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When they’re gone, their footsteps and Izzy’s laughter fading, I look up to where Waylon stomps across the kitchen toward the fridge.
Now that it’s quieter, I can hear the radio again. I don’t know this song either, but it’s rougher and more angry sounding.
Mommy cuts Waylon off before he reaches the fridge, arching a brow and crossing her arms.
Waylon looks up at her, a blank expression on his face.
She sighs and crouches down, grabbing his hands. She smiles up at him, but it’s a sad kind of smile. “What’s going on, kiddo?”
“Nothing.”
She tickles his stomach. “And you’re a little liar.”
He scowls, but his dimples show, which means he’s trying not to smile—or laugh. He tries to get away from her, but she grips his shoulders, holding him there.
“That girl’s got a big heart,” she says seriously. “And friends are gonna come and go. Some might even stay, and that’s a good thing. Okay?”
She ducks her head, smiling up at Waylon, and nudges his chin with her fingers. “It’s okay to have more than one friend.” She pauses, and glances over at me. “You three will always have each other. That’ll never change. I won’t let it. You’re stuck with each other for life.”
Waylon peeks over at me, and his lips twist with a little smile.
Chewing my lip, I smile back with a shrug.
“But maybe that boy could use some friends too, yeah? It’s gotta be scary being new.”
“I guess,” Waylon whispers.
I frown. I’d be his friend.
“Here,” Mommy says, standing up and opening the fridge. She grabs two chocolate milks—the last ones. She gives us a wink when she pops them open and sticks straws in them, then sets them on the table. “Our little secret.”
Waylon sits in the seat across from me and takes his carton, while I take mine. Our eyes meet and we grin. Mommy’s always saving the last of whatever’s chocolate in the house for us.
She comes back with a book, setting it in front of Waylon. It’s not as thin as my comic books, but it’s all words, no pictures. He’s really good at reading. He learned first, then Izzy, then me. “Got this from the store today if you want it.”
He looks at it, and nods. “Thank you.”
She ruffles his hair. “You’re welcome.”
Mommy returns to the sink and turns up the radio, but only a little, not like earlier.
Waylon bites his lip and flips open his book, sipping his chocolate milk through the straw.
And I go back to my coloring.
Waylon and I don’t always talk, but it’s okay. I like that. We can just sit and it doesn’t feel weird if we say nothing. He likes to read, and I like to draw, and it’s nice.
But still. Sometimes I wish it was like how Izzy and Waylon are. He’s quiet with me, and nice, and gets all excited when we make up stories and play superheroes and stuff when he sleeps over and stays in my room. But with her he just…smiles more. Talks more too. I don’t know, it’s just different. I always feel like I’m in the way when it’s the three of us. Like it’s them versus me, and it’s not fair.
But when it’s just the two of us, I like it.
Still…
It would be nice if I had a friend that I didn’t have to share with Izzy.
I pause with my crayon to the paper, and look over my shoulder toward the basement door. It’s quiet, but I can just make out the sounds of a piano.
And all I can think is…
