Page 19 of What’s Left of Us

The Blake’s backyard was a near-perfect replica of ours. A square yard of neatly mowed grass. A small corner garden, though theirs was filled with vegetables and flowers and ours was filled with dried dirt. Dad had been scolding Mom about that just last night. Despite the fact Mrs. Blake had a full-time job, she had a nicer garden than Mom. It was embarrassing, Shannon.

Nat and Phoebe were right next to that garden. My sister kept looking at it, and I wondered if she was thinking the same thing I was. Or maybe she was thinking about Michael. Had she told Phoebe about him? Did she say he was her boyfriend? Boyfriend felt like the wrong word. I watched Michael at our tennis practice last night. He wasn’t a boy at all. And from what I could tell, he didn’t look at Nat any differently than he looked at the rest of us.

Maybe Nat had made it up. I kind of hoped she had.

“Nat?” Atlas repeated. He was playing a game on his Nintendo Switch, which he’d gotten a few months ago. He hadn’t gone a day without playing it since. At the mention of my sister, his attention flicked briefly from his game to the back fence. “She looks fine to me.”

“I know. It’s not that.” I hugged my knees to my chest. From here, Nat did look fine. She and Phoebe were wearing their new swimsuits, which they’d gotten at the mall. I’d bought a new swimsuit then too. My first bikini that I was equal parts excited and mortified to wear in front of Atlas.

I’d thought about tanning with Phoebe and Nat, but now that it was clear they wanted to be alone, I was glad I didn’t ask.

“Is she sick or something?” Atlas grunted, then muttered a curse. When I glanced at him, his attention was wholly fixed on his video game. The cussing was new. He’d picked it up from his dumb friend Ryan, who’d started at our school in the spring.

It was stupid, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I felt like I’d get struck by lightning if I so much as whispered the word shit.

“No, it’s not…” I struggled to find the right words before accepting there weren’t any. Nat had a weirdly old boyfriend, but so what? They’d probably break up in a couple weeks anyway.

Besides, Nat explicitly told me not to tell anyone. I wanted her to confide stuff in me, and I wasn’t about to ruin that by gossiping. Not even with Atlas. Not even when I really was worried.

The back sliding door swooshed open.

Atlas and I turned. I expected to see Mrs. Blake, either to call us for lunch or to tell Nat and Phoebe to bring those chairs back when they were done. Instead it was dumb Ryan Mitchell and some other guy I didn’t know. The one I didn’t recognize seemed older. Maybe Nat’s age or even Phoebe’s.

“Hey, I thought you couldn’t come!” Atlas launched to his feet, taking his Nintendo Switch with him. I remained on the steps and watched the three of them as they excitedly made plans to set up a makeshift slip-n-slide.

Without so much as introducing me to the new guy, or even acknowledging my existence, Atlas tore into his house. The other boys followed, and I spent an embarrassing amount of time, sitting on the steps and staring at the ajar doorway.

They were going to come back, right? Or was I supposed to follow them?

“Vi!”

I startled and looked to the fence line. Phoebe was sprawled out on her stomach, reading a book. Nat was on her back, propped on her elbows and squinting in my direction.

“What?” I yelled, admittedly snappy. If Nat screamed never mind! back at me, I wouldn’t have held it against her. Instead, she made an ‘O’ shape with her fingers and held it loosely against her forehead. It was a code we’d come up with years ago, when Mom and Dad’s fighting first got bad.

‘O’ shape meant: are you okay?

Tapping your chin meant yes.

Tapping your nose meant no.

“I’m fine!” I yelled. I wasn’t in the mood to do our secret signals. My best friend had just ditched me, and it wasn’t like Nat could fix it.

She tapped her nose twice, silently calling me out.

I clambered to my feet. I’d go back home and play the ukulele. I’d get good enough that I’d go on one of the singing competitions, play my music, and get famous. Then, when Atlas was desperate to hang out with me, I’d tell him I was too busy. I’d have famous friends by then, and he’d be too⁠—

“Vi!” Nat shouted again. I couldn’t see her face well from here, but I imagined she was giving me a sympathetic frown. “Go get your bikini. Come tan with us!”

She was definitely pitying me, but I wasn’t too proud to take the offer. Nat rarely invited me to hang out with her and Phoebe, so I wasn’t going to waste the opportunity. Maybe I could use this to redeem myself. I could show her I’d grown up in the past year, and that if she wanted to talk about her geriatric boyfriend, I wouldn’t make it weird.

Fifteen minutes later, I walked back to Atlas’s house, wearing my turquoise bikini with a thick beach towel wrapped under my armpits. It was only June, but it was hot enough I could feel the sun reflecting off my sweaty shoulders. I wasn’t really a fan of sunbathing, if I was honest. It was boring, and after approximately five minutes, I knew I’d feel like a burnt strip of bacon.

Today was going to be different though. I’d already decided. Part of getting older, hopefully, was gaining the patience to lay outside and absorb skin cancer for at least an hour straight. Or however long Nat and Phoebe planned to stay out here. They’d gotten a head-start, so hopefully they’d get bored before I did.

The Blake house was quiet. The layout was similar to ours, but it was nicer. Where we had simple countertops and dated carpet (Mom’s words, not mine), the Blake family had all hardwood floors and an island counter with waterfall granite. Their kitchen appliances were new and shiny. They’d upgraded in the last couple years, and according to Mom, it made all the difference! Maybe we should look into upgrading this summer…

I didn’t think the main difference was the fancy floors and counters though. It was the vibrant splashes of color throughout their home that made it nicer. The living room had a blue couch and green throw pillows. Yellow and orange artwork hung in the kitchen with quirky chicken sculptures above the cabinets. Our home was black and white and grey. It looked dead in comparison to their explosion of color.