Maybe Dad will come back now.
The moment he notices me, Jace straightens his shoulders and slips on his mask of nonchalance.
The cold stare he gives me doesn’t tame the tiredness in his eyes or the slight puffiness at their edges.
“I didn’t even know you went to this school,” I say, sliding onto the bench next to him.
He shrugs. “Well, I do.”
I want to acknowledge his mourning somehow, but guilt holds my tongue captive. I am beginning
to feel sorry that the pregnancy didn’t take, but I still can’t silence that other whisper: We’re better than
you.
I wish I hadn’t sat. Sweat glazes my hands and the backs of my knees. I instinctively search the
ground for a rock, a pebble, a stone. Close to Jace’s heel, a colorful beach stone with spots at one end
seems to wink at me. If it represented the moment, it would be ocean jasper, a stone known for helping
people cope with change.
I lean forward to pick it up, but I misjudge the angle and hit my nose against Jace’s knee.
He shuffles to the side as I swing up, gripping the stone. Almost immediately—and even though
heat is rushing to my cheeks—my breathing steadies. The smooth stone massages and revitalizes my
skin as the sediments absorb my stress. I can do this.
“You’re weird,” Jace says, staring at my fist.
“You mean Dad hasn’t told you?”
Now I feel weird. I glance away, but when I look back, Jace is eying me carefully, from my sandals
to my turquoise shorts and white Music Rocks T-shirt. He lingers on the shirt. “He said you have a few
ticks.”
I nod. “Only this, really. But I flip out if I—” I decide not to go into the rest. What’s the point? It’s
not as though we have to be friends now that our families are somewhat connected. “It doesn’t matter.”
I want to walk away but Jace catches my gaze. “Why’d you come over?” he asks.
I shrug. Because it sucks. Raw nerves and lemon juice.
He shrugs and mutters, “Not that I care or anything, but Dad misses you.”
I try to shake off his words as I slouch my way to Ernie and Bert. Ernie might be short, but he
makes up for it by being loud and obnoxious. But hey, friends are friends. At least I have someone to eat
lunch with. “You look like your balls are being stung by wetas,” he says.
Bert, who’s big and beefy and plays rugby like he needs to declare the gospel and convert
everyone, punches Ernie on the arm. “You talk about balls so much I’m beginning to think you’re a
fag.”
“Fuck off.”
“Yeah,” Bert says, “I don’t think I’m having you over for sleepovers anymore.”
Ernie flips him off and scooches over enough that I can rest against the wall. I drop my shoulder
bag between my feet. Their shit-talking is stupid, but I know they don’t mean it. At least, I hope they
don’t. Some people at school are known for getting stupid with their fists, though, and I steer clear of
their radar.
“So what’s up your ass?” Ernie asks.
I pull out a sandwich from my bag. “Nothing.”
Bert and Ernie share a look I’m not privy to, but their raised brows suggest they’re secretly plotting
a way to get a real answer out of me.
They can try as hard as they like, but I’m not talking about Dad or Jace to either of them.
They prod a few more times but eventually give up and change topics. “Are we going to the dance
or what?” Ernie asks, winking at a girl who looks like Annie.
“No,” I say. “What’s the point?”
This earns me a whack on the back of the head. “But there’ll be tits galore—”
“Yeah,” I say, and add a firm, “No.” Because it’s not happening.
And it doesn’t.
Bert and Ernie go to the dance alone.
granite
The next six months, Jace is everywhere.
We never talk but he’s always around; he’s in the courtyard, in the music room, on the soccer field,
or waiting for the bus on the other side of the street like he is right now. I’m waiting for bus 10 to take
me back to Mum’s; he’s waiting for bus 02 to take him to Dad’s.
A few others are hanging around. Annie is chatting to a large Maori dude, who’s smiling as though
he might get lucky.
I hang a few meters back and rest against the brick part of the school fence. On his side of the
street, Jace has adopted a spot against a concrete wall with a book in his hand.
It’s a pose we’ve been holding for months. We’ve perfected the art of pretending to read while
surreptitiously peeking at each other. Looking without getting caught has become our game. When we
do catch each other, we scowl and mutter various insults. I like “dickweed” best, but my exceptional lipreading
skills tell me Jace hasn’t settled on a favorite insult, though he is particularly creative.
I open my geology textbook and stare blankly at a summary on plate tectonics. I flip a page and
glance up. Jace is frowning into a brown book that’s a shade or two lighter than his hair—still pretty
dark. I risk staring for three counts before I fake-read some more.
I take my time and savor the tingling that prickles the back of my neck as Jace watches me. It’s like
a game of I Spy, but somehow it feels risky. Like we’re two cowboys about to draw our guns. Like it’s a
contest to prove who is better.
I grit my teeth and mutter, “Dickweed.”
A shadow falls over me, and I snap the book shut. The puff of air makes me cough. Jace has
crossed the street and is standing in front of me.
“Little shit,” he murmurs, but his lips are twitching at the edges as if he’s holding back a grin.
“What do you want?”
“You didn’t pick up a stone today.” He gestures to the chipped brick at my feet. “You usually do.”
“So you’ve noticed. That’s a bit stalkerish of you, don’t you think?”
He snorts and ignores the dig. “Dad’s birthday is coming up.”
I reign in the urge to shove him, opting instead for a tight smile. “Stop calling him your dad.”
Jace shrugs it off. “He wants you and Annie there.”
Dad’s birthday is on Halloween, and his greatest wish is to make people love it. Halloween, that is.
He decorates every year—well, he used to decorate every year. He’d invite all the neighbors to tour our
haunted maze, then tally-up how many people screamed so he could beat his record the following year.
Our Halloween tradition was the best. We planned for months, practically the entire year. Jace and
Lila won’t even come close to pulling off such a feat.
This fact makes me smug, and my tight smile turns into a grin.
We’re better than you.
Not at this.
“I’ll be there,” I say, hoping Annie will come along as well. Maybe Dad will tell us our Halloween
birthdays are the best. He won’t even have to say it because I’ll be able to read his Frankenstein face.
“Really? You’ll come?” Jace shifts, and the afternoon sun hits my face.
I raise a hand to block it out. Jace corrects his position so I’m once again in his shadow. Even
though other students are chatting, tires are bumping over the road, and somewhere in the distance an
ambulance is calling, we stare each other down in silence.
“Okay. Cool.” He turns, then swivels back. “Oh, and before I forget.” He digs into his pocket and
pulls out a small stone. He stuffs it into my hand. It’s smooth and warm, like he’s been holding it for a
while. “Found it on my side of the road.”
The sun pelts my face with bright warmth, and by the time I adjust to the light, Jace has crossed the
road and taken up his spot at the wall.
We return to reading—or pretending to.
The duel has only just begun.
rhyolite
I hold the stone all the way home. It’s a strange stone, this one. I have others of similar shape, size