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Dark cliffs enshrouded both sides of the Johnson Valley as it wound its way to the Pacific Ocean.  The five-hundred-foot vertical rock walls, visible from every point in the valley, were said by its residents to be unscalable.

            Farmlands and pine forests separated the valley into small communities, the largest of which was Hanover, where Kyle Steinman sat at a table in front of McHenry’s sandwich shop after his shift at Curt's Groceries.  There, he and his older sister, Cora, used to make up unflattering names and stories for the townsfolk who walked along Main Street.  That was before his parents sent her away to college.

            Kyle readied himself for his loaded chili dog.  Beside it, he’d set a letter from Cora, delivered that day from her big city on the other side of the country.  She was always better at managing her affairs than he was, keeping track of her expenses and getting from one place to another on time, despite her hectic college life, which never allowed her enough sleep.  Even the names of some of her courses puzzled him, such as tort reform, nolo contendere, and animus contrahendi.

            A girl, perhaps his age, walked from around the corner at Southern Street, her dark hair behind her as she passed.  She glanced at him and whistled two ascending notes, her black purse hanging by thin straps over her leather jacket.

            “Hey,” he said, immediately wishing he’d thought of a more interesting greeting.

            Not wanting to stare, Kyle gripped his napkin and turned his attention to an old couple across the street who were scolding their poodle, saying, “Hush, hush.”  He looked at the girl in time to catch her at the corner of Brentlass Street, who glanced back at him and then blinked twice before disappearing around the corner.

            Something about her behavior appealed to him that he couldn’t figure out.  Yet, she was gone.  The old couple across the street began to make their way down the street.  “Hush,” the woman said to her poodle.  “Better to hush.”

            Kyle tried to recall anyone who blinked and whistled.  Failing to remember any such person, he returned his attention to his chili dog, which by then had turned cold.

            That night, Kyle didn’t dare tell his parents about the girl because they would have told him about crushes, which he already knew about.  They would have lectured him about keeping his attention on preparing for college, a correction he didn’t deserve because he worked full-time at Curt’s Groceries after graduating from high school to save money for college.

            However, the thought of the girl continued to haunt him, which surprised him, as he would soon leave everyone behind anyway.

            The next day, at work, a customer had picked through the apples at Curt's Groceries, leaving them in disarray.  Kyle grumbled under his breath and began to straighten them when he saw, through the storefront windows, a bronze-colored sedan parked along the curb.  Leaning against its hood was the girl with the black leather purse, her arms folded, and her head swaying left and right with her eyes closed as if she were listening to music.

            Not wanting to be scolded by Curt, he resumed his work on the apples until he looked up again and caught her watching him, her right palm held against her chest.  He nodded slowly at her, even though she couldn’t have been there for him.

            That was when the girl frowned and covered her face with her hands.  She rushed to the driver’s side of the car and got in.  He set down the apples and rushed out to the sidewalk, but she and her car were already gone.

            None of the customers who frequented the store affected him as she had.  It must have been how smoothly she walked or her coat and black purse.  Her family must have been new to Hanover because he didn’t remember seeing her at school.  Kyle returned to the apple display before Curt noticed his absence.