Page 2 of Amore
Dad pointed. “That.”
My gaze followed to where he indicated, and I frowned. “A treehouse?”
“Yes.” Dad beamed. “You’ve always wanted one.”
“When I was like five,” I pouted.
Mom huffed and turned, going back into the house.
“Don’t be like that, piccola,” Dad said.
I crossed my arms over my chest. “Well, it’s true.”
“Think of it this way. You can make it your own space.”
“How?”
He lifted a shoulder. “You can paint the inside whatever color you want, and decorate it however you want.”
“And you and Mom won’t go up there?”
“Only if you want.”
Having my own space my parents couldn’t easily access was appealing. “Can I put a TV in there?”
Dad chuckled. “Maybe a small one if you can figure out how to get power up there.”
I pictured having a bean bag with fluffy pillows and blankets surrounding me as I watched romance movies and sipped hot chocolate, while the only light source would be from twinkling Christmas lights. “All right.”
“I knew you’d love it. Now, let’s find you a bedroom.”
* * *
LUKE
Twelve yearsold
“I can’t waitto see who moves in next door,” my older sister, Lucy, stated with a mouthful of Froot Loops. “I hope it’s someone our age.”
“Me too,” I replied around a bite of cereal. “I hope they move in today.”
We lived in a small town twenty miles south of Nashville, and I was certain we knew everyone who lived in it. It was the summer before I started seventh grade, and Lucy would start her freshman year of high school. I wouldn’t mind someone our age moving in. The previous owner was Mrs. Youngblood. She died in the house about six months prior, and we saw the sold sign go up shortly after.
Someone bought the home, and for a few months, construction workers had been working on it because Mrs. Youngblood lived in what my mom said was a “dated house.” But the construction was over, and each day, Lucy and I would look to see if someone was moving in.
“If so, maybe I can walk with them to school on the first day,” Lucy suggested.
“What if it’s a boy?” I questioned.
She lifted a shoulder. “I don’t care. I just don’t want to go alone.”
“Are you scared?” I stuck the last spoonful of cereal into my mouth.
“Haven’t you heard what seniors do to freshmen?”
“No, what?”
“Put your head in the toilet, pull your pants down, trip you, knock your books out of your hands. Stuff like that.”
