Chapter One
"Fun things, happy things ... nothing stays that way forever.
Even then, can you still bring yourself to like this place?"
The sun shone on a simple, suburban neighborhood.
This is where he met her.
Sun is affiliated with joy, this was evident, and under everything upon him, a boy finds it, releasing a youthful grunt as the bat in his hand swings, making contact with the ball he'd tossed. Imagination does surface as his grin widens, settled, and he envisions a roaring crowd jumping to their feet. They wore the color of his team, signs in their hands. Some, he saw, thrust nachos covered in thick cheese past their lips, slurping sodas, and others, he saw tossing their foam fingers to the stadium floor at their feet, muttered curses between clenched teeth, and emit exclamations of regret as they witnessed the opposite team gain points.
It only built his satisfaction.
As they chant, they jump, repeating the boy's name like a mantra. It was Bjorgman; Kristoff Bjorgman and he almost deserved it.
Reality interrupts Kristoff's scenario as he squints under the sun, watching the ball soar further than he planned, into a outlying backyard. Purchasing yet another wasn't what he planned and he carried his small build in pursuit of the ball.
Kristoff peers through every fence, curling small digits around wood towering over him.
Albeit, a particular fence grasps his attention.
He's drawn to the home, a pastel yellow color, and visibly still radiating from the rest. As he eyes the small opening between the planks, past the bright flowers, he sees the lone ball rested in vibrant grass.
The child squats, charging to thrust himself up, latching onto the fence. He musters the body strength required to gather himself on top of the fence, seated in a position before tossing both legs over to land onto his worn in tennis shoes. Kristoff finds himself in a lushness, with fully bred flowers, the leaves of both trees and bushes green as if they'd been drenched in envy, the light tweet of a bird nested deep within the only tree present, and he allows a moment to drink this in.
Returning to the continuous task, he steps respectively on pavement until he reaches the ball.
He bends, capturing the sphere in his palms, and a breath of relief pasts his lips. He crosses the garden where a bird bath lay, reaching just at it's height, and he folds his arms at its rim.
The water catches the sunlight.
And a voice catches him.
"Hi," It says. Kristoff sips in a breath, leaving it tight in his throat as his whole posture stiffens. The child brings himself to twist his head where the voice emitted from, eyes wide like saucers, and they land upon a girl. Clearly, she was his age, her brows high, and tinted pink lips curled into an unsure, a gentle smile. She's standing at the screen door, which was now opened and uncovered from the curtain that shielded it.
A hat sat upon her head with the letter "AHS" knitted into the front.
"I'm Anna."
Kristoff says nothing.
He stares at the redhead, an overwhelming fear creeping up his spine, and he follows his first instinct, tearing off towards the fence for a grand escape. His breath comes out in panicked, short pants, as he struggles to bring himself over the towering blockade. Kristoff hears the other child gasp, stumbling after him, asking him to wait.
He hangs there pathetically, gawking at her over his shoulder as she comes upon him on bare feet, fingers curled anxiously at her chest.
"Woops," she mumbles, rocking on her heels. A girlish titter passes through her lips as she curls her blushing dress between her digits, up toward her mouth. "I'm sorry! I-I wasn't scaring you or nothin'. I thought we could be friends!"
Silence.
"Friends would be fun. Mama says I'm too sick to go make friends, so that's what we should be!"
Silence.
"Think so? You can come to my house and stuff. We can play out here!"
Kristoff's eyes shift. He didn't have many friends and frankly he didn't find himself wanting any.
His silence speaks blunt and curt volumes to her and the evidence lies on the dejection plastered on her face. She ultimately shrugs, accepting a no, and begins a slow descent backward in pursuit of her patio. " - sorry, " is the only word she happens to mumble and it's low and disappointed.
He watches her, his voice still stripped from his throat. Kristoff then twists forward to where his hands gripped the fence and after lining his lips with a stroke of his tongue, he starts to pull himself, upward, and halts. Conscience, his mother told him, was heavy. In that youthful mind, he understood this would follow him.
"Were you playing the piano?" He asks. Anna halts, stiffening, and she attempts to hide the grin that spreads on her cheeks. He speaks! She turns then, all too fast, and nods her head. "Yup. I'm not very good, though. Mama's better."
Now, he nods.
"Why'd you come in my backyard?"
The hand with the ball rises, presenting it to her. "Lost it."
"Oh."
"Yeah."
The hat previously on her head is now in between her fingers as she twists it, the tiniest pry of anxiousness creeping up her neck, searching for a way to keep her new discussion going.
"Were you playing baseball?" Anna asks.
He nods again.
"By yourself?"
Another.
A pout. "That's no fun. I can play with you!"
Kristoff's face converts, "You play baseball?"
Her mouth opens, then closes. Anna shifts, defeated. "No. But, you can teach me, right?"
Kristoff furrows his eyebrows.
"I teach you how to play piano, you can teach me baseball. Deal?" She seems proud of herself, appearing beside him again as he still continues to hang. Her arm extends, a large, proud grin wiping across her face. Kristoff considers for a moment.
They were back to that friend subject. Releasing the fence, he lands on his feet. Kristoff holds the wrong hand out, switching the ball for the other, and wraps it around hers.
"Deal."