Immediate distress erupted around her. A group began searching the mulchy ground around the slide.
I noticed this because I used to watch Kristin’s every move.
I leapt off my swing (didn’t even get yelled at either; it was last day and the recess ladies didn’t care anymore) and asked her what was wrong. The ring, purchased at The Variety Basket with a portion of the gift certificate she’d won from an art contest, had gone missing, she said.
“Don’t worry,” I said, and hit the ground to join the search.
A kid had stepped on it, breaking it in half.
We sat across from each other while buses were called. I fiddled with my prized possession: A ring my grandfather had bought for me at the same store.
I slid it off my finger and across the table.
“For me?” she mouthed. I nodded. She got up and left for the bus.
Fifteen years later we danced right after another guy gave her a ring.
That one was probably not from The Variety Basket.
For more from Scott…
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