She walked over to her boom box and switched it on. When the familiar song drifted from the speakers, I smiled. “This one’s my favorite,” I told her, sitting cross-legged in the middle of her bed. Before I started big school, she used to let me hang out with her all the time. That’s how I knew about all the pop stars and singers. “I know.” She looked over her shoulder and smiled at me. “You remember the name of the band, don’t you?” Her tone was teasing now. “You better not have forgotten the name of the best band in the world.” “Fleetwood Mac,” I said proudly before pointing at the stereo.
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