Hi, y'all! I'm really excited to share this story because it's my first multichapter in several years. The whole thing has been prewritten, so don't worry that it might not be finished. There will be three chapters posted at about weekly intervals.

This story is definitely unique for this fandom and might not be what it looks like at first…but I got a lot out of writing it, and I hope you will from reading it :)

The title is a lyric from Sixteen Going on Seventeen.

"Oh, my life/Is changing everyday/In every possible way/And oh, my dreams/It's never quite as it seems/Never quite as it seems." – The Cranberries, "Dreams"

-:-

March 1940. Boston, Massachusetts.

There is a boy who keeps staring at her.

Louisa doesn't notice until halfway through Do Re Mi. The vast church is packed, after all, and most of the crowd is just a mass of overlapping silhouettes in the dim light. But her eyes wander as she recites the harmony she could probably sing in her sleep, and they pass over him: a boy with light brown hair about her age in the front few rows, sandwiched between two elderly couples, but somehow, he doesn't seem to be accompanying either of them. Teenage boys never show up to her family's concerts on their own. She gives him another look, and their gazes connect.

He smiles at her. It's a big smile, as if he's spotted a friend from across the room, not as if she's a complete stranger singing in the choral stands.

Louisa looks away. But – she doesn't know why – she looks back a few more times, and each time he's still looking at her. Not smiling so big, just paying attention. At first, she thinks she's imagining it. Boys only ever stare at Liesl, but Liesl is at the other end of the row, and she's pretty sure he isn't staring at Kurt or Friederich on either side of her.

The family ends the concert with Edelweiss like they always do. Even after so many times, the song pulls at something in Louisa's chest, maybe the same spot where it burned as she trekked over the Alps and left Salzburg behind. Her eyes find the boy again, but this time his are fixed on the stained glass window above them. She thinks she sees a tear, lit by the candlelight, tracing a golden path down his cheek.

That pulls at something in her chest too. Some place different.

-:-

The church has hor d'oeuvres and pastries set out in a courtyard after the concert. An old brick wall separates the courtyard and the cemetery it transitions into from the surrounding buildings of downtown Boston, which frame the lavender sky.

Louisa looks around, taking note of her family. Mother and Father are by the hor d'oeuvres, accepting compliments from guests and chatting with a priest. People who don't know Mother probably can't tell yet, but the family sees her softening curves – in about six months, the first new sibling since Gretl will arrive.

Marta, still shy, stays at Mother's side, while Kurt is at the dessert table, trying to sneak more than he's allowed before Father notices. Louisa thinks Gretl has the better strategy – she's visiting all the old American ladies, getting cooed over and patted on the cheek and offered whatever treats they have. Liesl, meanwhile, has been cornered by one blond and one brunet young man, though she looks bored with both of them. Friederich is nowhere in sight, but the last time Louisa saw him, he was talking with a petite redhead and wandering toward the cemetery.

She and Brigitta, never ones for socializing at parties, took their plates and sat down at a small cast-iron table. One of the church members apparently attempted an Austrian apfelstrudel for the von Trapps' visit, but the crust did not turn out flaky enough.

Louisa definitely doesn't look for him, but she notices the boy too. He is chatting with a couple middle-aged women in a familiar way, though they don't look related. She figures that they all attend this church.

As far as she can tell, he hasn't looked over at her anymore.

Maybe she did just imagine it during the concert. Boys always see her as just, well, one of the boys. For a long time, she was fine with that. She didn't understand why other girls got so worked up over boys, who seemed no different or more interesting than girls, except they usually got away with more and didn't have to wear skirts. Even when she did start to feel a flitter in her stomach at the sight of certain boys, the thought of actually courting one made her nervous. It still does, a bit. It just seems like something older people do.

"Louisa, that boy over there keeps glancing at you," Brigitta whispers in German.

Without thinking, she sits up straight and wipes apfelstrudel crumbs off her mouth. Brigitta raises her eyebrows.

"So…you want him to," she adds with a little smirk.

Classic Brigitta. Nothing ever slips by her. "I don't care one way or another," Louisa says cooly.

"Sure…" Brigitta says. "He's not bad looking, you know."

Louisa peers at him from the corner of her eye. He looks a few inches taller than her, and she's always been tall for a girl her age. His build is sturdy and his arms thick like the boys in the American countryside she has glimpsed through train windows, effortlessly carrying rectangles of hay on their shoulders. In the outdoor light she can make out his hair color better, and it reminds her of warm toasted bread. Mostly, though, she notices how he laughs during his conversation with the women. She doesn't know many teenage boys who are genuinely interested in what women have to say.

