & 9

The playground was overflowing. Not a surprise given that it was one of the last weekends before summer's end, and there was a pleasant breeze to keep everyone from overheating. A game of tag circled the bottom of the climbing structure. There was a line six kids deep for the zipline, and a raucous game of tether just dissolved into noisy tears.

Vera Novak reached up to tighten each of her auburn pigtails, one by one, and grinned at the chaos before her. This was her moment. Her chance to meet some kids before the start of the school year. Her mom had already driven them two towns over to the nearest office max and she'd picked out her set of Lisa Frank folders and some mechanical pencils. Her old school didn't allow mechanical pencils, but this new one had put nothing on the supplies list that said she couldn't pick the sparkly pink and purple ones. She even had a pen that could write in four different colors, but her mom had been clear that it was only for at home, which was fine by Vera.

Her dad was at practice, getting the high school varsity football team geared up for the new school year, and her mom needed to run a few errands, and Vera had convinced her that being dropped off at the bustling playground was a great way to spend her time. It had been surprisingly easy. She hadn't even needed to use any of her secret-weapon talking points and now Operation Make-New-Friends was in full effect.

Vera was more excited than worried. She'd had plenty of friends in her last hometown, and they been writing letters back and forth all summer. She wished she had an "i" in her name so she could dot it with a heart the same way Chrissy did. Or a star like Emily. Although, she thought to herself,she'd probably dot hers with flowers. Aster flowers. Like her middle name. Not that she knew what asters looked like, but her dad said they were purple, which was her all-time favorite color after flamingo pink, robin's egg blue, and key-lime green.

How hard could this making-friends-thing be? She was a cool kid. One-of-a-kind. Unique and precious. Her dad said so every day.

"Vera Novak," he'd say, his calloused palm ruffling the top of her head. "You are one-of-a-kind, kid. Unique and precious and irreplaceable. I'm glad you're mine." He'd said that to her mom once—"I'm glad you're mine,"—and wasn't that just the most beautiful thing in the universe? Vera thought so.

So yeah, this was going to be easy. She just had to decide who to approach first.

A group of boys whooped and hollered, running up and down the asphalt with sticks in their hands. Street hockey, she thought,and turned away. There was a group of girls sitting on some giant boulders by the wooden playhouse, their heads all pressed together as they giggled. She could start there, except they were all wearing sundresses, giant bows holding back their hair. Vera wasn't sure if she was the right fit for that group, either. Not in her baggy overalls and yellow t-shirt. She had a bright red Band-Aid plastered across her knee from tripping on her new porch, but at least it matched her hair baubles.

There was a trio of tall metal slides off to the side and she almost headed that way except the metal would be hot, she was sure, and burning her legs didn't seem like the best use of her time. Vera turned and headed for the monkey bars. She had callouses on callouses on callouses, but she could do the monkey bars no problem. She could even skip every other one and go backwards. That might impress someone enough to want to be her friend. She loved her parents, but she was getting bored having no one else to talk to each day.

There was a small line forming, and Vera stepped up behind a blond boy wearing a dark green ball cap. He was probably a fifth grader, or would be next week when school started, so Vera didn't bother with introductions, just kept her eyes peeled for anyone else to impress.

"Go away."

She was so busy looking around that it took a moment for Vera to realize the boy was speaking to her.

"Are you stupid or something? I said go away."

She frowned. No one had ever told her that before. Or called her stupid. Her stomach pitched and her ears went mushy, like she was hearing him from underwater.

"Me?" Vera made an exaggerated point of looking behind her before pointing to the center of her chest.

"Wow, you gingers really are dumb. Yeah, you. Who else would we be talking to?"

It was the word "we" that had Vera noticing the attention of two other boys in line. All three were sneering at her like she was the flattened squirrel she'd seen in the middle of her new street last week. The one with its eye ball all red and bulgy and its guts hanging out. Her mom had told her not to go near it, but she'd snuck over anyway when her parents were busy. She kind of wished she hadn't looked at all.

"I'm not a ginger," she said. She hadn't planned on introducing herself, but maybe she should. "I'm Vera. Vera Novak. I just moved here."

"Does it look like we care?" The trio laughed. "Scram dummy. This playground's for big kids only. No baby gingers allowed."

"I'm not a baby." Vera propped her hands on her slim hips, her fingers dipping into her pockets. "And I already told you, I'm not a ginger."

The leader turned around to the two friends sniggering behind him. "She's so stupid she doesn't even know her own hair color." The soft laughter turned to louder guffaws.

Vera frowned. She wasn't stupid. No matter what these kids said, but her hair wasn't orange, and she wasn't a baby, and she didn't need these bullies ruining her chances at showing off her strengths.

"You're being a meanface," she said, with her sternest glare pasted across her face. Her eyebrows actually hurt a little from how hard she was squeezing them together.

