Spinelli gripped the handles of her ten speed, waiting. The late summer sun was starting to set and she should have been half way home by now, but instead she was perched atop the steepest hill in town, waiting.
She twisted the rubber grips on the handles impatiently. She hated waiting for him. At least it was nice out; a soft warm breeze was washing over her, calming her jumping nerves and rustling the leaves in the trees all around her.
Cherry Hill was probably her favorite spot in the entire town, and waiting on the crest of the hill felt like being on top of the world. She could see over the tops of the oak trees at the bottom, she could see the lake off to the left partly hidden behind the jagged teeth of the roofs.
The sun was getting low and the sky behind her was starting to purple working its way slowly to a beautiful navy color, streaks of orange sliced through the trees sending large shadows across the slopped asphalt.
Where was he? she thought, absentmindedly tapping the peddle of her bike with one sneaker as she sighed heavily. She slumped over resting her chin on her folded arms, rocking the bike back and forth. Almost rocking the bike over the crest of the hill. She hated waiting but winning was worth it. She beat him down the hill almost every time.
Probably a good 80% of the time, she would skid around that last corner and let her bike swing out from under her so she could watch his face fall and his eyes narrow when he saw that he had lost again.
They had raced down the hill the first time neither realizing they were racing each other until they were half way down the hill. He hadn't been going home, his house was on the other side of Cherry Hill. There was no reason for him to take this round a bout route home everyday since. But he did and she loved it.
She loved the rush of the wind through her hair as she sped down the hill there handlebars almost tangling with the closeness of the race.
Sometimes, if he was in a really good mood- when the race had been especially close, or when he won, he would treat her to a soda on the way home. So, as much as she loved winning and the rush of satisfaction it brought her, sometimes she preferred when he won. It was hard to say out loud but she thought that she probably liked him.
Maybe just a little.
But maybe it was the magic of how the light hit him when he rolled his bike next to hers. Maybe the expanding feeling in her chest was just the magic of Cherry Hill.
She could hear the distinct sound of bike tires turn the corner behind her quickly. Spinelli stretched and yawned making a show of how long he had made her wait as she turned to look at him.
"Took you long enough," she smirked as his slid his bike up next to hers. Inches away, their legs almost touching.