Their Playground

Chapter 1

Kim lay on her bed reading. She knew she should be doing her homework, but she couldn't bring herself to do it. Who could?

There was a soft knock on her door, and her mother stuck her head inside. "Have you finished studying for your finals? They're coming up quite soon, aren't they?" she asked, noting the book in her daughter's hand. That wasn't what she had come in to say, but as a mother, she couldn't stop herself.

Kim blushed. "No, not quite. I'll do it now." She was usually a relatively studious person, keeping top marks in most of her classes; she just had trouble concentrating on her studies when there were so many fascinating books lying around. Math, however, was her one weak point in terms of school. Who needed math? She would never understand it.

"Anyways, honey, I came to ask if there was anything you wanted for your birthday. It's coming up pretty soon."

Kim shook her head. "There isn't anything in particular that I want. I know money is tight for us right now, so you don't have to get me anything this year."

"Oh, honey." Mrs. Foster pursed her lips, both impressed and saddened by her daughter's act of selflessness. "Are you sure? It's a big birthday for you this year. You're turning eighteen! We can still afford presents, as long as you don't want a new car or anything big like that."

"I'm sure, Mom." Kim gave her mom a big smile, hoping to convince her that she would truly be satisfied not receiving any gifts this year. She enjoyed receiving gifts as much as the next person, of course. But she was willing to go without. It was something small she could do to help her family during this financially difficult time.

Her mother still wasn't convinced. "Well, I'll just have to pick something out on my own then." Kim hid a smile as her mother walked out of her bedroom. She had always been blessed to have parents that truly loved her.

Mrs. Foster poked her head back into the room. "Oh, Kim! I nearly forgot to mention this, but I was going through our old photo albums, and I found some photos I hadn't seen in ages - the ones of you and Thomas playing together. You remember him, don't you? You two were such good friends back then."

At his name, Kim froze. Her heart ached a little. They had first met when she was only five. For eight years he had been her best friend. And then his dad transferred, his family moved, and she never saw him again. She was ashamed that she hadn't thought of him in years. "Of course I remember him," she managed to say amidst all the memories flooding her mind.

"Do you still keep in contact with him?" Mrs. Foster asked, not noticing her daughter's reaction.

"No," Kim admitted, feeling the guilt wash over her again. They had corresponded by snail mail for several months after he left, but that connection had slowly fizzled out. It had been entirely her fault, and she knew it.

Kim had always been bad at writing letters. When they did the penpal project in Mrs. Peterson's class in fourth grade, she had been excited at first. She and her penpal Stacie had promised to stay in touch even after the project ended. But Kim kept putting off writing her letters until one time, she forgot to write back entirely. That was the end of her correspondence with Stacie, and the same thing had happened with Thomas.

But she regretted losing contact with Thomas more. Much more. Sure, Stacie was nice, and they had enjoyed writing each other. But she had never really known the girl. They had never actually met. Thomas, on the other hand, was her best friend! At least, he had been. Now, she couldn't say. Would they even be friends if they met again? She wondered what he was like now. Did he ever think about her anymore? Did he even remember her? Maybe he had forgotten her, just like she had forgotten him.

Mrs. Foster's voice broke into her thoughts. "Well, I'm going to go start dinner. Get some studying done, then come and give me a hand, alright?"

Kim agreed absentmindedly, and her mother left once more. Kim tried to begin her studying, but she was too distracted by thoughts of her old friend to get anything productive done.