I decided I liked her. “I’m ten too.”
“Oh, that’s great. Maybe you and Chris can be friends. This little guy is Isak,” April continued, bouncing the baby on her hip. He had big greenish eyes and a drooly smile. “And that’s Everett hiding behind the football.”
“I’m not hiding,” Everett said, stepping forward.
“He has six brothers,” April stage-whispered to me, like it was a secret. “Our house is basically a zoo. You should come over sometime. We can always use more estrogen in the mix.”
My mom laughed. “We just moved up from California after my doctorate. I’m still figuring out where everything is.”
“Oh, I remember those days. We moved here from California too, about ten years ago now. Texas before that.” April shifted Isak to her other hip. “It’s an adjustment, but you’ll love it. The people here are wonderful, and the mountains...” She gestured vaguely at the horizon. “Well. You’ll see.”
The moms kept talking, something about schools and grocery stores and pediatricians, and I found myself looking at Chris. He was looking back at me with eyes that matched the clear Colorado sky.
“Whatcha reading?” he asked.
“Oh, um.Anne of Green Gables.” Boys didn’t usually ask me about books. Or even ask me anything. Boys are dumb.
“Anne with an e?” He smiled.
I smiled back, surprised. “You’ve read it?”
“My mom read it to us. All of us, even the boys who complained.” He glanced at April with obvious affection. “I like Anne. I think if I had a sister, she would be like her.”
“You really have six brothers?”
“Yeah. Six of them.”
“Six.” I said it louder than I meant to, and both moms looked over, laughing.
“It’s a lot,” April agreed. “But we love it. Minus the part where they eat us out of house and home. So much spaghetti.” She caught Chris’s eye and smiled at him in a way that made something wiggle around in my chest, like she was sharing a private joke with him, like he was her favorite person in the world.
Chris introduced his brothers properly. “Isak’s the youngest, and a little like that baby in theMarvelouses. Except he doesn’t actually burst into flames.” Isak cooed. “But sometimes he smells like he does.”
His other brother laughed and nodded like he agreed a whole lot.
“This is Everett, he’s?—.”
“I’m the third oldest, I’m seven.” Everett said proudly.
“Third oldest doesn’t count, Doofus.” Chris rolled his eyes and so only I could see. Like we had our own inside joke already.
“Well, I think you’re really tall for a seven-year-old.” I said to Everett trying to cheer him up, and ignoring the fluttery wiggles in my tummy.
“Tall enough to hang out with a ten-year-old?” he asked, waggling his eyebrows dramatically. His brother shoved his shoulder and I laughed for real for the first time since we’d left California.
“I don’t have any siblings,” I admitted.
“That must be quiet.” Chris sighed, like quiet was a dream.
“Yeah. It is.” I thought about eating lunch alone every day last year. “And lonely sometimes.”
“Well, you can always come over to our house. Too many people to get lonely. We have a whole room full of books, and you’d like game night.” He said it fast, like he was nervous I’d say no. “You wanna come over now?. I promised Ev we’d throw the old pigskin around, and?—“
“That’s mean!” The words burst out of me. “You shouldn’t call it a pigskin. Pigs are people too!”
The silence that followed was excruciating. Way to go, Beatrix. This boy is trying to be nice and you yell at him about pigs.
But Chris didn’t look annoyed. He looked genuinely sorry. “Oh—I didn’t mean—I don’t think they’re made from actual pigs anymore? I think it’s cows now...”
