But maybe it’s a chance for real change.

We Need to Get Lisa

The next morning, starving,

I walk into the kitchen. My mother is

muttering, tapping furious

texts on her phone.

Something’s happened. We need to get Lisa.

I remember the quiver of Lisa’s voice

when she told me about her mom.

I unwrap a piece

of cheese,

open Mysterious World,

nervously read about Bigfoot.

We need to get her, my mother mutters again.

She may need to stay with us for a while.

I think about Lisa.

1.  She looks like a superhero in the comics we read.

2.  She’s kind.

3.  She plays Dungeons & Dragons with me.

4.  She’s an amazing artist.

5.  She writes stories.

6.  She likes me for who I am.

7.  She punched Rick Casterol in the nose when he said something he shouldn’t have.

8.  She always sticks up for me.

I fold the book down onto the table.

My mother paces back and forth,

then suddenly stops

and looks me in the eyes.

Something’s happened, Ari.

Lisa’s mom needs to go away

for a little while. She’s sick,

and she needs time to get well.

On Our Way

We pass Shoreline Highway,

our usual route onto Miller Avenue,

the bike path on my right,

the one I ride from the Dolan house,

from Pick’s house.

I watch for snowy egrets

in the fog,

and in the distance

I see the middle school

on my left.

I unwrap another cheese stick,

imagine the faces of classmates.

I picture the first day of next year,

walking on campus,

the lighter steps,

the better clothes,

the hope of feeling more free.

I watch myself walking

up the stairs before the first bell,

no one staring.

No extra layers of me,

just another boy.

Sometimes the silence of others

is better than attention.

Twenty-Three Steps

We pass the depot

in the heart of downtown,

turn on

Throckmorton Avenue

toward Old Mill Park.

On the right are the long

stone steps of Lisa’s house.

Twenty-three steps.

I count them every time.

Wait here, my mother says.

I wait in the car,

shift in my clothes,

working to find comfort.

My shorts feel tight,

and l lift my legs slightly up

so that fat doesn’t spread

on the seat.

I hate how it looks.

Lisa meets her halfway

down the steps,

blue dress cut low, white sandals,

her blond hair wet

from a shower.

In my chest, I feel the excitement

of seeing my friend,

but also I feel fire

in my body,

and I don’t know how to put it out.

She hugs my mother

until she folds,

her face pressed into

my mother’s shoulder.

They stand together on the stairs

for a long time.

My mother is talking to her.

Lisa is nodding,

her eyes full and wet.

I watch them until

she looks toward me, and I see

an unexpected little girl, quiet.