Until she turned seven, on Christmas Eve 2001, Promise Grene loved her name.
It was easy to spell and easy to remember. It was unusual but not peculiar. It could be declaimed, in the style of a Roman emperor or an Asimovian robot. I, Promise! with an appropriate right-hand gesture.
She never did that anymore.
On Christmas Eve, on her seventh birthday, she made a promise to a red-haired boy. She didn’t keep it.
That wasn’t her fault, but she would never make another promise until she kept that one.Promises were important. That was why her parents had given her that name.
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