3.If you don’t know something, someone will teach you. If you do know something, share that knowledge. If one of us rises, we all rise.
4.Share feedback thoughtfully and gently. Accept feedback thoughtfully and gently.
5.See something good? Say something good. Let your fellow staffers know when they’re killing the game.
6.Treat our space with respect. Clean up after yourself and help your fellow staffers remember to do the same.
7.This is an inclusive space. We are all here because we want to be here. We all belong.
q/28
CHAPTERFOURTEENCODDLED EGGS AND COLLATED PAGES
“Two today?” Maddie asked, looking up over a simmering pan when Mal came down to the kitchen.
Mal nodded, still sleepy. They hadn’t gotten home from the Haus last night until well past eleven—late enough that they accepted a ride from Nylan, who lived two neighborhoods away from Mal in Lassavor Park. They had tried very hard not to feel embarrassed by the sagging gutters as they shut the door of Nylan’s Civic in the dark and were quietly thankful the streetlight in front of their house still hadn’t been fixed. “Two, please.”
It was always two.
Sunday-Morning Eggs had become a tradition for the Flowers siblings. With their dad usually working at Glen’s and their mom spending most of her morning at church (she had given up trying to drag Maddie and Mal years ago), the two were—as they often were—left to fend for themselves. Mal had never been much of a cook, so for the first few years, they made Maddie a frozen egg sandwich in the microwave. But Maddie, inspired by all the food shows they watched together, had eventually taken over breakfast. Lately she had been on a coddled-egg kick—they were like poached eggs but fancy.
Luckily, theMixxedMediameeting was later in the day, so Mal didn’t have to miss it. After plodding outside to put out a scoop of food for the neighborhood cats, they sat at the rickety kitchen island, freshly brewed coffee in hand as Maddie’s ramekins simmered away.
With her back turned as she chopped green onions, she said, “I missed you yesterday.”
“I was there, you goof,” Mal said, miming the motions again to remind her. “You kicked butt.Congratulations, by the way.”
“Thank you, thank you.” Maddie grinned, turning and scooping the green onions into a bowl. But there was a strange stiffness to her smile Mal didn’t understand. Finally, she added, “You didn’t stay.”
Mal shrugged. “I just had to cut out a little early so I could do zine things.”
“But you missed pizza at LaRosa’s with the team.” Maddie pursed her lips, fiddling with the bowl of onions until it satjust soon the serving tray, next to a bowl of cheese. This was part of the tradition, too: Maddie took the time to make things pretty for them, which made Sunday-Morning Eggs feel more special. She was quiet for some time, moving the saltshaker from one side of the tray to another, twice, before she finally said, “I missed you is all.”
And there was a strange wobble to her voice—something small andvulnerablethat cued Mal to listen closer, to look between the words for what Maddie wasn’t saying out loud. Mal struggled with this sometimes. It wasn’t their style; they just said what they meant, when they meant it. After a long night with Emerson, who did the same, it took Mal an extraminute to figure it out. They had hurt Maddie’s feelings by not staying.
“Shit,” said Mal, wringing their hands in their lap. “I’m sorry, Maddie.”
And they were. Hurting Maddie’s feelings was not what Mal did.
But part of Mal’s heart felt still light from last night—from the laughter and the layout and the way Parker had rock-paper-scissored Mal for the last piece of pizza but still split it with them when she won, cutting it in two with an absolutely pathetic plastic butter knife. Instead of sitting quietly while Maddie and the team recapped the game in the corner booth of LaRosa’s, Mal had had a pizza party of their own. It feltgood.
But it felt uncomfortable, too—feeling good at the same time as feeling guilt.
“I mean it,” they reiterated, because they did. They had promised themself years ago that they would never be the one who made Maddie feel forgotten; their mom and dad did that to her enough. This was the trade-off they made: Mal showed up for Maddie when their parents couldn’t be around, and when they were, Maddie shielded Mal from them as best she could. Mal nodded, resolute. They’d dobetternext time. “I’ll make sure to stick around for all the rest this season. Pinkie promise.”
Settling the pepper in its proper place, Maddie looked up at Mal. “Pinkie promise?”
“You know I don’t mess around with these,” they said, holding their pinkie out.
Maddie took it, curling her finger tight around Mal’s. Shehesitated, holding their gaze. There was something else she wanted to say; Mal could tell. They just couldn’t tell what.
It had never been like this before with Maddie.
Though Maddie’s brain didn’t work exactly like Mal’s, she made more effort to meet Mal where they were than anyone else typically did. But today felt… different. The grit of salt and the soft slick of cooking oil coated the space between them. That oily feel rested on them too, leaving Mal with the feeling of needing to wash their hands.
“Okay,” she said at last, and let Mal’s pinkie go. “Help me get these eggs out of their bath.”
Mal did—or rather they stood beside Maddie and watched her do so, easy and effortlessly, with a pair of old kitchen tongs. As she added them to the serving plate and Mal picked the two Best Spoons, they were sure there was something elsetheywanted to say too. But whatever it was, it got tangled up and lost and softened by the time the siblings got to the sofa, tucking themselves under a faded Dollar City throw blanket.
