Annie Turner fell in love with Travis Quincy on a hot summer day, over a tangled fishing pole line and a bucket of night-crawlers. He came up to her in the sunlight with a mile-wide smile on his tanned face, that shock of raven-black hair falling over one blue, blue eye—and for Annie it was love.

She’d been fighting the homemade pole, trying to untangle the thin twine she’d tied to the end of a piece of bamboo she’d pulled from the soggy marsh. She didn’t know what had gone wrong with the pole, for usually when she made them they worked just fine. What would have worked better, she groused to herself as she tugged at the wet knots, would have been a real fishing rod. But Mark wouldn’t let her borrow his and he was the only one in the family who had a real honest-to-goodness rod. It even had a reel. Mark never let any of the kids use it, and since Annie was the youngest—and a girl, no less—she had about as much hope of borrowing Mark’s rod as she had the ability to fly over Bogg Pond instead of fish in it.

So Annie had trudged down Boggy Creek Lane, her feet dragging. With a length of twine in her pocket and her old beach-bucket filled with dirt and night-crawlers, she was on the lookout for that patch of bamboo that seemed to flourish no matter how many times the county chopped and dug it out. Maybe bamboo was messy stuff and killed a lot of other plants, but it made a fine fishing pole. And it was the best she could do on short notice, for it was such a nice summer day and she’d been cooped up all week helping her mama put up jam and preserves, when all she’d wanted to do was fish for bullheads. For the chance at an afternoon of fishing, she’d gladly swipe some of Daddy’s twine and go hunting for bamboo and fat worms. Anything to get away from the hot kitchen and hotter paraffin.

Now, thanks to her dumb fishing pole, it looked as if she’d just have to give up; she’d already wasted too much time trying to get it to work properly. Annie fought back a few tears and doggedly kept tugging at the knots.

"Hi. Need some help?" The voice hovered over her left shoulder, and Annie looked up, startled. She’d been so involved with the wet twine that she’d never heard him walk up behind her. Blinded by the sun, she shielded her eyes with a grubby hand and her breath caught in her throat when he squatted down next to her on the ground, only a few feet away. Annie swallowed, hard.

Travis Quincy. Of course, she knew who he was. Everyone knew the Quincys; they were the richest people in town. They lived in that big, fancy house up on Thompkin Hill, the house with all the windows and the turret. Annie had never seen a house with a turret and wouldn’t have known what a turret was, if Mama hadn’t explained it to her. Annie walked by the Quincy house every day on her way home from school, and more than once she’d looked up at it, sitting so pretty and clean-looking on Thompkin Hill, and dreamed of walking through the front doors one day, as if she herself lived there—

"Well? Do you need help, or not?" Travis Quincy’s amused voice snapped Annie back to earth in a hurry, and she blushed, pink cheeks that got even pinker when she stared at him squatting next to her in the grass. Up close, he was very handsome, with that thick black hair and those blue eyes. He had long, dark lashes, even white teeth, dimples in both cheeks. He was wearing a white tee shirt and faded jeans, scuffed sneakers on his feet. In one hand he carried a flat, oblong case, which he placed on the ground next to her worm-bucket.

He reached for her pole and examined the knotty lumps of twine. "Did you make this? I’ve never seen a homemade fishing pole before."

Annie nodded shyly; then ventured timidly, "I tangled it in the reeds. Over there," she pointed to a clump of the thin, wet plants. "I didn’t put enough weight on the twine." She stared at him silently for a few seconds and blurted out, "You live in that pretty house on the hill. I like your house a lot." As soon as the words left her mouth Annie wished she could have snatched them back because they sounded so dumb.

Travis evidently didn’t think she was dumb, though; he just grinned and replied, "Yeah. That’s where I live." He shrugged. "It’s just a house." Returning his attention to her fishing twine, he tugged at the knots, finally giving up and tossing the bamboo pole down. "It’s pretty bad. You got any more twine? Maybe we could make another one."

Annie shook her head sadly. "I only took one piece. I didn’t think it would tangle like that. My line never does, you know!" She was so upset; not only was her day ruined but with no line to fish with she’d have to go back to the house, and as soon as she walked in Mama would grab her and drag her back into the hot kitchen and make her work. Sighing, she started to get to her feet. "Thanks for trying to fix it. I’d better get on home, since I can’t fish after all."

"Sure you can! You can borrow my fishing rod." As he spoke Travis reached for the oblong box he’d been carrying and flipped back the lid. Inside, all nice and nestled in molded foam, was a rod, a reel and even some sinkers and hooks.

Annie’s jaw dropped as she gawked at it. She’d never seen a rod all in pieces and in a fancy wooden box. Travis pulled out the sections and quickly screwed them together, then deftly threaded the line and attached the reel. He held it out to her and she reached for it but pulled her hand away at the last second.

"I can’t! What if I break it? I break stuff all the time! My sister says I’m a klutz. I’ve never seen a rod like this, anyway. It looks like it cost a lot of money." Annie gazed longingly at it, her rapt expression not lost on Travis Quincy, who stared at his own fishing gear as if he’d never noticed it before.

He shrugged again. "I guess it’s pretty neat. I got it for Christmas last year and this is the first time I’ve had it out of the box. Thought maybe I’d do a little fishing, but I forgot to dig up some worms."

He rattled her dinged-up little beach-bucket, adding persuasively, "Tell you what. I need worms and you need a rod. Why don’t we share? We’ll take turns. Maybe we could have a contest, too. See who gets the most fish. Winner takes all the fish, all the leftover worms and the fishing rod."

Annie gasped, "I couldn’t! It’s your rod; somebody gave it to you! It’s too nice to give away! I break things, I already told you."

Travis sent her a superior look as he dug in the bucket for a fat worm. "Who says you’re going to win, huh? Maybe I’ll win it all, and go home with your worms and all the fish you catch! I’m a very good fisherman." He patiently hooked the worm and stood, holding the baited rod out to her. "Besides, I have other rods that I fish with. So even if you do win, I don’t mind giving this one away."

Annie rose as well, and gave him one more uncertain look, before her own competitive nature kicked in, and she reached out and took the rod from him.

"I’m a better fisherman than you are." Her voice was smug. She stuck out her free hand to shake on the deal, and Travis grasped her fingers, shaking firmly. Annie nodded once and returned her full attention to the shiny new rod in her hands and Bogg Pond, laid out before her, brimming with bullheads.

As she swung her arm back to cast out, Travis murmured, "My name’s Travis Quincy."

"I know. I’m Annie Turner."

His quiet, "Hi, Annie," somehow sounded so familiar and fated; as fated as the knots in the twine hanging off her homemade bamboo pole. The sinker hit the water as she glanced sideways at him, standing on the bank with the hot sun beating down on his black hair; a tall boy with dreamy blue eyes and a sweet smile. Already a gentleman, and not even fourteen years old, yet.

Ten year-old Annie Turner fell in love that very instant, forever.