Story: Max by Katryn Conlin At the end of third grade, we moved to Crowne Point. My dad’s company had transferred him to a new job. “Transferred” was a word every kid dreaded. Being uprooted, just when you had finally made friends. At first my little sister Lilly and I put up a fuss, but eventually we realized we had no say over the situation. We cried when we said goodbye to our friends, but when you’re that age, you learn to accept whatever the grown-ups decide. The houses in the neighborhood were all brand new. Ranch-style homes with walk out-basements alternated with two-story colonials. Young trees dotted the yards; scattered lots were vacant. Concrete driveways led from the curved street into two-car garages. Kids rode their bikes up and down the street. Not far away, farmers still planted fields of corn and an untamed forest beckoned. I clearly remember the day we moved in, because that was the first time I saw Max. He was walking home from the school bus stop. We were standing by a huge yellow and green Mayflower truck, watching the movers bring furniture in the front door and carry empty boxes out. Max was headed for the house right next door to ours. I tugged on my dad’s arm to get his attention. “Can I go talk to that kid?” My dad gave permission, so I cut the boy off before he got to his door. I figured he was about my age, maybe younger. He was on the small side, with light blonde hair fringed over gray eyes. His clothes weren’t the cleanest, and his sneakers were well-worn and dirty. “I’m Anabelle,” I said. “What’s your name?” He held his books to his chest protectively. “I’m Max.” “What grade are you in?” “Third,” he replied. “I’m in third grade too! I’ll be in fourth grade with you starting next year,” I said. “Can you come over? We’re going to make a fort.” By this time, there were boxes big enough for me to stand up in strewn across our lawn. His eyes gleamed and I could tell he was tempted, but he put me off, saying, “Maybe I will.” He turned away and almost ran into his house, not even noticing how disappointed I was. He didn’t come over that day, or the next. It was a while before we became friends. Page 17
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