I wrap my arms around my knees and lean forward. As the sun dips under the trees, some of the incessant heat of the day dissipates, and the cool breeze lifts my hair off the back of my neck.
Talking about Harper makes her death more real. She is in the past tense now, everywhere but inside my head.
“It hurts less not to,” I say.
“The denial club has its membership benefits,” Sloane says, and it’s clear I’m not the only member.“You’re in good company.”
A laugh slips past my teeth, less bitter than I expect.
“I know she’s never going to pick up,” I say, losing to the urge to justify myself. If anyone understands loss, it’s the three extra occupants of my home.
Sloane shakes her head.“I figured.”At my scrunched nose, she amends with a smirk, “I think it’s nice, though. I’d like to think someone’s still calling my number. Hoping I’ll pick up.”
There is no room here for placation. Telling her that she might one day would be a lie, one I can’t tell and one she’d never believe.
“Maybe they are,” I say.
“I only had that phone for a few months. Got it for my thirteenth birthday.”
We’ve veered way too deep into painful territory, and before it drags me under, I sit back and force my expression back into neutrality.
“What were you doing before eavesdropping?” I ask.
Sloane, apparently grateful for a topic change like I am, shrugs.
“Aisha, Finn, and I are out in the backyard. I saw you moping. Figured I’d invite you to join.”
“Join?”
Sloane waggles her brows.“Feel like doing a favor?”
—
Byfavor, Sloane means snagging three spoons from the kitchen; my mother’s incredulity as to where all the spoons were going isanswered as soon as I join Sloane in the backyard, where Finn and Aisha are standing together off the back porch. A pile of metal glints at their feet.
There are four more metal spoons in the grass. All of them clearly from the kitchen drawer.
“My mom has been looking for those,” I say.
“We’ll put them back,” Finn says with a wave.
“We won’t, actually,” Sloane pipes in.
Finn ignores her, gesturing to the utensils in the grass.“You remember field day?”
“Like in elementary school?”
Finn nods.“Sack races and cornhole and capture the flag. A whole day without an ounce of learning. Best day of the year.”
“Speak for yourself, ” says Aisha.
“I remember field day,” I say. “But that doesn’t explain the hoarding of my utensils.”
“This is our field day,” Sloane says.
Aisha and Sloane crouch before the pile of spoons, intently focused on curling their fingers around them. Aisha grabs on within a few seconds, but Sloane’s fingers pass through the metal a few times before she gets a solid grip.
“Y’all ready?” Finn asks. Sloane and Aisha line up side by side.“You know the drill. First to the tree line and back with a spoon in hand wins this round.”
