“Okay,” she said, her voice suddenly quiet, almost a whisper that rumbled the foundations. She lifted her hand, palm open, and placed it before him like a landing pad.

Easy for them to say. His apartment was three blocks from her left foot.

It dawned on Leo. Base. The playground was base. The water tower tea party was her “house.” The football goalpost was a jail. She had, in the span of an hour, re-terraformed their entire town into the rules of her childhood.

And they were the pieces.

“Your turn to choose the game.”

He looked up.