Page 18 of Dropping the Ball

“I got a C on that test. It dropped my grade in that class to a ninety-two, and he got a ninety-seven for the semester. When they did the final calculations for the year, he won valedictorian by an eighth of a point.An eighth. All because of our calculus grades, and all because he wouldn’t listen to me when I told him to back off.”

By now, we’ve reached my neighborhood, and Madison is quiet as she turns into it and then into my driveway two blocks later. She puts the car in park and turns toward me. Or tries to. It’s about a three-degree turn because of her belly. Her eyes are soft when she meets mine.

“Kaitlyn,” she says, reaching over to take my hand. “That’s really stupid.”

I stare at her in shock for a full five seconds. And then we both burst out laughing.

When we finally stop, I smile. “It didn’t sound stupid until I said it out loud.”

“It’s not really the kind of thing epic feuds are built on.”

“You can’t take this away from me,” I say. “I feel lost without a nemesis.”

“Oh, you still have one. But it’s that pole, not Micah.”

“The pole,” I repeat, like I’m taking this seriously. “Hmm. Less interesting nemesis.”

“It’s a very worthy nemesis,” she says. “Iron will.”

“Well, steel, probably.”

“Fair point. Will of steel. Unchanging. Unbending. Relentless.”

“In that case, I’m a badass. Thanks, Madi. I feel better.”

“Good. But also, permission to practice therapy without a license?”

I raise my eyebrows. “You’ll do it either way.”

“Correct,” she says happily. “I want to make sure you understand you were never mad at Micah about the grades. Not even about the valedictorian thing. You were mad because when you walked into the pole, he saw how you felt when you didn’t mean for him to.”

I don’t love this take, maybe because when a statement like that makes me uncomfortable, it has a nasty habit of being true. “Is there a medium ground between your unlicensed therapy and never suggesting I’m wrong about anything?”

She grins. “Get out and go make a plan for being nice to Micah.”

I roll my eyes and climb out of her car but circle around to tap on her window. When she lowers it I say, “I’m only going in to choose a new nemesis.”

“Good, because it was never Micah.”

When she reverses out of my driveway like a Formula One driver, I swear she’s cackling.

Chapter Eight

Kaitlyn

We hurtle through Septemberat breakneck speed. Madison throws her formidable energy at getting my house up to standard. I leave her to it, coming home after long days at Threadwork to find new changes every time I walk through the door. An area rug. Curtains. A room in an entirely new color and reeking of paint. She runs it all past me first, but honestly, my boring house is the least of my concerns. I say yes to all of it, knowing if I hate it, I can change it later when I have time.

Time. Ha.

I work forty hours a week, which isn’t terrible. But I come home and hole up in my office to study for the bar exam. Most of my classmates started studying for it full-time the second we graduated in May so they could take it in July. But I already knew I’d be in Bangladesh until August, prepping to take over for Madison, so I’m studying for the February date. Those are the only two times it’s offered, so if I don’t pass in February, I’ll be a year behind everyone in my law school class.

This office is the only room I’ve forbidden Madison to touch. White walls. A glass desk. A single chair, no rollers. Plaincurtains on the window. A lamp with a curved black arm dangling the shade above my study sofa. The only color comes from an art piece on the wall, a green ombre rug on the thickest carpet money can buy, and my back lawn through the picture window, unlandscaped, another carpet of green across my half-acre backyard. Even the love seat against the wall is pale gray with a single large throw pillow, cream with one green stripe the color of the rug.

She calls it sparse. I prefer Zen. Everything else, she can do with as she likes. And mostly I like it too. Maybe I like that she’s doing it for me. My big sister, big sistering in a way I’d craved through high school and college. Maybe she could turn my house into a neon EDM club, and I’d still like it because Madison did it.

She has excellent taste, of course. She’s brought in some items that I’m not sure about at first, but as each room fills in, those become the items I like best because I can see how thoughtfully she’s staging each space. She hired someone to construct built-in shelves, and she’s filling them in with classic books, clothbound in neutral tones. There’s an ottoman with a top woven of a twill the color of seagrass. A mirror with a mosaic frame in my entry.

She put the starling table in the formal dining area with a new set of chairs. It’s the only thing in that part of the open floor plan, and it gives the space a sense of calm movement, like watching someone move through a vinyasa in yoga. Gentle, controlled, but a distinct sense of flow. Over the last two weeks a ritual has evolved: every morning, I walk all the way around it, tracing the edge with my finger, following the pattern as it swoops and curls. I feel centered each time I finish the circuit, ready to head into my day.

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