Page 9 of The Glass Girl

“Unless Pisa turns out to be a nagging shrew.”

I run my finger over the texture of the Oreos. That’s something my dad said to my mom last year, before he moved out.I don’t know if he knew I could hear them fighting. They’d closed their bedroom door and lowered their voices to harsh whispers.Look who you’ve become, Diana. A nagging shrew.

“Go to work, Major Mom.”

She gives me a grateful smile and moves to the kitchen island, sitting on the stool and popping open her laptop.

—

My sister is under the covers. I hand her the napkin with the Oreos and climb in, settling against her. I sniff her neck delicately. “You need to take a bath, Ricci.”

“Water is itchy. Do the room!”

I sigh, getting back out of the bed, and Ricci finds the videos she wants to watch on her tablet. You might think being in front of a screen before bed would make her more antsy, but watching animal videos actually quiets her. She loves animals. If she had her way, our house would be a zoo.

Ricci needs everything a certain way before bedtime, so I walk around the room, carefully pushing her Minecraft figures back into place on her desk, arranging her coloring pencils by color (white, black, yellow, blue, green, pink), tapping the fish tank three times to say good night to the plump goldfish fluttering inside, checking the inside of the closet for monsters. The last thing is tucking her blanket around her tightly, under her legs and torso, but not over her arms. She needs those out. She calls it being “burritoed.”

“Sergeant Sister, the quarters are clean. May I enter the bunk now?”

She nods happily. I lie down next to her.

“You need to let Mom work, you know,” I tell her. “It’sher job. You have thirty minutes, then lights out, okay? I have things to do.”

My voice might be a little sharper than I wanted, because Ricci’s face squinches.

“Sorry,” she whispers.

I make sure my voice is softer this time. “It’s fine. But this is it, okay?”

She nods.

I set the timer on my phone.

Cue cat and hedgehog videos, the crunching of Oreos and slurping of milk, and soon my sister’s eyelids are fluttering. Ismooth her hair. Sometimes I forget that she’s only seven and the world is hard for her. Seven seems so long ago, I can hardly remember it, just flashes of carefully reading aloud to my teacher and making sure my math sheet was neat and clean. I gently slip the tablet from her fingers and she snuggles into me.

I’m struggling to stay awake, but I don’t want to fall asleep just yet, so I pinch my thigh through my jeans because I want to go to my bedroom after this, lie down on the floor and be alone and put on my headphones, finish my Sprodka while staring at the fairy lights strung along my walls and forget Dylan, and forget everything, alone and drifting and dulled in my very own private ocean.

Saturday

Ricci crunches her granolasteadily. “You look weird,” she says. Pearly drops of milk slide down her chin.

I toss a napkin at her and pour cold brew coffee from the fridge into a big mug. I take a huge gulp. My head throbs and my eyes burn. “Shut up. I have a headache.”

Ricci looks down at her bowl, stirring her granola. Her spoon clinks gently on the inside of the bowl.

I’ve hurt her feelings. “Sorry,” I mumble.

“You’re really mean sometimes lately,” Ricci says softly.

“Well, sometimes you’re really annoy—”

My mom wanders into the kitchen then, rubbing her face. “I’m so tired. I was up so late. Grilled Cheese Jesus is very complicated, let me tell you.” She puts the kettle on for tea and looks at Ricci.

“Did you pack your backpack for Dad’s?” she asks. “I’m taking you over in an hour or so.”

My hands tighten around my coffee mug. I forgot we go to Dad’s today.

Ricci sighs and blows a milk bubble. “Yeeeessss.”

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