The sun hammers down. Willa grips her backpack straps until they creak. Her sneakers stick to the cobblestones. She lifts one foot. Sets it down. Lifts it. Sets it down.
Willa yanks her hat down over her eyes. She peeks through the gap in the brim. Inside the gate, a whistle BLARS. Sneakers SLAP the blacktop. A red ball BOUNCES off the brick wall — thump, thump, thump.
The red ball hangs in the air above the blacktop, frozen between one thump and the next. Brick walls glow gold. A hoop sways. Outside the gate, cobblestones lie patient and cool.
She flops onto the cool stone of the gate post. The playground roars around her — sneakers, whistles, the red ball going thump, thump, thump. She folds her arms. Waits.
Willa scrambles to her feet. One wobbly step toward the gate. Then — plop. A dry oak leaf lands right on her nose. BLOOOW! She sneezes. The leaf spirals away in the breeze.
The leaf tumbles off in a slow spiral, catching the sun. Her shoulders wiggle. Wiggle. A tiny giggle squeaks out before she can catch it.
A woman in a yellow cardigan appears in the doorway. She crouches until her eyes line up with Willa's. "Hi, sweetheart," she says, and gives a small, slow wave.
Behind the woman, the old bell tower chimes — DONG. Willa's fingers unclench from the straps. Her hand rises. Two inches. Three. A small smile tugs at her lips.
