coming home. I’d settle for him telling me that Annie and I are just as good as his new family—but if
that were true, he never would have left us.
I grab my duffel bag and march over the grassy moat to the street. I have some loose change in my
pocket, so I head toward the bus stop and search the sidewalk for a stone. Preferably something sharp,
something broken. A cracked corner of the gutter catches my eye.
Concrete is made of rock, sand, and gravel—sometimes even pumice for the lightweight stuff. It’d
have to do.
I kick a wedge of it loose and try to stuff it into my pocket. A hand grabs my arm and pulls me
around.
My heart lifts, and I almost drop the concrete. “Dad.” I turn to face him.
Except it’s Jace.
I have to raise my chin to look at him. A frown cuts across his brow. He loosens his grip on me, but
he doesn’t let go until I pointedly glance at his hand.
“You’re still a shit,” he says. His voice softens. “It sucks. I mean it really sucks. Like raw nerves
and lemon juice and”—he looks over his shoulder—“I always wondered who you were.”
The duffel bag handles are cutting into one of my palms, and the jagged rock is scraping the other. I
clutch them tightly as I think how to respond. He always wondered? Always? But that must mean
—“You knew about us?”
Jace takes the duffel bag from my grasp. “Just come back to the house,” he says with a quizzical
glance to the rock in my hand. I push the stone deep into my pocket, ripping the seams a little. “If not
for Dad, then for answers to your questions.”
I might have gone had he not said Dad, but that one word catapults me back toward the bus stop.
Jace can have my stupid duffel bag. I don’t care. I’ll be all right. I have my rock. “Tell him he can visit
me, but I’m never coming back here again.”
tuff
Dad stops by to visit me and Annie, but my sister refuses to see him. Dad settles on taking me for a
walk through the town belt. For three hours we hike the hills and weave through the woods in the crisp
air. Birds tweet like they’re gossiping about us.
They don’t talk much these two, do they?
The smaller one looks like he’s swallowed sour worms, poor thing.
What about the taller one? He looks one peck of the beak away from crying.
They need to talk.
How can we make them?
Sparrow, are you fully digested yet?
Aim. Load. Fire—
Bird shit lands on my cap. “Gross!” I yank the cap off.
Dad chuckles and takes care of it. “There, all gone.” He hands it back to me and I reluctantly slip it
on again. “It’s good luck you know.”
“Really? Will it make you come home again?”
Dad sighs and sits on a bench, patting the space next to him. “I’m sorry things are hard for you and
Annie.”
“Do you love her? Is she really your true love? Did you ever care for Mum?”
“Your mum and I have a complicated history.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means we were on again, off again when we first got together. She’s got a wonderful spirit, your
mum, and we cared for each other a lot—”
“But?”
“Relationships don’t always work. Fifteen years ago, I thought we were broken up for good.”
“Why’d you get back together then?”
“Three or four months after we broke up, she brought me the news that she was pregnant. I cared
about her, Cooper. I wanted to do the right thing.”
“So you had a shot-gun wedding, and the baby came early?”
Dad frowns. “Everyone knew about the baby already. Annie came out on time. Her tiny, red hands
gripped my finger so tightly, I knew she needed me. She needed her father, and I wanted to be the best I
could for her. It worked for a time after that. Your mum and me, I mean. We had a routine and we both
loved Annie so much, and we’d laugh at each other when we were too tired to do anything else. And
then, Annie was about six months old when your mum got pregnant again.”
“Ever heard of contraception?” I ask, although I’m not too mad at his lack of foresight, considering
I came into the world and all. But still.
“She was on the mini-pill. We thought we were good.”
“So I was a mistake?”
“Cooper, when I found out your mum was pregnant, all I could think was how much I loved your
sister and how happy I was she’d have a sibling.”
“So what happened? When did it all go downhill?”
“It wasn’t working.” He sighs and shakes his head. “We were fooling ourselves.”
“Got it,” I say, jumping up from the bench. “Then you met her and realized she was the love of
your life. You decide to cheat on Mum for five years, and boom, now it’s all blowing up in your face.
Well it’s tuff, isn’t it?” Tuff. The debris from a volcanic eruption.
This whole situation is his mess. He will have to clean it up.
Dad scrambles after me. “Cooper, wait. It didn’t work out how we hoped, but I didn’t go behind
your mother’s back—”
“Her son starts calling you Dad, and you just go with it?”
“Cooper, wait—”
I raise a hand. “I don’t want to hear any more.”
obsidian
The first weeks at Newtown High go by quickly. I attend classes, do my homework, and even make
a couple of friends—aptly nicknamed Ernie and Bert for their size difference and close friendship.
The first months with separated parents drag. Dad keeps calling, I keep ignoring. Annie does the
same, and her skirts have all shrunk a couple of sizes.
We’re in desperate need of black obsidian to ward off our negativity.
Beginning of the third week of school, the phone rings.
Mum waits four counts, willing me or Annie to step up to the plate. We don’t bite.
She sighs and answers the phone. “David,” she says tightly. “The kids still need a bit of time—”
Mum frowns and twists her back to us. “Oh, David. I’m sorry to hear that. Will she be okay?”
Annie and I, sharing a couch, shuffle forward. I tense, waiting for what Mum will say next. Even
Annie is gripping the arm of the couch.
Did Dad call to say he made a mistake? Is he coming home?
I hold my breath as Mum glances at us. “Yes. I’ll tell them. Take care.” She hangs up.
She sits on the armchair across from our couch, her mouth set in a grim line. She leans forward and
clasps her fingers.
“That was your dad with some sad news. Lila lost her baby.”
“How far along was she?” Annie asks.
“Four months.”
Annie quiets and starts sucking her lips in on one side.
She doesn’t hate Dad. Does that make me a worse person than her?
I don’t know how I feel about the pregnancy not taking. I want to feel sad for Lila. I know that I
probably should, but I’m stopped by the lightness in my belly and a selfish whisper: Maybe Dad will
come back now.
ocean jasper
I stroll across the school courtyard to Ernie and Bert, who are lounging against an old brick wall
with their arms crossed, checking out all the girls.
Dozens of people mill about, talking loudly and laughing at things on their phones. The sun
provides a steady heat, with only light breezes whipping at the posters plastered on the school buildings.
Most of the benches are occupied by groups of three or four, except for his.
Jace sits alone on the bench in the middle of the courtyard, elbows on his knees, staring at his
shoes. He’s wearing black from head to toe.
I arrow through a crowd gossiping about the upcoming dance, and I weave around a pair of
skateboarders. Considering the last time I spoke to Jace, do I even have the right to walk over there and
say hi? Maybe it’s the guilt, but something pushes me closer.