One Glove on the Hill

The bus shelter at the top of Windmill Hill has the best signal in the whole village. That is why Eero goes there every afternoon after school. He sits on the wooden bench and pulls out his phone. He pretends he is only checking the football scores.

That is also why Rohan goes there. He moved to the village a month ago. His sister lives on the other side of the world. Every afternoon at four, she calls him. He walks up the hill with his phone held high like a torch.

At first, the two boys just nod at each other. After a week, they start to talk. After two weeks, Eero begins to arrive early.

On Friday, Rohan is already on the bench when Eero comes up the path. He is looking at his hands, and he looks upset.

"What's wrong?" Eero asks.

"I lost a glove." Rohan holds up his right hand. It wears a thick blue glove with a silver stripe across the back. His left hand is bare. "My sister sent them to me. She chose them herself."

"Maybe you left it at home."

"I checked. It was in my pocket when I came up here yesterday. I rode my bike up the hill path, so it must have fallen out somewhere."

Eero looks at the path. It is long, and it has a lot of bends. A glove could be anywhere. It could be in the long grass, behind a rock or in the mud by the old gate.

"I will look for it on the way home," he says.

"You don't have to do that."

"I know," Eero says. "I want to."

Rohan smiles, and then his phone rings. He answers it and walks to the edge of the shelter. He laughs in a language Eero does not know. Eero listens to the happy sound of it and feels his stomach do a small, strange turn.

That evening, Eero walks the whole path slowly, looking at every bush. He finds a bottle top, a hair clip and half a pencil. He does not find a glove. When he gets home, his phone shows two messages.

The first is from his team captain. "Match tomorrow at nine," it says. "Don't be late. We have no other goalkeeper."

The second is from Rohan. "I'm going to search the hill tomorrow at nine. Don't worry about me. I just wanted to tell you."

Eero sits on his bed and looks at the two messages for a long time.

Both plans are good. The match is important, because the team has not won for three weeks and everyone is nervous. He has trained all month for it. His friends need him, and he likes being needed.

But the other plan is good too. A lost glove is a small problem, and Rohan can search alone. Still, Eero remembers the way Rohan looked at his bare hand. It was not really about the glove.

He tries to make a list in his head. If he plays the match, he will help his team, and he will see his friends. If he goes up the hill, he will help one person. He will also spend a whole morning with him.

"That is not even a hard choice," he says to the ceiling. "That is two easy choices."

He waits for the right answer to arrive. It does not come. So he asks himself a different question. Which of these mornings does he want to remember next year?

He picks up his phone and calls his captain.

"I can't play tomorrow," he says, before he loses his courage. "I am sorry. I know it is the worst possible time."

There is a long silence on the line.

"Is somebody sick?" the captain asks.

"No. A friend lost something important, and I promised to help him look."

"A friend," the captain repeats. Eero can hear him thinking. "Is it the new boy from the hill?"

"How do you know that?"

"Everyone knows. You smile like a lamp whenever his name comes up." The captain laughs, but he sounds kind. "Fine. The younger boy can play in goal. He is terrible, but he is brave. You owe us a big save next time."

"I promise," Eero says. He hangs up, and his hands shake a little. He feels lighter than he expected.

The next morning, Eero is at the shelter at ten to nine. Rohan arrives two minutes later, pushing his bike. He stops when he sees Eero.

"You're supposed to be at the match," he says.

"The match will manage without me."

"But you're the goalkeeper. You told me it was the big one."

"It is," Eero says. "I decided this is bigger."

Rohan looks at him for a moment, and then he looks at his shoes. "That is a very strange thing to say about a glove."

"It's a very good glove."

They start at the top and work their way down the path, one on each side. They search the long grass and look under every bush. Rohan checks the places where he rode fast, and Eero checks the places where the path turns. They talk the whole time, about their families and the village. They talk about the odd habits of the geese. Eero learns that Rohan hates getting up early and is afraid of cows. Rohan learns that Eero plays the drums, badly, in his garage.

Halfway down, they reach the old gate. Nothing is in the mud. Nothing is behind the rock. Rohan sits on a stone and sighs.

"Maybe it is gone," he says. "Maybe a fox took it."

"Foxes do not like gloves."

"How do you know?"

"I have lived here my whole life. I would have heard about it."

Rohan laughs, and Eero decides that he will do whatever it takes to hear that sound again.

They keep walking. At the bottom of the hill, where the path meets the road, there is a long wooden fence. On the top of one post, someone has put a blue glove with a silver stripe. It stands upright, with its fingers open, like a hand saying hello.

"There," Eero says, and he points.

Rohan runs. He grabs the glove, turns it over and presses it against his chest. Then he looks at Eero with wide eyes.

"Somebody found it," he says. "Somebody found it and put it where I could see it."

"People are kind around here," Eero says. "It is the geese. They keep everybody honest."

They stand there for a minute, not saying anything. The morning is quiet, and the road is empty. Rohan looks at the glove, and then at Eero, and then at the glove again. He pulls it onto his left hand and flexes his fingers. Then he takes off the right one and holds it out.

"Here," he says. "You searched that whole path for an hour. You earned it."

Eero takes the glove. It is warm, and it fits him almost perfectly. Rohan lifts his own hand, now in a blue glove, and waits.

"One for you, one for me," he says quietly. "Is that what people call a pair?"