26. Fair

FAIR

He woke up to a gentle nudge and a delicious smell. "Rise and shine, sleepyheads. I made pancakes," someone said.

He blinked and wiped the crust from his eyes. Laura was setting down two plates on the coffee table, each one laden with chocolate chip pancakes, a bowl of strawberries, and a floof of whipped cream.

He had seen this kind of thing on television shows, kids woken up by happy parents with plates of yummy food, and he'd known vaguely that some kids at his schools over the years had lives like this, which he had resented as not fair.

When Laura left, Maya-Jade started to cry.

"What's wrong?" the boy asked.

"Nothing's wrong. Something's right." She put some whipped cream on her finger and licked it off. "Mom hasn't cooked breakfast since she got sick."

The boy was right. It wasn't fair that some children like Maya-Jade had homemade pancakes with whipped cream served to them and others didn't. There was nothing fair about which child landed in a happy, loving, supportive home like mine, and which one landed in a bitter, angry home like yours, Olka. Or which family was uprooted by war and hatred and which was not. Or who got sick and who did not. Or who got better and who did not.

He was beginning to see that. "I'm glad she's better," he said.

"So am I," Maya-Jade said. And then she dabbed some whipped cream on the tip of the boy's nose, and he did the same to her, and they laughed and gobbled everything up.

Even though Laura was better, Maya-Jade was still Maya-Jade. Before they left for the fair, she quizzed her mother on whether she had enough layers of clothes in case she got too cold or hot, if she had ample masks and hand sanitizer, what her plan was if she got tired. She didn't have a clipboard in her hand, but she might as well have.

After she was reasonably assured that Laura had brought enough clothing and other items and would take an Uber home if she needed a nap, they all piled into the spaceship car. As they drove, Laura and Mim held hands, and Maya-Jade smiled, and even though he wasn't really, the boy felt like a part of the family.

A small voice warned him that it wouldn't last. The same little voice that had warned him that no matter how many times his mother had said that this apartment/town/school/job was what they'd been looking for all along, it wouldn't last either. But he shut it out. If things were going to end, he'd worry about that later. And maybe, this time, they wouldn't end.

They would end. Everything does.

At the fair, Mim bought a special pass allowing them access to all the rides and exhibitions. Maya-Jade was practically shaking with excitement. "What do you want to do first? Ferris wheel? Tilt-A-Whirl? Jack Rabbit? Tractor pull? Petting zoo? Or we could get funnel cakes," she said in a breathless whoosh.

"Yes," the boy said, laughing.

It was a perfect day. Not a cloud in the sky. The lines moved quickly. The French fries were crispy. The view from the Ferris wheel stretched all the way to Shady Glen. They giggled about how the residents would act here. Sid would flirt with all the ride attendants, Minna would fret about the safety of even the tamest ride, Lois would just sit and do her crossword puzzle, and me, well, they thought I might like the quilting competition on account of the quilts being sewn and sewing having saved my life so many times.

"Next year, maybe we can organize a field trip," Maya-Jade said. "Take the Shady Glen van. We could get more volunteers, and each one could accompany one of the residents. I bet they'd love it."

In spite of the fact that very soon the boy would have a hearing to determine if he could stay living with his aunt and uncle, in spite of the fact that the odds of Minna or Sid or me being alive in another year were slim, the boy nodded vigorously, embracing this version of a future.

"Yes," he said. "That is a fantastic idea!"

Laura went home for a nap and came back as the sun was setting, to watch the fireworks. "My moms never stay for the fireworks," Maya-Jade whispered. "Not even before Mom got sick." She looked at the boy. "You should come with us every year."

And there it was again. A future he wanted. A lump lodged itself in his throat and tears gathered at the back of his eyes. But not because he was feeling sad but because he was feeling happy.

"Should we get ice cream before the fireworks?" Maya-Jade asked.

They had eaten funnel cakes and candy apples and jawbreakers but had not yet sampled the ice cream.

"Sure!" the boy replied.

The line at the ice cream stand was shorter than it had been all day, so they got their cones quickly, Maya-Jade ordering the strawberry and chocolate without even asking his preference. Before, his mother had been the only person in the world who knew his favorite ice cream flavor. And now Maya-Jade did too. As did Leyla, who had begun ordering more chocolate and strawberry cups to compensate for the ones the two of them ate.

The first firework illuminated the sky, leaving a waterfall of spangled light. "Come on!" Maya-Jade said, and they wound their way toward the bleachers to watch. At the edge of the field a bunch of kids their age were watching. One of them waved at Maya-Jade.

"That's Emma Henderson. Do you know her? She goes to my school."

He didn't know her, and more important, if she went to Maya-Jade's private school, she wouldn't know him.

"She's good friends with that kid Toby," Maya-Jade continued. "The one who got beaten up in a hate crime at school."

The insertion of Toby into such a perfect day was so jarring that it took the boy a moment to catch up with himself, to remember who he was, what he'd done.

"I—I—" he stammered.

It wasn't the perfect time for the boy to confess, but it was the right time. He had to do it. Now. But before he even had a chance to try to explain himself, a familiar figure was emerging from behind Emma. His hair was short all over, but in the flashes of light, the boy could see the stitches above his left ear where the baseball bat had connected with his skull.

His own head throbbed, as if he'd been the one to sustain the injury. He touched his hand there, expecting blood, almost wishing for it.

He wanted to pay a price for his actions.

He'd done a lot of bad things, but this, this was the worst.