Page 9 of Dream On

“I saw the prettiest bug,” Mom adds, glancing from face to face. “I thoughtit was a butterfly, but it was a hummingbird moth. I took a picture.” She shows us the image on her phone, and I smile.

At dinnertime, we go around the table and share a highlight of our day. There’s always a standout moment. Something small, something buried, something hidden in the monotonous routine, eager to take center stage. We share an achievement, a milestone, or a breakthrough every night, even on the bad days.

Especially on the bad days.

It keeps things in perspective.

I clear my throat and fiddle with the strap of my purple tank top. “I saw a little boy today on the way home from school. He was twelve or thirteen. Dark-brown hair and a golden smile.” My gaze dips away from my mother’s when I note the way her eyes widen, spark. “He was at the playground off Melbourne Street. The one Jop and I used to play at all the time.”

“Stevie…” Mom’s voice is barely audible.

“I know it wasn’t him,” I continue, clenching the cloth napkin until my knuckles go white. “But I thought of him. I pretended that was what he’d be doing right then if things were different. He’d be on the swing set at that park, the wind in his hair, his legs soaring to the sky as children played all around him, enjoying the sunny afternoon without a care in the world.” Needles prick the back of my throat, poking cavities in my words. I try to keep my voice steady. Whole. “I stopped and stared for a while. And…I felt him. Standing there beside me, watching the scene unfold, wishing for all the same things I was wishing for.”

Mom excuses herself from the table, her chair legs squeaking, a harsh backdrop to the resounding silence. Dad’s spoon clinks as he dives into his stew to cover the painful croak that wants to burst out, while Joplin glances down at her dinner as tears spill down her freckled cheeks.

It was my highlight.

But to them, it was just a gaping absence that no swing set or sunny afternoon could ever fill.

A reminder of everything we’ve lost.

Chapter 4

Stevie

I pull my backpack out of my locker as a shock of cherry-colored hair flutters into my periphery.

Misty shoots me a megawatt smile over the books clutched to her chest. “Are you nervous? Excited? Crying? Barfing?”

Blinking at her, I force back the bile climbing my throat and mutter an awkward laugh. “Multiple things can be true at once.”

“Shit. You’ve got this. If not, I’ll throw hands.” She schleps the books over to one arm and wiggles her fingers at me. “Natalie is already celebrating, you know. There’s a party at her lake house tomorrow at seven. We should crash it.”

“No thanks.”

“We can egg her Mercedes.”

“Dignity, Misty.”

“Hmm. I’m unfamiliar with that word.” My best friend leans her shoulder against the row of lockers. “I’m just going to put it out there: if Natalie scores the role of Satine, youknowit’s because she’s getting freaky with Mr. Hamlin. Not because she earned it.”

My face sours. “Hamlin is married. And he’s pushing sixty.”

“That’s my point. She’s shameless.”

If I’m being honest, Natalie isn’t all that bad. She’s a good performer, and she’s not as foul as some of the girls who go to this school. When she nabbedthe part of Belle, she didn’t rub it in my face or kick me when I was down. I appreciated that.

Misty and I stroll side by side to the girls’ bathroom after school lets out for the day, and I give Jameson a high five before he slips down the hallway toward the auditorium.

“Break a leg, Stevie!” he calls out, sending me a two-fingered salute.

I gulp.

That would be my luck.

When we hole ourselves up in the multi-stall bathroom with yellowing wallpaper, Misty grips me by the shoulders as I try not to puke on her. “In through the nose, out through the mouth. Deep breath.”

I inhale a lungful of air.