Oh. My. Gods. - Weebly

I’m on my way through the door when I hear Troy.
“Phoebe!”
He runs down the hall—pretty fast for a guy who claims to hate
running more than Brussels sprouts—and slides to a stop in front
of me.
“Hey.” I wave. “What’s up?”
“I just . . .” He smiles wryly. “. . . wanted to wish you luck.”
“Thanks,” I say. “That means a lot.”
“I have something for you,” he says, stepping back. After fishing
around in his pocket, he produces a long braided string. “It’s a—”
“Friendship bracelet,” I say. Just like the one Nola gave me in kindergarten—the
one that finally wore off in third grade after more
than three years of continual wear.
Sticking out my wrist, I let him tie on the bracelet.
Looking at Troy with thoughts of Nola in my head I wonder what
she would think of him. With his tie-dyed Grateful Dead T-shirt,
well-worn blue jeans, and leather-free Vans he’s like her male mirror
image.
Maybe they will meet at the wedding.
“It’s not just a friendship bracelet,” he says as he finishes tying
off the ends. “It doubles as a super-duty good luck charm. With
this . . .” He lets go of my arm and grins. “. . . you can’t lose.”
“Thanks, I—”
Coach Lenny sticks his head out in the hall. “Hurry up, Castro.”
I tell Troy, “I gotta get changed. Thanks.” I give him one more
hug. “Really.”
“Good luck,” Troy says. “See you at the finish line.”
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