"Do you ever knock?" I demand as Cyrus tumbles through the window with zero grace, his glasses askew and his dark hair sticking up at weird angles.
"Nope,” he says, straightening his glasses and surveying my room with the critical eye of someone who's about to judge all my life choices. Particularly the overabundance of pink that's grown exponentially since we moved in. His gaze lands on the bird. "How's the freeloader?"
"The bird is fine," I say defensively. "Thanks to your medical expertise."
“How’s the completely healed wing doing?”
I sigh. “Fine.”
“So it should be out there terrorizing other birds and shitting on bald guys' heads or whatever they do. Bird stuff.”
"Our little mother's having empty nest syndrome," Jinx says with a smirk that turns into a shit-eating grin when I smack his arm playfully.
"I am not having—" I stop, take a breath. "Fine. Let's see if the little shit can even fly properly. It's one thing to flutter around my room, but actual sky is different."
"Actual sky," Cyrus repeats. "Yes, the terrifying actual sky that birds are literally evolved for."
"Nerd," I grumble.
We traipse through the house, me cradling the bird in a nest of towels like it's made of glass. The kitchen smells like coffee and cigarettes, Mom's signature perfume, and I'm surprised to findher there, throwing things into her purse with the frantic energy of someone who’s already late.
"Oh!" She stops when she sees us, and her expression does that complicated thing it always does when my friends are around. Sympathy for Cyrus, whose mom died three years ago. Wariness for Tank and Kade, though they're not here to receive it. And adoring approval for Jinx, who has a face mothers trust even when he's the very last one they should.
"Hi, Mrs. R," Jinx says with his sunshine smile, and my mom actually smiles back.
"Jinx, honey. Cyrus." She nods at them, then looks at me. "What are you kids up to?"
"Releasing the bird," I say, adjusting the towels so she can see it better.
"Oh thank God." She doesn't even try to hide her relief. "That thing starts chirping at the crack of dawn."
"It's not ready," I protest, but even I can hear how weak my excuse sounds.
Mom laughs, but it's not mean. It's that laugh that says she knows something I don't, which is annoying as fuck. "Oh sweetheart, you've got to learn to let go eventually." She leans over to look at the bird properly, and her expression softens. "Look at you, beautiful little thing. These kids did good by you, didn't they?"
Mom kisses my forehead, and I know there's a red mark from her lipstick but I wait until she turns away to wipe it off.
"There's lasagna in the fridge. Just heat it up for dinner. I'll be late tonight. Another double."
She's out the door before I can respond, leaving us standing in the kitchen like the mismatched family we've become.
"Damn, your mom's hot," Cyrus says, breaking the silence, and I stomp on his foot hard enough to make him yell.
"Gross."
"I'm just stating facts!"
Jinx cackles as we head outside, the summer heat hitting us like a wall. The humidity makes everything feel heavy and thick, like the air itself is sweating. We walk to the woods behind the park, to a clearing where we used to play Conquest when we were kids and thought we owned the world.
"Take your time," Jinx says softly to me, but Cyrus immediately undercuts the moment.
"But not too much time. We wanna buy snacks and shit before the concert."
"Such a romantic," I mutter, but my hands are shaking as I unwrap the towels.
The bird looks so small out here, away from the confines of my room. Its black eyes dart around, taking in the trees, the sky, the vast openness of a world it's been kept from while healing.
"Okay, you little survivor," I whisper to it. "This is it. You're healed, you're strong, you're ready. Don't make me look like an asshole by flying into a tree or something."
