On my first day after transferring schools, I threw the campus heartthrob over my shoulder in the cafeteria.
He had suddenly yanked my ponytail from behind.
Every girl in school was waiting for him to lose his temper.
Instead, he rubbed his shoulder and smiled. "I taught you self-defense when we were kids, but not so you could use it on me."
"Forgot? I'm your childhood friend from across the hall."
"When you were six, you said you'd marry me when you grew up."
The memory hit me all at once:
The older boy next door I'd cried over and couldn't find after he moved away.
Now he was the center of attention at school, crouching to tie my untied shoelaces.
"Don't be nervous. I'm just here to collect what you owe me."
"The candy you owed me thirteen years ago."
"And that promise you made to marry me."