"I thought I saw him watching me while we sang," she says. "But I haven't noticed him doing it again."

"Oh, he has. You just missed it."

Louisa looks down at her fern-green dirndl, identical to her sisters'. After all, their family must sell not only their voices but a glimpse into a nation that is no longer a nation. She's the only one of the older children who never chafes at wearing traditional Austrian clothes (Liesl would wear one of those trendy jumper dresses if she had her way, and Friederich has grumbled more than once about burning his lederhosen), but suddenly the dirndl feels…babyish.

Liesl looks like an adult in her dirndl, but Liesl is Liesl. Louisa glances over to see that a third young man has started hovering around her. She gets attention even when she doesn't particularly want it. Louisa's mouth twists. She doesn't like being jealous of Liesl, and she usually isn't. She doesn't care about clothes or makeup or fitting in or even growing up, so it doesn't bother her that Liesl is just objectively prettier and more charming than she is. At least, it usually doesn't. Her brain gets hijacked by thoughts about her looks more and more every year. Maybe that's one of girlhood's inescapable curses.

It suddenly occurs to her that Brigitta is almost thirteen, the same age she was when she had to pretend she didn't know Liesl was sneaking off to the gazebo every time a telegram came. And just last month, Louisa turned the same age Liesl was when she did that sneaking.

She glances over at the boy just in time to see him glance away. He's noticed her. Brigitta saw it too, so it must be real. Louisa feels that pull again in her chest, stronger this time, like it might shift things out of place.

But isn't sixteen the age for that?

"I'm going to talk to him," she declares.

Brigitta blinks. "Really?"

"Really."

She waits for the boy to look her way again. A few seconds later, he does, and their eyes truly lock for the first time since he smiled that big smile at her. He does so again, more restrained this time, but with the same spirit – like he knows her already. She darts her gaze over to the row of birch trees a few yards away that marks where the cemetery begins. Then she looks back at him. He nods in understanding.

"You two just had a whole conversation," Brigitta says in awe.

She stands up and smooths her skirt, trying to ignore how she can feel her pulse in her fingertips. "Come fetch me if Mother and Father start looking?"

"Of course," she replies. "Don't let him get away with anything." Her voice is playful, but Louisa can hear the serious undertone.

Sometimes it strikes her how much older Brigitta seems than her age. Louisa wasn't even worried about that. "I'd punch him in the nose first," she answers, meaning it.

She strolls across the threshold of the trees, not looking back to see if the boy is following. The cemetery, bigger than she expected in the middle of downtown Boston, is hazy with shadows in the twilight. A few people meander around out there, but far off. The noise from behind is strangely quiet – though maybe her heartbeat has overpowered it – and she feels suddenly alone, as if by passing the barrier of birches she's entered some faerie world, like in the games they would play as children.

Louisa stares up at the sky. The seconds drag. That boy did understand what she was thinking, right? A breeze stirs the branches, and she thinks again of playing with her siblings on the villa grounds, of bedtime stories where girls entered the woods and left either rescued by a prince or eaten by a wolf. She shakes her head a little. Why should she feel so nervous? She's always been the fearless one. All she's about to do is talk to a person her age who happens to be a boy. Friederich is doing the same thing in reverse, and he's only a year older than her. There might not even be a spark, anyway.

A tree behind her rustles. Louisa whips around to see the boy push a branch aside and come to stand in front of her. For a few seconds, neither of them say anything. He's even taller and broader up close, almost enough to be intimidating if it weren't for his youthful face. He steps closer, out of a tree's shadow, and his eyes are lit up. Her breath catches. They're a startlingly pale, almost translucent blue, like mist over the lake back in Aigen. She remembers something Mother said once; Liesl asked how she knew she was in love with Father, and Mother smiled and said, "Well, sometimes he would look at me and I could hardly breathe."

Louisa has to focus in order to inhale. But she straightens up, joins her hands behind her back, and lifts her chin. She won't be a silly little girl falling all over a boy she just met.

"You've been watching me," she says.

The tips of his ears redden, but he lifts his chin as well and meets her gaze. "I have," he answers. His voice is soft for a person who takes up so much space.

A smile plays on her lips. He's nervous but determined. She likes that. "Why?"