"No one cares, baby." The ringleader grinned at her. His front two teeth overlapped just the tiniest bit.

"I'm not a baby," she insisted, stamping her foot even though she knew better than to react. They'd think they were getting to her.

"A total baby." The boy continued.

"Careful Brody," one follower said, eyes flashing. "Don't let her touch you. She's covered in ugly spots. Probably has some hideous disease."

Vera looked down at her arms and legs. She was all straight lines and knobby joints covered in a spray of freckles.

"Those aren't spots. They're freckles. You can't catch freckles."

"Whatever baby." Brody said. "Get out of here."

"No," Vera said, determined not to talk to them anymore, but not to give in either. She also would not let herself cry. Not even one tiny tear or a single sniffle. She turned her back on the boys, ready to resume her scan for more suitable future friends, when she felt something push her hard.

Vera went down like an unbalanced stack of books, smacking her cheek hard against the woodchips. A rock dug into her hipbone, her knees knocking together, and the tears welled-up in her eyes despite the number of times she swallowed. She took a minute, breathing through the ache in her side and the sting in her face. She breathed back the hurt and the fear and the pain. She would not show them they got to her. Not at all.

A quiet thump sounded from above and behind her. Followed by two more. A shadow fell over Vera as she took stock of herself on the slightly damp ground. She pushed up on her elbows and rolled over, ignoring the woodchips stuck to her knees and shins. Standing above her was a tall boy with dark, wavy hair. His back was to her, but he had an off-white polo shirt and a pair of blue shorts. His feet were planted wide on either side of her ankles, and his hands balled into fists. Fists he held up in front of his narrow chest.

The three meanface boys were lying on the ground just like she was, although they weren't nearly as composed as her, Vera thought. The two goonies were crying, one clutching his shoulder, the other his stomach. Brody wasn't crying, but bright red blood poured out of his nose, staining the front of his t-shirt. Vera could see splatters on the edges of the new kid's scuffed sneakers.

"I think it's time for you to go now," the new boy said, but he was looking at the bullies, not at her, so Vera continued to push herself upright until she was sitting in the dirt. She used her hands to wipe the woodchips from her legs, wincing at the scrapes on her palms. She didn't look when Brody and his friends lumbered to their feet. They might have been taller than her, but they weren't taller than her champion.

"Whatever," Brody said, his words muffled through his hands and still dripping nose. "Standing up for babies again, Robbie? Can't find friends your own size?"

Her champion, Robbie, didn't answer. He just waited until the bullies slunk away and then turned to face her. He was ordinary looking, Vera thought. Dark eyes, dark hair, lopsided smile. She didn't know why that surprised her.

"I like your freckles," he said, extending a hand out until it hovered right in front of her face. He was helping her up, Vera realized. She slid her palm against his, feeling the callouses along his fingers and at the base of his thumb.

"Thanks," she said as he hauled her to her feet. They were almost the same height, but Vera knew she was tall. He was probably older than her. "I like your punching."

The boy grinned.

"I'm Robbie Oakes."

"Vera Aster Novak. I'm new."

"In Kimmelwick?"

Vera nodded. "I'm going to be in third grade, but I thought it might be nice to make some friends before school starts." There was only one elementary school in town, so unless his family lived somewhere else, or he went to one of the fancy private schools thirty minutes away, they'd be in the same building.

"I'm going into fourth, but my neighbors Vic and Erik are in third. They're pretty cool. They'll be your friends."

He looked over her shoulder and she turned to see two identical-faced boys holding three separate hockey sticks and watching them like they were a new movie at the Cineplex. All her gratitude vanished in a puff of smoke.

"I don't need anyone to look after me," she said, full of piss and vinegar and a touch of bravado she definitely didn't feel. Not when her hands still stung as she fisted them.

"I know," Robbie smiled at her and she felt herself soften by degrees. First her fingers, her wrists, the long bones in her arms—both of them—then her elbows and up to her shoulders. "But now you have us, too."

"Cool," she said. "Thanks."

She watched him step out of the line for the monkey bars, turning his back to her as he trudged up the small hill to where his friends waited for him. The twin—because they had to be twins—with two sticks held one out to her champion. He took it, his eyes meeting hers for one suspended moment as he glanced over his shoulder.

"Why'd you do it?" she asked, her voice floating between them like a dandelion seed. "Why get involved?"

"My dad told me we have to take care of things that are precious. He said they can't be replaced." His smile wasn't so lopsided, after all. Not when he showed all his teeth.

"How'd you know that was me?"

She expected her dad to know she was one-of-a-kind and unique and precious and irreplaceable. It was literally his job. That and he'd known her for all eight years of her life. Longer if she counted the time before she was born. But this kid didn't know her. He hadn't even heard her name, or told her his, until after he'd stepped in. So how'd he figure out she was worth saving?

"Sometimes you just know."