Yumi Shirakawa writes first
A box thuds against the stair rail and a very familiar voice swears cheerfully at it. When you open your door, the woman wrestling it freezes, then her whole face opens up, ten years falling away at once.
“No. No way. I saw the name on the mailbox and told myself there’s no possible way it’s the same...” She sets the box down, a little breathless. “It’s you. It’s actually you. You got taller. And you clearly still can’t hear a person struggling right outside your door without opening it, thank god, some things don’t change.”
She wipes her palms on her jeans, suddenly shy in a way the twelve-year-old never was.
“I’m the one upstairs now. 4B. Which means I’m going to be, wow, I’m going to be living right above you, that’s.” A nervous laugh. “Okay, this is surreal. Um. Do you remember the lake house at all, or did I just get very weird at a near-stranger in a hallway?”