"Well, I didn't plan to be so forward, but –" His gaze flits downward, and his ears somehow turn even redder. "Um, I think you're very pretty."

Her lungs feel airless all over again. She must be a different Louisa than the one she was a few minutes ago. Because things like this don't happen to her. She falls back on the manners that have been drilled into her and holds out her hand. "I'm Louisa von Trapp."

He shakes it. His own hand is warm and calloused. "I'm Ben Riker. I thought you looked like a Louisa."

She notices the concert program in his other hand and arches an eyebrow. "Are you sure it's not because our names are listed in age order?"

"That helped," he says sheepishly. "But it suits you. It's a nice name."

She doesn't know what to say to that. For a terrifying few seconds, neither of them say anything. She orders her brain to come up with something that's not weird or boring, but there's only a buzzing static, and beneath it she hears herself asking, "Do you go to church here?"

"Yes! Since I was born. I grew up getting yelled at for running around the cemetery like it was a playground."

He didn't think that question was boring. Good. "I grew up getting yelled at for trying to bring bugs in the house," she says, then wishes she could snatch it back. That one might have swerved into "weird" territory…

Ben laughs, and for a second she thinks he's laughing at her, but he says, "Really? I did the same thing. My mom wouldn't even let me through the door until she checked my pockets." He gestures with his chin to the rest of the cemetery. "Do you want to walk a bit?"

A relieved grin splits her face. "Yes." Hopefully, her brain will work better if she doesn't have to directly face that blue gaze.

They walk beside each other, him keeping a gentlemanly distance, but she still feels his presence like a bright light in the corner of her eye. She's never really felt anything like it.

"Did you like the concert?" She asks.

"Definitely. Though I was maybe the only boy my age here alone," he chuckles. "My mom is at work. I work most Saturdays too – I help out at a mechanics' – but I really wanted to come see your family. You're all amazing."

"Thank you," she replies. Sometimes she can't believe they weren't allowed to sing in public just a few years ago. "How old are you, by the way?"

"Sixteen. Almost seventeen."

"I'm sixteen too." It doesn't seem relevant that she was very recently fifteen.

"What's it like, having six siblings? And how are you all so talented?"

She shrugs. "We didn't start learning to sing until a few years ago, but I guess it was in our blood. Our parents both loved music. And what is it like…" She's gotten this question before, but she never quite knows how to answer. "I've had lots of siblings almost as long as I can recall, so it's normal to me. Sometimes I wish I could have more time to myself, and the little ones…they can be a…" The English idiom dances out of her grasp, which isn't like her. "Sorry, what do you say when you – when you can't carry anything else?"

"You mean 'a handful?'" Ben asks. She watches his lips for that particular quirk some Americans get when one of them makes a mistake with English. But it doesn't come.

"Yes! They can be a handful. But I can't imagine my life without any of them." Cute. Friendly. Doesn't judge foreigners, she checks off in her head. So far, Ben Riker has the basics. "Do you have any siblings?"

"No, just me. I always kind of wished I did," he answers quietly.

Louisa considers the wistfulness in his voice. An only child, his mother working on a Saturday evening… Did she work so much when he was growing up too? What about his father? She holds back a weirdly powerful urge to fire questions at him. He is far from the kind of boys she would've met if they had never left Austria, boys with smooth hands who would inherit their fathers' titles and villas. Her old life was beautiful, and she misses it with all her heart. But today, Americans like Ben seem more real and more fascinating to her than the boys in her circles ever did.

They pass an old, faded gravestone, and he suddenly stops. "Oh, this is my great, great, great… Well, this is one of my mom's ancestors. He was at the Boston Tea Party. Do you know what that is?"

"The Americans threw tea into the harbor because…they did not want to pay taxes?"

"Basically. England was forcing the colonies to pay really high taxes on tea, but it wasn't fair because we didn't have any representation in Parliament, so we destroyed the tea to protest."

"It sounds like a fun way to protest."

"Oh, it is."

Louisa does a double take, and he laughs.

"They do a reenactment every year, and my mom and I always go. I promise you, there's nothing like sticking it to the Brits, even if it's just pretend."

An image of him, heaving a crate over the side of a ship with his strong arms and grinning mischievously, enters her mind. She blushes and turns her attention to the gravestone. It bears the name Nathaniel Smith, but the dates are too worn to make out. A little American flag sprouts from the ground in front of it. "You must be proud to be related to him."

