“Whatever,” Katie says, continuing to fan her hand.
“Can we play soccer now?” I groan.
As the four of us dart back and forth across the grass, a group of older boys arrives with beers in hand, taking a seat at a picnic table.
An hour later, with the summer heat bearing down on us, we end practice.
“You guys enjoy your screwing?” I ask, using the bottom of my shirt to wipe the sweat from my eyes.
“You only made two more goals than me,” Katie says.
“I’ll buy you dinner later.” I wink.
“Ha, like you know anything about screwing,” Katie says. “You’ve never even kissed anyone.”
Heat rises in my face. “Not true. There was Peter when I was twelve.”
“That doesn’t count. If you had a phone, we could remedy this situation right away.” Katie makes a kissing sound.
“Leave her alone!” Maria says in a motherly tone.
“Fine.” Katie takes out her vape and the guys at the picnic table whistle at her. She giggles and waves, smirking deviously at Maria, who’s giving her a disapproving glare.
“It’s your cancer!” Maria shouts.
“I wouldn’t mind letting you be my cancer,” one of the boys yells to Maria, who blushes.
When Jane walks over to throw away her water bottle they whistle at her too. She responds by flipping them off.
“I like your black nails!” a guy shouts. “I can get into the whole BDSM thing!” He and his buddies snicker, smacking each other on the shoulders like it’s the best comment in the world. I roll my eyes.
To my surprise, Katie walks over to them.
“You should go get her, Harper,” Maria says, covering her face with embarrassment.
“On it,” I respond, jogging after her.
In the few seconds it takes me to reach Katie, she’s already got the boys hanging on every word she says. As I approach their picnic table, all of their eyes move to me. When I stop beside Katie, there’s almost a palpable shift in their enthusiasm.
“Hey are you one of those albinos?” The tallest guy asks, breaking the awkward silence.
I hate that this is one of the first things people notice about me. “No, I’m not albino,” I say coldly. Not that it’s any of his business if I was. I’m what some people refer to as a “towhead.” Pasty enough to blind you in broad daylight, with large green eyes and white-blonde hair in a pixie cut.
If he hadn’t asked me if I was albino, I wouldn’t be surprised if he’d asked if I was sick. That’s the second most common question I get. No, I’m not sick either. The funny thing is, I have a fair amount of muscle definition on my arms and legs, which doesn’t seem like something an unwell person would have … but people just don’t notice that part of me.
“She just needs more sunlight,” Katie says.
The tall guy laughs over-enthusiastically.
I don’t really know how to respond. Katie knows I sunburn instead of tan. I tug on Katie’s arm a little harder than I should.
“Ouch!” she says. “Fine. Buh-bye now, boys.” She grabs one of their beers with a flirty smile and we return to Maria and Jane.

Maria drops me off on the other side of my block. I cross the road and sneak back into the house. I’ve been gone a little too long — an hour and a half — but my brother hasn’t returned yet, which means I’ve got away with it. I remove the call-forwarding from the home phone and hit the shower.
The cold water washes away the hot sun, and my eyes flutter shut as it runs down my face, rinsing away a layer of sweat and grit. In the darkness behind my eyelids, there’s a flicker, and the fiery silhouette materializes in a flash. My eyes spring open, and I whip back, pain blazing from my shoulder as I smack onto the shower floor.
I hear the front door open downstairs, followed by the sound of Mom setting her keys in the entry tray.
Olivia’s voice echoes through the linoleum. “Can I watch Netflix?”
I stagger up and turn the shower off, still catching my breath from the fall.
“Sure,” Mom says.
Footsteps stomp up the stairs and to the outside of the bathroom.
“Yeah?” I say through the door.
“You’re still grounded, but Mrs. Davis really needs a babysitter until ten tonight,” Mom responds.
For half a second, I’m excited at the prospect of getting out of the house. Then I remember Mrs. Davis lives on the cusp of our suburb, where the desert begins. It used to be my favorite thing about her house. The night sky is crystal clear there, with less light pollution. After her kids were asleep, I would crawl up on her roof, and even though my Mom would always tell me I was nothing special, I would think about how everything in the universe is made of the same elements, all created in the core of stars. That always made me feel better. That all of us come from the diamonds in the sky, like descendants of gods. That my life wasn’t as meaningless as she made me feel.
“Why can’t Brett do it?” I say, stepping into the hallway in my towel, reminding myself not to hold my throbbing shoulder, so she won’t ask questions.
Mom crosses her arms. “He’s busy. Mrs. Davis has an emergency at work, and I told her you’d do it. Besides, what have you been so busy with?” Her eyes hone in on the pile of clothes on the bathroom floor and I pray that she doesn’t notice the fresh grass clumps sticking to my running shoes.
“The usual. Just trying to keep myself occupied while you’ve got me on lockdown. Did a workout in the backyard.”
“I see.” She pauses. “Well maybe you won’t be so bored later this summer. We’ll have an opening on the caretaker staff at the nursing home.”
“Why can’t I get a coffee shop job or something?” You know, away from you, I think.
She laughs. “You can’t handle that much responsibility.”
“I could always try.”
“You can try whatever you want when you’re eighteen. The nursing home is your only option until then.” She checks her watch. “Well, anyway, go straight to Mrs. Davis’ house and come straight back here. Nothing in between, Harper.”

Mrs. Davis’ nursing uniform brings out the pink highlights in her hair. As she gathers her things to go, she reminds me of the emergency numbers on the fridge and how to turn on the Xbox to watch movies.
“The kids are asleep. There’s some leftover pizza in the fridge if you want,” she says before she darts out the door.
The moment she leaves, I shut all the drapes and windows, wishing that I had the guts to watch the stars from the roof tonight to clear my thoughts. Instead, I use a distraction tactic and pick up Mrs. Davis’ phone.
“Hello?”
“Hey! It’s Harper.”
“Oh, hey. Whose number is this?” asks Maria.
“I’m babysitting for my mom’s friend.”
“Your mom let you out of the house?” she responds sarcastically.
“Shut it.”
“What’s up?”
“Just wanted to talk to someone,” I say. “How was class this morning?”