I hated this weather.

“You’re such a whiner.”

Sometimes I was convinced I hated my sister, too.

“Summer’s supposed to mean playing outside. It’s been raining forever.”

“It’s been raining for three days; that’s hardly forever.”

I ignored Audrey as I dug my knees into the cushion of the chair and looked out the window, though there was nothing to see, anyway. Dark grey clouds shadowed the sky and dropped buckets of rain to the earth, probably drowning Mr. Snavely’s prized flowers in the process. Pressing my cheek against the glass, I strained to see further down the street.

“Will you stop? Ava’s mom said she’s not getting back ‘til later.” A pause. “Anna, seriously. It’s your turn, come on.”

I sighed and dropped onto the armchair across from Audrey, picking up the dice and tossing them onto the board. I watched as she counted the spaces, her lips turning upward in a smirk as she reached over and stole more money from my small pile.

“That’s not fair.” I sighed and slouched further down in the chair, leaning my head back against the cushion, my eyes trailing the tiny strip of discoloration along the ceiling. “I’m bored.”

“You’re only saying that because you’re losing.”

“Am not.” I glanced at her, saw her lips move and heard the soft tap of the game piece against the board as she counted out spaces. “I quit.”

She looked up sharply. “Don’t you dare.”

“I quit!” I sang louder.

“So help me, Annie…You’re the one who wanted to play in the first place.”

“That’s because I was bored. And this game is never-ending. And why can’t I be the dog for once? You always make me be the stupid shoe.” I leaned forward and picked up Audrey’s game piece between my fingers. “Marmalade, wanna play with the puppy?”

“Annie!”

“Alright, sorry.” I rolled my eyes and tossed it back onto the Monopoly board; Marmalade wagged his tail as he wandered over to sniff at the pieces on the coffee table.

“Marmalade, get outta here.” Audrey pushed his nose away, then turned to me. “You owe me $200.”

I peeked at the pink and yellow bills in front of me. “I don’t have that much.”

“So mortgage something.”

“I don’t want to.”

“You have six properties there. Mortgage something.” She said it like it was a threat, but I shook my head.

“Annie!”

“What? I don’t even know what that means!”

I was being difficult, and I knew it. But I was cranky and restless and the last thing I wanted was to be stuck inside watching Audrey build up red hotel after red hotel. The rain had started three days ago and hadn’t let up, meaning I’d already re-read most of my Nancy Drew and Audrey’s Hardy Boys books, watched enough soap operas to make my Aunt Mary proud, and was in danger of wearing out the Blondie record I got for Christmas. I was bored. I was bored and playing Monopoly with Audrey, and I hated playing Monopoly with Audrey.

“Are you just going to sit there or are you gonna pay up?”

I really hated playing Monopoly with Audrey.

I glared at her, then scooped up the remaining pile of money and property cards and dumped them onto the game board.

“Hey!”

“I quit. I’m going next door.”

I grabbed my raincoat off the hook in the front hallway and opened the door. The raindrops were pounding against the pavement, large puddles already forming on the sidewalk; the grass was slick and heavy beneath the weight of the water. Dad had been right — the air was cool now, and I lifted my hood and wrapped my yellow slicker closer around me as I dashed across the yard.

He came to the door almost as soon as I knocked, held up a finger for me to wait, and then wandered further back into the house. I could hear someone’s voice, but the words were drowned out by the rain behind me, and I peered in through the screen door, but saw only a lit table lamp in the living room. I couldn’t remember him ever having visitors before, could barely even remember his parents there, though I remembered seeing my Dad waving to someone as he mowed the yard when I was younger.

A woman’s laugh echoed past the doorway, and I strained to hear over the rain that flooded the gutters above. Footsteps edged closer, and soon he came back into view, a woman following behind him. My eyes grew wide as they stepped out on the porch, and I studied her closely. She wore a long grey skirt and a navy blue blouse and heels like the ones Mom wore when she went out to dinner with Dad on Valentine’s day. I glanced down at my own mud-stained sneakers, now dripping wet from my run through the grass, suddenly wishing I had worn the galoshes Mom always insisted I wear, despite my insisting that no one my age wore galoshes. Suddenly, I wished I was more like Audrey and that I was wearing nice, clean school shoes instead.

I pulled the hood of my raincoat back from my head and smoothed my hair. Her hair was long and blonde — not blonde like Ava’s hair, but like movie star hair, and I wondered who she was and if she had ever been in the movies.

She held out her hand, and I watched as he grasped it and shook it. Her gaze then flicked to me, and she smiled before opening her umbrella and heading to the car I hadn’t even realized was sitting in the driveway.

“Who was that?” I turned to my neighbor, saw his hand was still raised in a wave as she backed her car onto the street.

“My realtor.“ He finally turned to me and nodded at the chairs. “Have a seat. You want anything?”

I shook my head, waiting for him to go back inside and get his glass and the newspaper I never saw him without, but instead he sat down across from me.

“You mean for selling a house?”

He leaned back in the chair, his fingers tapping the card table in an upbeat rhythm as a smile lingered on his face.

“Yep.”

“So, you’re leaving?”

He nodded.

“Where are you going?”

“I’m not sure yet.” He sighed, but I noticed that his blue eyes were lighter than I’d ever seen them before, and I thought how that must somehow be a good thing.

“But what about your house?”

“That’s why I’m selling it.”

“But it’s your house. You live here.”

“It’s not really mine,” he shrugged. “This was my parents’ house. I don’t belong here, not anymore. That was a different person.”

I wanted to ask how he could be two different people, yet still the same, but then I remembered seeing my grandma and how I barely recognized her, though she was still my grandma, and suddenly I knew.

I stared down at a small cut in the vinyl table as the rain fell around us. I waited for him to say something else, wanted him to say that we were friends and that he would come back to visit or call or send postcards like Ava did when she was away at camp. But even as he stared out at the rain, I knew he wouldn’t, knew that, by next summer, he wouldn’t remember me any more than I would remember him.

Water splashed steadily along the pavement and echoed down the road as a car drew closer. We watched as it pulled into my driveway, the headlights illuminating the garage door.

“Ava’s here.” I said, and I stood slowly. I didn’t know what to say, so I stuck out my hand like I had seen the almost-movie star do. I could see the chuckle rising inside of him, though he suppressed it with a smile. He nodded slowly and leaned forward to shake it.

A grin began to spread across my face as I turned and dashed down the porch steps, my sneakers flying through the puddles as I ran to greet my best friend.