The Leaving Season Read Online Free Page A

Miss u more. NM4eva.
    A moment later, it buzzed again. By some miracle had Nate found a Wi-Fi connection in Central America?
    Party! Whoo-hoo! the screen read.
    Haley. I shook my head with a laugh. I sent one back to her: all exclamation points.
    Nate found the community garden two years ago when he was searching for a volunteer gig that would look good on college applications. He wanted something outdoors since he loved spending his free time in fresh air. Naturally, he convinced me—and eventually others—to join him there.
    We typically harvested one or two days each week and then spent a day boxing and delivering fresh greens and vegetables to people around town. While I was often nervousvisiting private homes, Nate was the picture of confidence. Everyone knew who he was and looked forward to seeing him on their doorsteps.
    Today was a harvesting day. When I arrived, I snapped a photo of the vegetables we were going to pick and sent it to Nate.
    In the office, I waved to a couple of older, graying volunteers who were finished for the day and washing their hands at a wide stone sink.
    One of them called to me over the running water. “You talked to Nate yet?”
    â€œNot yet.”
    â€œYou tell him all us old ladies said hello, all right?”
    â€œWill do.”
    They giggled behind their hands like my little sister, Emma, would. Nate would be tickled knowing he had fans back home.
    I grabbed a pair of canvas gloves that hung on a nail under a strip of tape with my name on it. Next to them were Nate’s. While mine were daintily flowered with purple and pink daisies, his were striped in blue and white. I ran my bare fingers over his gloves, as if I could take a little of him with me, before tying a tool belt around my waist and heading to the garden with a wicker basket.
    I really hoped I could talk to him soon.
    â€œNo phones at the dinner table,” my dad said around a forkful of beets. One of the perks of the community garden was freevegetables, which my parents loved but Emma hated. She’d have preferred that I work at McDonald’s and bring them leftover McNuggets instead.
    Tonight Mom had roasted the beets with basil and olive oil and served them alongside cold chicken. The night was so warm, we ate on the back patio under the stars, with citronella candles burning to keep the mosquitoes away. The moon was a mere sliver of white, but it shone brightly enough to light up our backyard.
    â€œDad, you know I’m waiting to talk to Nate.” I sighed and sat back in my chair.
    My mother’s brow creased. “I thought you talked to him yesterday.”
    I plucked a beet from my plate and popped it in my mouth. The juice left stains of red on my thumb and forefinger. “No. We were supposed to, but . . . it’s been weird. He’s busy, I guess.” I spun my phone on the table, hoping I could jar loose a call. All I got for my efforts was another text from Haley about the party on Friday night.
    Emma glanced over my shoulder at the message and opened her mouth as if she wanted to say something. “Yes?” I dared her.
    My little sister liked to poke her nose where it didn’t belong. She’d tattled on me before, on the rare night when I’d come in a few minutes past curfew.
    Her gaze held mine and then flickered away. “It’s ringing.”
    â€œWhat?”
    She pointed at the table. “Your phone. It’s ringing.”
    â€œMy phone . . . It’s ringing!” I had put it on silent. I forgot! I snatched it off the table. “Nate!” His face was on the screen, calling me for a FaceTime chat. I pressed Accept.
    My mother waved me away from the patio. “Go inside, please.”
    With my phone held in front of me, I dashed indoors. On the screen, Nate made a face. “Stop running, Middie! You’re making me nauseous!”
    I laughed but didn’t slow down until I’d gotten upstairs to my bedroom. I