Beside

22 - lace

"Something bad happened. 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?"

"She was trapped upstairs. Faro was trying to go in but they wouldn't let him."

"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. 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."

ᖴO᙭

I don't much care for dog parks, but Charlie loves them. Not the other dogs—just the space, the track that runs through a small pine forest, the benches shaped like big white bones. He's happy keeping to himself, happy just to move—

I get a smack in the back of the head. Fucking fuck.

Cam whooshes past me, laughing like a maniac in those obnoxiously bright pink sweats and a hoodie. Every two minutes, without fail, she's been running her laps, slapping the back of my head, cackling like she's just pulled off the prank of the century.

"Still slow as hell, Freckles!"

Charlie glances up at me, like he's asking what the hell's wrong with his mom. I shrug. "You tell me, buddy."

I tagged along with Camila to distract myself from the overwhelming nature of tonight's Alumni Medical Event at Goldwen University and my impending career as a doctor should I be successful in four gruelling years of medical school learning how to keep people from dying.

I spot something across the park—an older couple struggling to untangle a mess of dogs. A big, dopey chocolate lab wrapped around a tiny Chihuahua yelping, the leashes like a spool of yarn. The woman's shrieking—the Chihuahua owner, I assume—while the man swears under his breath.

Chris would find this hilarious. I can hear her voice. She'd say something like, "That's what I picture in my head when I try to multitask."

I scoff a little, shaking my head.

And as I start strolling again, a butterfly flutters around my head, and doesn't leave me alone for the rest of Cam's 26 laps and 26 smacks.

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.

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.

Whitney'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.