"I just hope I have a chance to do something like he did one day," he says.

She glances at him. His eyes rest on the flag, his expression serious. "That is brave of you."

Ben shrugs. "It's what you do for your country."

In the back of her mind, the strains of Edelweiss start up. Bless my homeland forever… "That sounds like something my father would say. He was in the Navy during the Great War. He was even decorated by our Emperor."

He pauses, as if deciding whether or not to say something. "My dad fought in the Great War too."

She curses herself for bringing it up. She forgets, sometimes, that the United States was once Austria's enemy. "It isn't weird that our fathers fought on opposite sides, is it?" She tries to laugh it off.

"Um…they weren't on opposite sides." He meets her gaze again, and a certain vulnerability has entered his eyes. "My dad was Austrian too. That's part of why I wanted to see your concert so much."

Was. Louisa doesn't miss that, and Ben's tears at Edelweiss start to seem more significant. "Is he…?"

"He passed away. When I was six." His voice is strained for a moment, and he looks at the ground, his ears flushing again. "Sorry. It was so long ago, but –"

"I understand. I was ten when my birth mother died."

For a few seconds they just look at each other. A wordless recognition passes between them, like the permanent cavity deep in her heart is signaling to the one in his.

Ben smiles a faint, resigned smile. "It hits you out of nowhere, doesn't it?"

"Oh, yes. I…" She doesn't often let herself be emotional around others, much less strangers, but something must be happening to her because all her normal reservations are gone. "I cried a little, the night of my sixteenth birthday. I was happy all day, but then I started thinking about how much I'd grown without her seeing it."

"Exactly. Sometimes, I think about how my dad wouldn't even recognize me if he somehow came back. It probably sounds dumb, but…"

"Don't say that. It isn't dumb," she chides.

"Thanks." He takes a deep breath. "He came to America a few years after the war since it was so hard to find a job in Austria, especially because his lungs were weak from a mustard gas attack. I remember him being…in poor health a lot. One winter he caught pneumonia and just never got better."

"I'm sorry," Louisa murmurs. Father was spared from poison gas out at sea, but she grew up seeing men on the street with the rough, discolored scars of chemical burns. Suddenly, she feels it – the dark rumble of anxiety ever present at the edge of her mind. The anxiety that's all about the new world war. Neither side has used gas yet, as far as she knows, but what if those yellow clouds roll over her homeland again? Her nails press into her palms. No. She won't let the war encroach on this. "Is your father buried here too?"

"Yes – do you want to see his grave? We don't have to if it's not interesting –"

"Ben," she says gently. "I do want to. I know that… People are sometimes not comfortable when I mention my mother. They don't know what to say. But she's a part of me, and your father is a part of you. I promise that's not uninteresting to me."

He looks at her with an expression approaching awe, like he's stumbled on an unexpected mountain view. Then he ducks his head and clears his throat, his ears reddening again in a way she already finds endearing.

"This way," he says. His hand grazes her back as he guides her deeper into the cemetery, but it drops within a second.

Something unfamiliar hums beneath her skin. She wants him to touch her again. She wants him to reach for her hand. She wants – She knows this is ridiculous. Nothing has even happened, and she doesn't even know him, and even if she did, he's just an ordinary person. But this moment doesn't feel anything close to ordinary.

Maybe this is how it's meant to feel, being sixteen.

They walk in silence for a few minutes until Ben stops at another gravestone. Traugott John Riker. 1899 – 1930.

"Trau Gott. Trust God," she translates. "I've never heard that as a first name."

"His parents were very religious," he explains. "Traugott is my middle name. I used to hate it. Other kids would make fun of it if it came up, so I started pretending my middle name was Paul or Adam or something."

Privately, Louisa doesn't think it's a very attractive name, but she's not about to say that. "The meaning is nice."

"Oh, yeah. I like having his name now. And it's a good reminder of, y'know, what's most important."

Cute. Friendly. Doesn't judge foreigners. Faithful. There was a time when that last one wouldn't have mattered much to her, but in all of them, Mother has nurtured the seed of faith that once laid mostly dormant.

"What about you? What's your middle name?" Ben asks.

She can't help but groan. "I have three."

"Three? What are they?"

"Maria Franziska Gobertina. It's something nobility does. I always thought it was silly to have so many names we do not use."

"Your father's a baron, right?" He performs a mock bow. "Does that make you Baroness Louisa Maria Franziska Gobertina von Trapp?"

