“I asked if you have time this morning. Have breakfast with us.”
“Can’t. Meeting a class partner inside.”
Mom squints at me, then nods. “Okay. We’ll head to the hotel and check in. See you at the rink later.”
“See you then.”
We hug once more, and I savor the comfort. My dad steps closer, tapping me on the shoulder before pulling me into an embrace as well.
“Play smart tonight. Don’t let anything get in your head.”
“I won’t.”
I move to the passenger window, lean in, and kiss Grandma’s cheek. She presses her thumb to mine in blessing.
“Good luck,” she murmurs, then lets me go.
I step away, tapping the top of the car in silent thanks. Then I shift to reach for Kai, playfully yanking him into a hug while scuffing his hair. He laughs through a groan, batting me away yet leaning into it all the same. He wears his short, like our father, but everything else—the eyes, the jawline, the way his smile kicks up on one side—is like looking in a mirror. Ten years apart, but nearly identical. Grandma calls us niizhoopizowag—twospirits tied together. We’re not just brothers; we’re connected way deeper than that.
I glance back at my mother.
“Love you,” she says.
“Gizaagi’in.”I love you.
Dad gets into the driver’s seat, Mom slides in behind him while Kai buckles in next to her. They pull off, slow and steady down the road. I watch for a beat then spin on my heel toward the school.
Sam’s gone now.
I suck in a breath and move forward. It’s early on a Saturday morning, so the campus is mostly empty. Only a few other students walk the grounds. As I cross paths with some of them, I keep my eyes ahead of me.
Once inside the building, I find Sam. She’s just outside the library, sitting on a bench. Her hood is up, knees drawn to her chest, headset over her ears.
She doesn’t seem to notice me until I’m close, standing only inches in front of her. Sam startles, wiping her face too fast.
I pretend not to notice. Pretend not to see that she’s hurting. Instead, giving her space to hold on to whatever dignity she’s fighting to keep.
“Ready?” I ask, making a mental note of the stiffness in the way she hugs her knees tighter.
She nods, short and automatic, more like muscle memory than anything else. Shoulders squared, her lashes flutter to keep away the tears, breaths long and audible.
I glance around, stepping closer to shield her from someone passing us by. They don’t pay us any attention and yank open the library’s door and step inside.
Shifting my bag on my shoulder, I peer down the hall thenback at her. Something about leaving her like this feels wrong. So I lower myself onto the bench beside her.
I unzip my bag, the sound bouncing between us. Then I remove the Tupperware container and pop the lid. Without words, I hold it in front of her, gently nudging her. Sam’s eyes dart to mine, and I tip my head toward the dessert.
“What’s this?” She stares at it, her brows knitted slightly.
“Try it,” I encourage while opening the condiment cup. “It’s frybread with zhiiwaagamizigan.”
Her brows furrow as she stares at me as if she hasn’t the slightest idea of what I’ve said. I chuckle inwardly. I don’t speak my native tongue on campus normally, and when I do, I always get that look.
“It’s frybread. Dip it in the maple syrup.” Another nudge.
She tears off a piece and does as instructed. “You know, this is the most you’ve ever said to me.”
I drop my chin. “Talking’s not really my thing.”
