Disclaimer: I covered this already, back in chapter 1. Is your memory really that bad?

Him again. She had almost forgotten him, amidst the flurry of new friends that had eagerly awaited her after the jailhouse stunt. She had grown up, and by then she wished she had forgotten him. Several nice enough, rich enough, boys had courted her. Several times her mother had urged her to say yes, several times her conscience had agreed, and several times a tiny, fragmented, time-muddled memory from such an underdeveloped person that she could hardly begin to decipher it stopped her.

She had known Jesse Tuck, once. He had been seventeen then, and he was seventeen now. It had been six years since she had seen him. She didn't know him now, of course. She half expected him to be different from the way she remembered him to be, although she knew he could never change, even if he tried. As it would turn out, he wasn't at all different, but she was. She had changed, and thus she saw him differently than her eleven year old self had, all those years ago. And she couldn't say if he was better, or worse, than the first time, for those memories were old and faded and he quickly pushed them out of her mind to make room for new, if slightly biased, opinions.

"Jesse?" was all she could get out. She hadn't expected him, but it hindsight she knew she should have. It was her birthday in two weeks, but he couldn't know that. What he could, and quite evidently did, know was that it had been six years since Winnie had been eleven, and that she ought to be around his age now. And she was, minus a hundred years or so, but those didn't count.

"Winnie Foster," the boy still standing on the grass stated, as though all of a sudden feeling the need to verify.

"It's Winifred," she replied quietly.

Halfway decent? I have no idea where this is going, so all suggestions are welcomed.