The Amper River was the rusty silver of Barbra Steiner's worn ashtray, the cigarette stubs the pebbles on its bed. It wasn't one of its better days, the days the blue reminded Liesel of the seaside trips she used to go on with her mother and brother. She gritted her teeth, and tried not to think of that.

Rudy nudged her. "What is it?" He demanded, biting into the fruit he held.

Rudy was not known for his skills of observance, but Liesel guessed the hot press of tears against her eyes was obvious even to him. She blinked them away quickly and took the apple he passed. They had agreed that sharing them seemed to make them last longer, somehow. I personally think the decision had more to do with them insisting on carrying on their unique flirtations instead of getting on with it. (I am a great believer in getting on with things. Death has to be.) However, they might not have known themselves the reason, so we must forgive them.

Liesel took her bite and felt slightly better. The sweet burst of flavor a stolen apple brought could never be replicated. She looked at Rudy and he looked back at her, impatient for an answer. Her gaze lingered on his lips. Perhaps she wanted something more than the apple.

He grabbed it from her and asked again, "What is it, Saumensch?"

"Nothing in particular." She found herself still staring at his lips and jerked her gaze away hurriedly, concentrating on the outline of mayor's house against the the backdrop of the late afternoon sky. She was thinking solely of the book she meant to take from there later in the day, she told herself. She was thinking of cycling up the streets, slipping through the trees, climbing through the library window with Rudy's hands to steady her on her waist-she let out a frustrated groan and gave him a shove to relieve her feelings.

He lost the persistent look in his eyes and got on, in the book thief's words, a half-aggrieved, half-tough look only he could summon. "What was that for?"

Liesel didn't answer. She got to her feet and kicked off her shoes, feeling the warm grass on her feet, a vibrant, demanding green-much like the boy next to her on the bank.

"I can shove a thousand times better than that, anyway," he told her, getting up. Slightly taller than her. His bright eyes challenged her.

"No, you can't," she returned arrogantly. "You couldn't even catch me!"

"Want to bet?" Rudy said, closing his fingers around the half-apple that was left. It was a poor prize to win, but she knew it was more about his pride-and, oh, all right, hers too-so she played along.

She tilted up her narrow chin and met his eyes with her own. The daring blue, the dangerous brown.
They were certainly what Barbra Steiner identified as "a pair."

"Don't get too upset when you lose, Saukerl. As no doubt Franz Deutscher has told you...the spirit is what counts."

Liesel paused. "Except perhaps in a war, that is."

The grass and dirt were scraping her feet before she heard his shouted curse and the pounding of his feet behind her. She realised a little too late that she had left her shoes behind, but she hoped Rosa would understand that the Hubermann/Meminger pride had been at stake.

They must have made a fine sight, the barefoot girl racing down streets with laughter escaping from her lips, followed by the swearing boy with hair the colour of lemons.