Free The Summer I Saved the World ... in 65 Days by Michele Weber Hurwitz Page B

besides sew—shoot a basketball. Matt taught me. The distance from the edge of our grass to our basket is about the same as the distance in Eli’s driveway. I back up, bouncing the ball.
    Jorie puts her hands on her hips. “You can’t make it from there. Anyway, Eli’s been showing me how to do a layup.”
    Eli tips his chin. “Go ahead, Neen.”
    Swish.
    He bounces the ball back to me. “Shoot till you miss.”
    I make four more; then the ball hits the rim.
    â€œOkay, my turn,” Jorie sings.
    â€œI gotta go anyway,” I say.
    â€œYou sure?” Eli grins. “Jorie could
definitely
use your help.”
    Jorie gives him a little push. “Shut up.”
    I start walking toward my house. “It’s okay. You guys play. I have to do something for art that’s due tomorrow.”
    â€œNina!” Eli shouts.
    I turn back. I’m on my grass. Eli chucks me the ball. “Try it.”
    â€œFrom here?”
    â€œNo way,” Jorie says.
    I focus on the basket. This would be the shot of a lifetime. I heave the ball with all my strength, like I’m doing the shot put or something. It misses by several feet.
    Jorie grabs the ball. “I knew you weren’t
that
good.”
    I turn, head toward my front door.
    â€œNice try, though,” Eli calls.
    â€œHey, Eli,” I hear Jorie say. “What’s your favorite color?”
    I stop.
    â€œI don’t know. Blue?” he says.

S unset that night. I’m sitting on our front step, thinking how much the colors look like Mrs. Chung’s marigolds, which have grown and spread. They look like marigolds on steroids. Must be the magical work of the
kumiho
.
    I’m trying not to think about Jorie and Eli.
    The Cantaloni boys are out as usual, playing baseball, but this time, Thomas is with them. “Can you pitch?” Jack asks him. Thomas nods and puts down his sword. Their four outlines are silhouetted against the orange and gold sky.
    Jack looks my way. “If the ball goes into the weeds, will you get it, Nina?”
    â€œSure!”
    Matt drives up, parks the Jeep in front of our house. He’s in his bathing suit, a towel around his shoulders. He gets out and shakes his wet hair.
    He spots me. “What’re you doing?”
    I shrug. “Just sitting.”
    He takes off the towel and pretends to snap it at me. “How’s
The Alchemist
going?”
    â€œNot good.”
    â€œI can give you my old notes. Except”—he laughs—“I got a C in that class.”
    â€œSure. Why not?”
    â€œOkay, I gotta shower.” He walks past me, opens the door. “Hey, you should come to the pool sometime. I could get you in for free.”
    Who would I go with? I think about Jorie, Eli, Sariah, and my old group, who are supposed to be back soon. I’m in between everything.
    â€œMaybe.”
    Matt goes inside as Jack hits the ball. It flies into the weeds. “Nina!” he shouts. I run over and look but can’t find it. “I think this one’s gone, guys.”
    Jack gets another ball from their garage. “You’re like our camp counselor.”
    â€œYeah!” Thomas grins. “Camp Nina!”
    â€œCan you play the outfield?” Jack asks me.
    I smile and back up toward the Millmans’. “I’ll cover left.”
    Thirty-six?
    We play a while, and when it’s dark, their moms call them inside. I’m walking home, and I see something stuck to the side of our mailbox. I didn’t notice it before—a folded piece of plain white paper. It’s a note, in small, neat printing. It says,
Thank you.—Les Dembrowski
.
    So much for being anonymous.
    I tuck the note into my pocket, then climb into the hammock and stretch out. Let me just review here. Mrs. Chung was elated with the marigolds, Mr. Millman and Mrs. Cantaloni are buds, Mrs. Bennett uses the foot pads every day, Mr. Millman enjoys cigars,