"Yes, though it means nothing here." She laughs. "I don't look or act much like a baroness, anyway."

He tilts his head. "You don't need to act like one. But I don't know what you're talking about as far as looks."

She's known this whole time that he's not just trying to be friends with her, but this is the first time since he called her pretty that he's dipped into decidedly nonplatonic territory again. It makes her nervous. And excited. He looks about the same, but he just watches her, waiting for her reaction.

"I – thank you." What else is she supposed to say? That she likes how tall he is, that his eyes remind her of home? She refocuses on Traugott Riker's grave, too jittery to withstand this intense eye contact. "Your grandparents. Did you ever meet them?"

"No. They died in the Spanish flu epidemic not long after the war."

He really has no ties to Austria left, she thinks.

"That's something else I think about sometimes," he continues quietly. "Even if they were still here, we wouldn't be able to understand each other. I barely know any German."

"How much?"

"I know ja and nein and guten tag and auf wiedersehen. Um, Deutschland is Germany and Österreich is Austria; volksdeutsche is German people…" He pauses and thinks for a second. "That's about it, honestly."

Volksdeutsche. That word used to evoke no particular feelings for her. Now she remembers overhearing their old butler, Franz, use it as he whispered with other staff members, before she fully understood what was coming. Unlike Franz, the von Trapps have never considered themselves German people, but she still loves her native tongue. Misses speaking it freely without facing suspicious glares. "What is something you want to know how to say in German?" She asks.

"I don't know, um…'I'm from Boston'?"

Louisa fixes him with an exaggerated stern look, like she's a perfectionist schoolteacher. "Ich komme aus Boston."

He plays along immediately, placing his hands behind his back and clicking his heels together. "Ich komme aus Boston." He tries to keep his voice serious, but he grins as if she's given him a present.

"Hmm. Better than I expected," she says. "You even had the little rasp on Ich."

"It's in my blood," he boasts. "Now how do I say…'you sang beautifully tonight'?"

A blush pools across her cheeks. "Du hast wunderschön gesungen."

"Du hast wunderschön gesungen," he repeats.

His Boston accent comes through more that time, but she likes it. Likes that he's so American but Austrian too. Likes that he jokes with her but also looks at her like she's something significant. Significant to him.

Ben comes closer until she has to lift her chin to keep meeting his eyes. "How about… 'I want to see you again'?"

She stops breathing. She didn't think this far ahead. Maybe she didn't think that he would actually like her, or maybe she thought it would be enough of an adventure to flirt for one evening. She imagines never seeing him again and it all feels so unfinished – but they don't live here; they don't, for now, live anywhere, and tomorrow they will be off to another city for another concert so they can keep putting food on the table, and those other cities will have other American boys, but none of them will be Ben Riker.

His face falls at her silence. "I'm sorry. I thought…"

"No! Ben, I do want to. But we're leaving tomorrow –"

"When?"

She runs a hand over her hair, trying to remember the plan. "Um, we're singing at the two morning Masses. Then we have some time before catching the train in the evening, but none of us are allowed to wander alone."

His lips twitch into a devious smile. "I mean, you are sixteen, Louisa. You're old enough to decide how to spend your day."

"You mean sneak away?"

"If you want. And I would… I hope you know you'd be safe with me. I wouldn't let you get lost. We can just walk in a park or something."

She used to sneak away from governesses all the time. It was one of the easiest but most effective pranks to pull, just hiding somewhere on the grounds and letting the governess work herself into a panic. The pranks were mostly attempts to get Father's attention; she's mature enough to recognize that now, but she can't deny that she enjoyed the thrill too. She can't remember the last time she did something a bit bad for the fun of it. They've all had to be so very, very good since they came to America.

"Come to the 11 o'clock service tomorrow," she finally says. "If I figured something out, I'll – I'll scratch the corner of my mouth onstage, so be sure you watch me."

"That won't be a problem," he jokes. "Then we can meet in the courtyard?"

She nods, relishing in the old satisfaction of plotting mischief.

Ben just looks at her for a moment, then steps forward once more, slowly, purposefully, and she has to lift her chin again and it's like she can see them from the outside, like watching a movie – a boy and a girl, dim lighting, his face poised to descend and hers poised to meet him – and sheer adrenaline rushes through her that could be excitement or fear, and is this it? Her first kiss? Is she ready?

