Beside

30 - expectation (part 1)

"Something bad happened. Real bad."

"What?"

"It's Gwen. The house... the house caught on fire, and she... she was stuck inside."

"What?!—"

"They had to take her to the hospital. She was crying, and I couldn't do anything. I couldn't get to her. They wouldn't let me in. Faro was screaming."

"But... What?"

"I smelled smoke but I wasn't even away from the bus stop yet so I ran and everything was orange and hot. I couldn't find her. She wasn't on the bus. I didn't know. And then she was screaming but she was trapped inside and upstairs. Her room's up there, you know? And Faro was trying to go in but they wouldn't let him."

"But... but the firemen came, right?"

"Jellybean, our house is gone. Dad took us to a hotel. Mom won't talk to anybody anymore. I'm scared."

"Okay, um... She's at the hospital, and they're gonna make her better. They have to."

"But she was crying. And her skin was all black. I didn't save her. I was supposed to save her! I promised! What if she's mad? What if she thinks it's my fault?"

"Fox—"

"What if she doesn't come home? What if she doesn't get better? I don't know what to do."

"We can think about it at recess. We'll make a plan. Cross my heart."

ｃｈｒｉｓ

I sit straight in the worn bus seat. The windows are cracked open just enough for the breeze to dance through, cool and fresh. A dragonfly darts past the window, wings like stained glass, flickering in the corner of my eye before disappearing into the shimmer of the afternoon heat.

An elderly woman sits across from us, her nasal cannula looping from her nose to the small oxygen tank at her feet. At first, I couldn't stop looking. Then, I couldn't look anymore. It's too familiar—too much of a reminder when I've been feeling so strong lately. I look away, drawing my gaze out the window, the city slipping by in blurs of sunlit concrete and swaying green.

Everything feels different. It's not just the weather. It's me. Confident. Steady. And in the right moment, sexy. Like there's some secret strength in my bones that wasn't there before. I've grown an inch overnight, my skin stretched tight over this new version of me. Even walking feels different now—easier.

The bus lumbers around a corner, rattling as it winds through Goldwen. I catch a glimpse of the mega-center up ahead—a sprawling concrete giant with glass eyes that watch us coming with our wallets and appetites.

"Shopping, shopping, shopping, shopping," Whitney sings-songs beside me. She's drawing on her palm with a black pen, the ink sinking into her skin in tiny swirls that could be stars. Or maybe flowers. Or black holes. It depends on her mood.

I grin at her. "You're coming to Fox's match, right? On Friday?"

Whitney shakes her head. "Walker's taking me to dinner."

I throw my hands up. "Whitney! It's next week! What—did he make a reservation, like, a hundred months in advance?" There's a pang in my chest, imagining myself there without her. "Whit, it's one day. I don't get it."