good, his mother sniffled, Chloe bitched, and Billie just screamed for no
reason at all. For a split second he wished Rebecca would leave.
But she wasn’t crying, or bitching, or sick. She perched over his
desk, biting her bottom lip timidly.
“I found…” She looked up, startled to find him looking at her.
Rebecca nudged him like a beachy breeze rolling off the ocean:
like a calm. Hopping off his bed, Tony stood in front of her, the tips of
their toes touching.
She opened her mouth but no words came out.
He slid his hands under her jaw, tilting her head slightly up. Rebecca reached up and kissed him.
Rebecca went home that night and stared up at the fading stickon stars on her ceiling. When she was a little girl she and her dad tried to
make constellations.
“Orion’s belt is easy; it’s just three stars,” he told her. “Me, you,
and your mom.”
Now the three stars were hardly visible from years of wear. If she
had any sense, she’d take those things down. But she liked the idea of
having all three of them together in one place, even dim.
The next day Tony did not come to school. Silvia had died. Lacey
was not there either. The latter’s absence upset Rebecca the most, like
what happened yesterday didn’t exist.
At practice after school they scrimmaged, splitting up J.V. and
Varsity. Because Chloe and Lacey were missing, Rebecca played mid-field.
She ran up and down the field following the ball, but never touching it. It
always slipped through her feet before she had a chance to dribble.
They took a water break and the coach switched the teams once
more, keeping Rebecca as a mid. This time the ball pulled itself to her feet
like magnets. She dribbled and dribbled, sideways, forwards, backwards.
She ended up on the other side of the field.
“Pass the ball, Rebecca!” shouted the coach.
She kicked it toward the forward, but it only reached halfway, her
opponent intercepting it. They scored. Coach just shook her head, ended
the game, and told them all to go home.
Rebecca’s dad went with her to the viewing.
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