It hits her, then, just how dark it's gotten. "My family will be looking for me soon," she breathes. "I'll go back first. I don't want them to see us together."

Something like impatience flickers across his face, and she can't say she blames him. But then his forehead smoothes and he smiles. "Okay," he answers softly. "Goodnight, Louisa."

"Goodnight." She turns to head back and pauses. "Oh – Ich möchte dich wiedersehen."

"What?"

"That's how you say it. I want to see you again too."

-:-

The family is staying in a little guest house beside the parsonage, which saves money on a hotel. As large as the church is, Louisa's sure they have been well paid for their performances tonight and tomorrow, but her parents still try to save as much as possible before they settle down at a Vermont farm later this year. Father never intended to make a living this way, but financial desperation led to the occasional performance, which led to more and bigger performances, which led to attention from agents, until he couldn't deny that the von Trapp Family Singers made money more effectively than he could alone.

With the baby on the way, their tour is about to come to an end. Louisa is ready for it. Performing across America has been fun, but she misses having a real home. She even misses going to regular school instead of homeschooling.

After Marta and Gretl go to bed, the rest of the family gathers around the wireless radio in the sitting room. Louisa heads to the bathroom instead. Father and Mother have always kept up with the news, but they've been especially dedicated to the nightly broadcasts since war broke out six months ago. Liesl and Friederich started joining them before long, then Louisa began feeling left out and came too, and Kurt has been allowed to listen since he turned thirteen. Brigitta hasn't just yet, but she listened from around corners so often that Father just let her come in, anyway. It was strangely exciting in the early days. Wars were the kind of thing you saw in books or films or history class, but all of a sudden it was here and it was real and Austria was in it because Austria was now Germany, and Germany was in it because her home hadn't satisfied the Nazis' hunger. Nothing, it seemed, would.

She's had a harder time stomaching the news lately. She started having nightmares about bombs so big they made craters in the mountaintops around Salzburg, like something had come down and chomped on them.

She doesn't know why it seems so much easier for the others. But she doesn't want to talk about it, either, this knot of emotions in her chest. To hope for justice means to hope that the British and French kill more of her countrymen than the other way around. There is no other option. Hitler has to be stopped. But she still wonders what life must look like in Austria, what might be happening to her old schoolmates – what they might be doing in Poland or over England –

"...James Isbister, age 27, today became the first British civilian killed in a German air raid…"

She closes the bathroom door, though the reporter's Transatlantic tones seep through, and examines herself in the mirror. Her yellow hair is much shorter than it was back home, only a couple inches past her collarbone. Long hair just isn't fashionable for young ladies in America, and right before her sixteenth birthday, she relented and let Liesl cut it. Her bangs are less blunt than they used to be and swept more to the side. She barely looks like herself, but maybe that's not so bad. Ben thinks she's pretty like this.

"...Chinese forces continue to struggle against the Japanese in Wuyuan County, China…"

Louisa takes a deep breath. She needs a plan. Tomorrow, she, Friederich, and Kurt are supposed to go see the Paul Revere house. Their parents will take Marta and Gretl to a zoo, while Liesl and Brigitta plan to do some shopping and visit the Boston Public Library. Friederich is still almost as protective now as when he was the de facto father of the family, so there's no way she can give him the slip. But Liesl and Brigitta? They're hopelessly sentimental. Brigitta may not seem like it, but she loves to sniffle over Romeo and Juliet. Louisa wouldn't dare to actually sneak off without telling anyone, but if she can convince her sisters, she may not have to.

"...Almost half a million Finns are evacuating from territory Finland has ceded to the Soviet Union…"

She passes the sitting room on her way to the bedroom the girls are sharing. Friederich leans against the fireplace, his face as serious as if he's a general instead of a teenage civilian. Liesl sits in an armchair, while Kurt is on one end of the couch. On the other end, Father sits in between Brigitta and Mother. He kisses the top of Brigitta's head, then shares a weary but fond look with his wife. In the time between their mothers, he barely touched his children, much less gave kisses. Louisa wonders what it must be like to have that one person who sees everything you could be and helps you become it. Who makes you feel safe while the world's tragedies stack around you. How do you know when you've found that person?

