I asked Ben if I could invite anyone I wanted to my birthday party, and he said yes, of course. So I invited someone that I hope will make things better. You can only stand hearing your sister cry herself to sleep for so long. In fact, you can’t stand it at all.

But now, in this orchard, I realize that I am the dumbest smart person I know. Because Hannah already brought someone to my party.

She goes for a dangling Red Delicious, but it’s just out of reach. Drew helps, his fingers grazing hers. Her eyes flick to his, hold. Then away.

“Ben,” I whisper.

This panic, it’s what you feel when the rocket has launched, but you missed something very important on the preflight checklist.

“Yes?” he whispers back. Then he leans closer. “Why are we whispering?”

I had no idea she was going to bring him. I haven’t seen him since the day the Red Cross called, other than at school. Forgot all about him. Stupid, stupid. Why have my observational capacities failed me? Why did I not connect those dots?

I think this day is not going to be good.

Drew hands her the apple. Squeezes her hand once before letting go. Her skin, oh god, she’s a rose when he touches her. Karalis skin doesn’t hide a thing.

Now I know where she goes at lunch. When she gets on the train without me. When she climbs through her window late at night.

“I made a tactical error,” I whisper. “A huge one.”

“Birthday girls don’t make tactical errors.” He kisses my forehead. “That is a mathematical certainty.”

I grab his arm, pull him from the tree and Nate’s impromptu lecture on the history of gravity.

“Ben. You said I could invite anyone I wanted.”

He nods. “Drew’s nice.”

“Ben—”

“Happy birthday, little sister.”

I look over Ben’s shoulder. “Micah. You made it.”

they tell you if the airplane is going down

to put your oxygen mask on before you help anyone else

Apple Crate

Blossom Hill Orchard

Natick, MA

26

Hannah

I should be over the moon that he’s here.

I should be running, sprinting, vaulting into his arms.

Micah is here. He is standing a few feet from me, this improbable, beautiful blond surfer in the middle of a New England apple orchard.

But I can’t move.

Micah looks at me, hazel eyes in sunny skin that I have bathed in and kissed and loved and missed. His lips turn up in that smile, the one he gave me when he walked out of the ocean, his board under his arm, stood over my towel, and said, “I’m Micah. And you’re my future wife. So you better give me your phone number.”

My body, it never does what is socially acceptable, the right thing. I know this because my body leans, it leans back. Against Drew.