Boundless Love

Chapter Eight - Your Sweater?

"Lizaveta, for the love of all living things on God's green Earth, just hold the stick still!" I stress. 

"I am! I am. Look," she counters, just as frustrated as me. 

"If this falls, we're screwed," I say, placing another popsicle stick. 

"Then stay steady-handed, yeah?" She rolls her eyes at me. 

"I have plenty steady hands. You keep steady!" I watch it wobble and intake a sharp breath, stepping back from the Acropolis model. "Steady," I say, putting my hands out and watching the popsicle sticks stop moving. 

"It didn't fall over, did it? No. So just let up, Draven, jeeze."

I place the final stick with a roll of my eyes before stepping back again in relief. "Done."

"Done," Liz repeats, letting go of the model and stepping back too.

I smile. "Tarrent," she looks up at me from her place near my shoulder in acknowledgment before I continue, "We might actually get a good grade."

Her shoulders relax for the first time tonight as she nods in agreement, looking back at the model. 

"You wanted to keep this here, yeah? Bring it into school with you tomorrow?" I ask for clarification. 

"Yeah. I don't trust you not to ruin it by tomorrow," she chuckles. 

I shove her by the shoulder for the comment,  almost knocking her into the table and ruining our Acropolis model. 

"I'mma get ya back for that Cayden," she scoffs at me upon catching her balance. 

"Mhmm. I'm sure."

"Oh, you're just-" Her eyes zero in on something past my shoulder. "Crud."

I look behind me, seeing that the clock reads just past ten. 

"You gotta go! Wait. No, we gotta clean up first." She turns around, gathering the mess we made on the table into her arms and frantically putting everything away as I stare at her, almost amused. "Don't just stand there, Draven, for the love of pickles, do something!"

"Do what? I don't know my way around your house," I complain. 

"Bring the model up to my room. Put it on my desk," she instructs me. 

I grab it, carefully, so as to not wreck it, as it's still not dry. One step at a time, carrying this project like a newborn baby, I ascend her stairs. 

"Go, grandpa! Hurry, hurry!" she panics. I slow down more to be petty. "Please," she fixes from her place by a cupboard upon seeing me take my sweet time. I listen to her, wanting to get home myself. When I make it to her room I open her door quickly, setting down the model on her desk like she asked. 

Wasting no time, I turn, ready to leave when my eye catches on a family picture hung on the wall near her door. She looked about seven. She and her brother were sitting on the ground in front of her parents, posing for the photo. Trevil had what looks like chocolate from an ice cream cone he was holding all over his face, with Liz holding a vanilla cone. 

Her father, Harvey, has his arm around her mom. Her father. He died when she was about thirteen. I remember her missing school the week of his funeral. I study him for a minute, noticing his sweater. 

"Cay! Let's go!" Lizzy yells for me, stumbling her way up the stairs. 

"Yeah, yeah. Coming." She meets me at her door, grabbing my wrist, and dragging me down the stairs behind her. 

"The hoodie Owen gave me at lunch, is it your sweater?" I ask, confused. I thought it was Owens.

"Yup," she breathes out, watching me put my shoes on at the door.