Page 23 of The Life and (Medieval) Times of Kit Sweetly

“That’s okay though. Today is a good day.”

“Today is a good day,” I agree.

Above us the kites sail through the spring sky, and I can’t think of anywhere I’d rather be. Something in me has a sense that this is what the Big Plan is all about. Having the freedom to rest in the sunshine on a beautiful day and look up at the sky with delight. Being in a city that’s so big, I can’t even imagine all the stories unfolding within it. All of a sudden, I want to move here and go to Marquette so badly it’s like an ache. This is the life I want, and dammit, I’ll find a way to earn the money I need to make this happen.

11

IT’S LATE AFTERNOON BY THE TIME JETT DROPS ME OFF AT home. He’s going straight to the Castle for his shift. On the way home, I explained the rough outline of the plan I came up with last night, and Jett was perfectly encouraging and curious. As per what an amazing-hot-smart-funny-best-friend-who-I’m-decidedly-not-starting-to-crush-on should be.

“Thank you for today.” I open the door, wanting to hug him or something, but feeling uncharacteristically shy.

“Any time. Seriously. And if you go to Marquette, I’ll be up there all the time to hang out by the lake with you. You know that, right?”

He smiles at me and I have a sudden vision of us having many more afternoons like the Kite Festival one. Except maybe with more kissing.

“I’d like that,” I manage, trying to hide my flushed cheeks.

Jett’s already been accepted to a filmmaking program at the school where his parents teach. Between their tuition discount and his academic scholarships, he won’t end up paying a cent for college.

Lucky.

“Oh, hey, wait,” he says as I open the car door.

He reaches behind the seat, grabs his backpack, and shoves it into my hands. I unzip it: Four more sandwiches, two boxes of granola bars, some oranges, and a chocolate bar as big as my forearm rest inside.

“End-of-the-world supplies?” I ask, trying to smile through my now-redder cheeks.

Jett looks away. “My brothers are zealous sandwich makers. And I just figured you might want them.”

He figured I might need these supplies more than he does, is what he doesn’t say. Which isn’t wrong. But it’s the closest we’ve come to acknowledging the fact that my house is still dark and I eat like I’m not getting a next meal. I want to hand the backpack back to him, but I can’t. Throwing away food or passing it up when it’s free goes against every survival instinct I have.

“You can give me the bag back tomorrow or whenever we see each other next,” says Jett. “Since we don’t have school this week, it’s not a big deal.”

This food is a huge deal. But I’m not going to cry about it. Not until he’s pulled away at least.

“Thanks,” I say at last. I’ll leave Mom some of the food on the table as a peace offering.

There’s a moment of uncomfortable silence. Jett runs his hands through his hair. “Is there anything I can do to help with phase one of the plan?” he says at last.

I think for a moment. “Maybe you can be our official filmmaker?”

“I could totally do that!” Excitement fills his voice. “I’m thinking we do a bit of backstory, then film the training sessions, and then interview people at the Castle.” A gleam lights Jett’s eyes. I can practically see his brain boiling over with ideas.

“I love it,” I say. “I’ll let you know more when we have a few more people recruited.”

“This is going to be amazing,” says Jett. “Talk to you later!”

“Have fun in the Dark Ages!”

“As you wish, m’lady,” says Jett with an over-the-top smoldery-Westley-from-The Princess Bride-type stare.

Stupid sexy, funny best friend.

As Jett drives off, the sound of banging and hammering rings out behind the house. That sound can only mean that Chris is in his blacksmithing shed, working on something. The grass is shorter now, like it’s had a shaggy haircut, and our nonmotorized push mower leans against the garage. Bless him; he mowed the lawn for me.

Taking out two of the sandwiches as a thank-you gift, I go around the house. The shed door is open, and Chris stands behind a homemade wooden table, wrapping wire around a long metal pole. His hair sits on top of his head in a messy man bun, and he’s got headphones on.

The nice thing about doing blacksmithing as a hobby is that it’s mostly electricity-free, and you can use recycled materials. Chris’s thing is being a sustainable metalworker, so he goes around town picking up scrap steel and aluminum and bending, twisting, and forcing it into the shape of medieval armor. It’s decidedly niche but also pays well among certain Renaissance Faire types on eBay.