Page 32 of The Troll’s Summer Flame

No, it is my fault. It’s something about the way she smiles at the children, and bends down to hug some of the littlest ones, and shakes their parents’ hands with so much warmth. It just shines out of her, and touches everyone.

And when she sees me?

Oh. That light and warmth seems to double. Triple. Her face breaks into the most beautiful, broadest smile, and she waves at me like I’m the main attraction, even in the midst of all this excitement.

She likes me.

I don’t think I’ve ever been liked before, not like this or anything near it.

“Hi!” Andrea pants, trotting over to me after struggling through a crowd of clinging kiddos.

“Hello.” I smile back and stick out my hand.

Andrea shakes it, and then leans into me with a grateful smile. “You have no idea how happy I am to see you.”

“Really?” I blink in shock. “Me? Did you miss the petting zoo? There are cute rabbits.”

Andrea laughs, a rippling, delighted sound. “Okay, the rabbits might be cuter and fluffier, but I’m still here to see you, Gordon. And believe me, I needed rescuing.”

I look Andrea up and down. She doesn’t seem scratched or singed. “Were you stuck in something?” I ask. “Or is the cat stuck?”

“I wasn’t stuck—unless you count being stuck with overbearing, hyper-reactive parents and a superior brother.”

“Your brother could not be superior to you,” I state, arms crossed.

“Tell my family that. He’s in med school and got a super prestigious internship, and he’s being a super saint right now, helping the poor and underserved with really gross medical problems. Treating them with dignity and compassion, I might add. He’s a great guy. I’m just... I’m just... I’m feeling like the ugly duckling this second,” she concludes with a sigh.

“You’re the most beautiful woman here. And you in no way resemble a duck,” I scan her outfit again, making sure I haven’t missed any feathered accessories.

“It’s an expression. From a fairytale?” Andrea cocks her head, a curious grin on her sweet lips.

I grunt and nod, making a note to go and read more fairytales later. I definitely don’t want to tell her that most fairy tales are based on something true. Twisted, perhaps, but true. “I might not know that one.”

“Yeah, well, there’s a little baby swan that gets raised with a bunch of ducks. It’s way different than the rest. Like me. My family is all buzzing around in each other’s space, all going into the same professions, and I struck out on my own. I’m the only teacher. Not that it’s a bad career or something scandalous, it’s just different, and today I’m feeling it. My parents called about me showing up to my aunt’s 4th of July party and—”

“It was earlier?”

“It’s now. In Jersey City.” Andrea tucks a loose curl of her hair back behind her ear. “I’m here. With you.”

“But you shouldn’t be. You shouldn’t be here if you are supposed to be with your family,” I say, honored and confused, and far too comfortable with the feeling of pride and pleasure in my heart that she picked me.

Because her family made her feel worse. Because by comparison, she is better than you. Because she can’t see what you are.

The negative voices hiss in my head, leaving dark, ugly clouds where Andrea’s sunshine smile just brightened.

“Oh, see, you can’t tell me that. I’m stubborn. I’m little but mighty,” Andrea sticks out her tongue, teasing me. “I wanted to be here with you.”

“Really?” I ask, my voice so quiet I’m afraid it’ll be lost in the cacophony of bellowing sheep and shouting kids.

“Yeah.” Her hand makes a tentative brush against my knuckles, her face bashful. “Do you have to stay here by the trucks, or can we go get hamburgers?”

“We can get food,” I say, and make a bold choice. I grab her little hand, and she doesn’t flinch. She beams, settles in beside me, and burrows up to my side as we walk around the makeshift 4th of July fair.

Gordon introduces me to pretty much every one of the thirty volunteer firefighters, who are all here with their families, along with so many of my students and their families. It feels like a vastly better kind of cocktail hour, one with lemonade, burgers, and friendly people, instead of boring small talk with people who want to recruit you to something. Loneliness melts off of me. There’s so much to do, in a bustling, busy way, but it also feels kind of relaxed. There’s no pressure to do everything, or even one particular thing. We play horseshoes (Gordon wins), pet rabbits (Chopin will be so jealous), and eat way too much. At eight, Gordon steers us back to the firetruck, hesitates, and then pulls me up into the back with him. There is room between the ladders to lie down, and Gordon does, only to belatedly realize that leaves me awkwardly scrunched up, perching on the side, kind of afraid to topple over.

“I’ll move,” he says.

“No. I don’t mind sitting up here.”