Page 109 of Game Changer

“Are you almost ready?” I ask.

“My dress doesn’t fit,” she says. “And my shoe is broken. And the wedding is in two hours,” she says, “and I can’t walk down the aisle with one shoe. People will laugh, and my life will be over.”

She’s having a meltdown.

For a second, I’m at a loss. I've never seen my big sister looking so out of it.

“I’m sure the dress fits.” We just tried it three days ago.

I help her into it and zip her up.

The dress is tight, which is exactly how it’s made to be.

“There. You look perfect.”

“Except for my shoes.”

One of them is broken. There’s a rip in the cream satin covering the heel.

“These were designer,” Mari groans. “They cost more than my first car.”

I step out of mine and slide them over.

“What will you wear?”

“I can go barefoot.” I grin.

“No, you won’t.”

“Fine, I’ll fix yours.”

“You can’t just glue them.”

I pull at the right side of the heel, trying to tuck the satin edge in. When I release it, the fabric sags again, flopping open like a gaping wound.

“Broken. I told you,” Mari insists.

“I can fix it.” I lean over the shoe.

Her eyes fill with tears. “You can’t fix it, Nova. It’s too late.”

I set the heel down and take her hand. “I’m sorry I couldn’t find that recording of Mom singing. I know how special it was to you and how much it would have meant to include it. I’m sorry I’ve let you down in the past. I’m sorry if I didn’t notice when you were struggling. But we’re all doing our best, Mar. What looks easy from the outside isn’t always”—I think of Clay—“and even when things aren’t perfect…” I take my sister’s face in my hands, careful not to smudge her makeup. “They can be really good.”

My sister blinks as if seeing me for the first time.

“Now come on,” I say with a smile. “Let’s get you to your wedding.”

We head down the stairs, and my attention catches on the flowers pinned to the railing.

The wire is covered in white satin.

I unwind a strip, and a flower comes off with it. Mari gasps. "What are you doing?"

I hold out a hand for the shoe, and she passes it to me, still shocked.

I take the shoe and use the strip of decorated wire to wrap around the fabric, covering the tear.

"There."

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