Page 47 of Starrily

Eleven. Middle school.The grades I’d have taught.

No, not him. Not Simon.

Stan handed him the tools, and they got to work—one of the swing sets had to be re-affixed to the top bar. With their heights, it wasn’t too hard to do, and Simon chuckled as he thought about it. “Did you wait for me to turn up here one day so you could use my help?”

“Hmm. You must not be that sad.”

“What?”

“If you’re cracking jokes.”

“Just because I said one funny thing doesn’t mean … well, that some things don’t suck.”

“Then tell.”

And Simon did; although he provided Stan with an abridged version. He didn’t want to try his patience, and regardless, hewasn’t telling him he’d considered kissing Calliope, or that she was plagued by nightmares.

“So.” He leaned on the swing’s supporting beam. “What the hell does it all mean, and what do I do?”

“You talk.”

“I just did.”

“To her.”

“Oh, no. Nuh-uh.” He waved his finger at Stan. “She’s the one who threw me out without an explanation!”

“If you don’t care, why did you need to talk to me?”

“That’s not the point!”

Stan gave him a look Simon imagined was reserved for getting his kids in line. “You’d be surprised how many things can be resolved with simple communication.”

“Nothing is simple with Calliope.”

“Talk.” Stan yanked hard on the chain holding the swing and nodded in approval. “How do you think I’ve stayed married for thirteen years?”

Stan, the communicator? Simon couldn’t imagine a bigger oxymoron. That was too funny.

But who was he to laugh at that? At least Stan had a good family life. Simon was always going on about what a good lifehehad and how much he enjoyed it and got everything out of it…

If that everything was partying and extreme sports.

It felt like absolute insanity to think Calliope was the missing piece. And yet, when he thought about yesterday, he realized he wanted more days like those. He wanted her to be a part of whatever fun activity he’d come up with. He wanted to bicker and laugh with her, and at the end of the day, he wanted to sit down on the couch and watch a movie with her.

Maybe he even wanted more.

He leaned his forehead on the cool metal of the supporting beam. “I don’t know if she even wants to talk.”

“Then wait. Be patient.”

“You’ve known me for years. Have I ever been patient?”

Stan shrugged. “With the right motivation, you can try.”

“Hey, you two.” Michelle stood in the doorway. “Nice work. Mr. Montague, do you want to stay for lunch?”

“Oh, no. I couldn’t,” Simon said. “Plenty of work to do.”