forks.”
“Enough of that,” her mother says, grabbing her daughter’s hand and wrapping it around a fork. “Dinner is no time for games of imagination.”
“I have no idea where she got this routine from,” the father adds.
“It’s that story Noah told the other night. The one about the girl.”
Noah slides farther into his seat, making himself as small as possible while his parents shoot daggers in his direction.
“Not my fault,” he mutters. He says something else under his breath, but through the barrier of the window I can’t hear it.
“Watch your mouth, young man!” his mother snaps.
Noah adjusts his glasses and runs a hand through his hair. “Sorry.”
Finally noticing the tension in the room, Lizzie uses her fork to skewer a few carrots and shoves them in her mouth. Her mother sighs and drops back to her chair. “Really, dear. Must you eat like a horse?”
“So, kid, whatcha been up to after school these days?” the father asks Noah, intent on driving the attention away from Lizzie.
“Not much. Spending time on the beach,” Noah replies.
“Still writing, I see? Can’t find any spare time to join a sport or two? I heard the basketball team’s looking for recruits.”
“He always was better at soccer,” his mother says.
Noah rolls his eyes. “Can I be excused?”
“You’ve barely touched your food, dear.”
“You’ll need the extra protein to try out for football next year,” his father adds, punching him playfully in the arm. Noah raises his gaze to his mother, clenching his jaw and giving her a severe look. Her eyes toggle between her husband and her son several times before she makes up her mind.
“Oh, fine. But no midnight snacks.”
Noah leaps up from the table and exits into the next room. I travel with him, rounding the house until I hear his footsteps through the thin aluminum siding. Eventually I come to another window—this one’s open—and when I peek inside I see a bedroom. The walls are painted a dark blue and a desk butts up against a corner. The bed is draped in dirty laundry, and a dozen worn notebooks are stacked at the foot of the frame.
Noah barges into the room, falling face first onto the bed and groaning. He has only a moment of solitude before Lizzie breaks through the door after him. She leaps onto the mattress, bouncing playfully off his back.
“Watcha dooooing?” she asks.
Noah rolls over and pushes her off the bed. She lands on her rear end, still giggling, as he answers. “Trying to get away from you.”
Lizzie pops up, pulls the desk chair over to the edge of the bed, and climbs onto the seat. “Nah-ah. You’re trying to escape dad. You do that every time he brings up sports.”
“Just don’t tell him that, and we’ll be square.”
Lizzie eyes him with an intensity I didn’t realize a child could have. “What’s wrong, Noah? You seem sad.” She waits for him to answer, and when he doesn’t, she draws her own conclusion. “Do you miss her ?”
Noah grabs a pillow and chucks it straight at Lizzie’s face. She ducks just in time, and the missile collides with the side of the desk instead, knocking over a stack of notebooks.
“Get lost, munchkin.”
“I knew it!” Lizzie says gleefully. “Noah and weird girl sitting in a tree,
“Enough of that,” her mother says, grabbing her daughter’s hand and wrapping it around a fork. “Dinner is no time for games of imagination.”
“I have no idea where she got this routine from,” the father adds.
“It’s that story Noah told the other night. The one about the girl.”
Noah slides farther into his seat, making himself as small as possible while his parents shoot daggers in his direction.
“Not my fault,” he mutters. He says something else under his breath, but through the barrier of the window I can’t hear it.
“Watch your mouth, young man!” his mother snaps.
Noah adjusts his glasses and runs a hand through his hair. “Sorry.”
Finally noticing the tension in the room, Lizzie uses her fork to skewer a few carrots and shoves them in her mouth. Her mother sighs and drops back to her chair. “Really, dear. Must you eat like a horse?”
“So, kid, whatcha been up to after school these days?” the father asks Noah, intent on driving the attention away from Lizzie.
“Not much. Spending time on the beach,” Noah replies.
“Still writing, I see? Can’t find any spare time to join a sport or two? I heard the basketball team’s looking for recruits.”
“He always was better at soccer,” his mother says.
Noah rolls his eyes. “Can I be excused?”
“You’ve barely touched your food, dear.”
“You’ll need the extra protein to try out for football next year,” his father adds, punching him playfully in the arm. Noah raises his gaze to his mother, clenching his jaw and giving her a severe look. Her eyes toggle between her husband and her son several times before she makes up her mind.
“Oh, fine. But no midnight snacks.”
Noah leaps up from the table and exits into the next room. I travel with him, rounding the house until I hear his footsteps through the thin aluminum siding. Eventually I come to another window—this one’s open—and when I peek inside I see a bedroom. The walls are painted a dark blue and a desk butts up against a corner. The bed is draped in dirty laundry, and a dozen worn notebooks are stacked at the foot of the frame.
Noah barges into the room, falling face first onto the bed and groaning. He has only a moment of solitude before Lizzie breaks through the door after him. She leaps onto the mattress, bouncing playfully off his back.
“Watcha dooooing?” she asks.
Noah rolls over and pushes her off the bed. She lands on her rear end, still giggling, as he answers. “Trying to get away from you.”
Lizzie pops up, pulls the desk chair over to the edge of the bed, and climbs onto the seat. “Nah-ah. You’re trying to escape dad. You do that every time he brings up sports.”
“Just don’t tell him that, and we’ll be square.”
Lizzie eyes him with an intensity I didn’t realize a child could have. “What’s wrong, Noah? You seem sad.” She waits for him to answer, and when he doesn’t, she draws her own conclusion. “Do you miss her ?”
Noah grabs a pillow and chucks it straight at Lizzie’s face. She ducks just in time, and the missile collides with the side of the desk instead, knocking over a stack of notebooks.
“Get lost, munchkin.”
“I knew it!” Lizzie says gleefully. “Noah and weird girl sitting in a tree,
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