It was the summer of Dandelion Wine. The salty hours between practices (because what was the point of a shower when another workout was just around the corner?) lost in the adventures of Douglas Spaulding, and his new appreciation of what it meant to be alive. And notice it. She immersed herself in his life: fields of yellow, brand new sneakers, lists of firsts.
She ignored Shakespeare, her assigned reading, because what could The Tempest possibly have on Bradbury and a twelve year old boy discovering the bittersweetness of the world in 1928?