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“I could ask you the same thing.”

“I came here to think.”

“To think…”

When I reach the swing next to hers, I can tell she’s smirking.

“Yes. My parents chose thought daughter, so I think a lot.”

“Well, thought daughter, would you like to think next to me?”

She pats the swing next to her, and I sit, questioning what I’d even think about now that there’s another body next to me.

“Soooo, whatcha thinking about?” She purses her lips and looks at me, intrigued.

“We’ve been church hunting for the past few weeks.”

“Church hunting?”

“Yes, a different one each Sunday since we’ve moved back. My mother’s idea, not mine. I don’t really care.”

I know what people at school must say about me, so I make it a point to sound nonchalant about the whole religion thing, even though I do really care.

Drew lets out a soft laugh, which settles into an even softer smile. “I’ve gathered.”

We share a comfortable silence.

“I guess it’s my turn to ask, why areyouhere?”

Drew fumbles with the skin around her thumb, and suddenly her expression goes stiff.

“I guess the same reason you are. To think.”

“Do you come here often? Is this like your thinking spot?” I offer a small chuckle, trying to lighten the mood that I seemed to have accidentally dampened.

It works, and she smiles again.

“Actually, yeah. I come here a lot during the week, sometimes on weekends when I don’t have tennis tournaments. It started when I was picking up trash left here by the kids, and eventually, I found this place pretty peaceful at night, so I started coming to just sit with myself.”

“That’s actually pretty cool.”

“Yeah, I like it.” Drew turns her head to me, and suddenly she’s serious again. “So tell me your thoughts.”

“My… what?”

“Well, you came here to think, alone presumably, but you’re not because I’m here, so tell me what you’re thinking about.”

Wow. She’s forward, but I like it.

Her swing stops rocking as she looks straight into my eyes, so intently that I can’t help but notice how her deep brown complements the moon’s pale light.

She would make amazing art.

Looking at her tonight in the dim moonlight, I can perfectly see the angular shape of her face and the depth of the lines extending from the sides of her nose to her lips. The lighting is absolutely perfect, and as an artist, I want to draw her. I want to capture this moment in colors that speak the words my social filters stop me from saying aloud right now.

I stare back at her until I remember she’s awaiting my response. Waiting to hear the jumble of thoughts in my brain that have never left said brain, let alone gone to another person before. I don’t usually let people in, but for some reason, I find myself spilling my guts to her right here atop the itchy mulch of our childhood playground. “I wish we never moved to California.”

She waits for me to say more, still staring with soft eyes.