"...Closer to home, New York authorities expect more protests when preliminary hearings for the Christian Front trial resume on Monday. The defendants are accused of stockpiling munitions and…"

She gets ready for bed and fiddles with her rosary, too distracted to actually pray, while waiting for Liesl and Brigitta to come. Marta and Gretl are already fast asleep in one of the two beds. Maybe she should feel childish, hiding from the wireless with the little girls, but she feels more like an adult than she ever has. A boy likes her. If all goes well, they're going on a date tomorrow. Her first date, and maybe she'll decide she's ready for her first kiss, and maybe later they'll send letters between Vermont and Boston and get to know each other more and more.

When she hears her sisters brushing their teeth in the bathroom, she gets up and follows them. She doesn't miss the sly glance they share.

"How are you, Louisa?" Liesl asks in English.

All of them except Mother were mostly fluent in English before immigrating, so Father had the whole family speak it, even among themselves, to help Mother learn. She speaks it competently now, but Louisa's siblings are still in the habit of speaking English in private. It bothers her in a way she doesn't like to dwell on.

"I was just thinking," Louisa says in German. "I'd rather go with you two tomorrow than Kurt and Friederich."

Liesl gives her a little look but switches to German without missing a beat. "Oh? And does that have anything to do with the boy Brigitta said –"

Louisa rolls her eyes at Brigitta and shuts the door. "Tattletale."

"If I was really a tattletale, I would've told Mother and Father," she says sweetly.

"I'm happy that you finally found a boy you like, but as your big sister, I cannot let you spend the day with him alone," Liesl cuts in before the bickering begins in earnest.

"We would stay in public the whole time. Besides, it's not even really a date. His father was from Austria, and I think he just wants to learn more about it." Not quite the truth, but not quite a lie, either. Those are the lies that work best, she's found.

"Was?" Liesl echoes.

"He died when Ben was really young. He's never been to Austria or even met his Austrian family."

Her sisters share a somber, memory-laden glance. She feels a twist of guilt for exploiting their shared pain like this, but it's Ben's pain too.

"We're in downtown Boston; there are people everywhere. I swear we won't go anywhere alone," Louisa repeats. "I'm sixteen now, Liesl. I won't do anything stupid."

"I wasn't very smart at sixteen," she replies with a dry laugh.

That telegram boy, brown-shirted and smug, looking at Liesl like he didn't even know her… She will have a better story than Liesl did. "Well, I've learned from your mistakes!" She nudges her older sister playfully. "Please? We haven't made any new friends in two years."

"That's true," Brigitta pipes up.

Liesl worries at her bottom lip with her teeth. Louisa can practically see her flashing back to her own sixteen-year-old self, desperate for independence and adventure. "If you go," she finally says. "You have to stay in the area. Meet us back at the library no later than 4 o'clock. What's this boy's name?"

"Ben Riker."

"Now I know who to tell the police to look for if something happens."

Louisa laughs. "You're so dramatic. I promise he's a gentleman."

"I'm trusting you on that. And you," Liesl says, turning to Brigitta. "Don't tell anyone, or Father will have our heads."

She mimes locking her lips and throwing away the key.

"Thank you." Louisa reaches out and squeezes Liesl's hand. It helps to be extra nice when you want something from someone. "I knew you'd understand."

"Just please be smart," she answers. Louisa can tell she doesn't believe the meet-up is platonic. She looks at her almost like a mother wondering when her child got so big.

Louisa thinks of her birth mother when she lies in bed that night. About all the things she never got to ask her. Who was her first love? Her first kiss? How did she know Father was the one? Would she approve of Ben, of how strongly she feels for him and how fast it happened?

Remembering the blue of his eyes in the twilight, Louisa has a feeling she would.

Author's note:

What do we think of Ben Riker so far? Does he seem like a good match for Louisa? How do you think their date will go? Is it a dumb idea, or does Louisa deserve a little freedom/mischief as a new 16-year-old?

A couple fun facts: "Traugott" is a rare but real German name. According to Wikipedia, it's been used since the 1600s as both a first and last name.

Louisa's middle names are a reference to the real third von Trapp child, Maria Agatha Franziska Gobertina von Trapp (I left out "Agatha" because she apparently went by "Maria Franziska," and I didn't want Louisa to have more middle names than her real-life counterpart). No offense is meant by Louisa's groan at having so many middle names haha; that's just how I think her character would feel about it.

Also, just a blanket disclaimer for the whole story that there may be unintentional inaccuracies in the German (I used Google Translate), about Boston (never been), or about Catholicism (I'm Protestant).

I hope you enjoyed, and please review letting me know what you think! Criticism is welcome as long as it's respectful.