For some reason the thought made her laugh. It started as a soft whimper of a giggle. Then it broke through her. Laugher pumped out of her, hard and fast, until she doubled over the railing of the pier. Her feet left the ground. For a second she was suspended. She leaned farther, needing to turn herself over, inside out. Needing to empty the laughter out of her. Get rid of it once and for all.

She let it go. Spat it up. Let it convulse from the very depths of her like deeply settled morning phlegm. And expelled it. Shaking out every last drop, wave upon wave pumping out of her. On and on and on.

When she finally straightened up, unfolding from over the railing, the world whirled around her, a twister spinning her and forcing her to close her eyes.

Had she really forgotten how to fight?

She was fighting for Baba’s restaurant.

No, she hadn’t forgotten how to fight. She had never learned how to win.

Shobi had picked her war. Everything was female pitted against male to her. She saw nothing beyond that. It’s why she had won.

It’s how Rico had always been with the ball. Nothing else, only that one thing. The world distilled down to one point, one thought, his goal, the deepest meditation.

Ashna wanted that. The GB High girls’ soccer team had been undefeated her senior year of high school. She had loved winning.

What makes you happy?

Go to hell, Shobi!

Maybe you’ve forgotten how to fight for anything.

Go to hell, Rico!

Her ebbing laughter swelled again, wrapping around those words. Tightening and loosening with the muscles of her belly, shredding them inside her and throwing them out, laughter and sobs mixing seamlessly inside her.

Shobi and Rico were the two people who had stolen from her the ability to fight. Now they dared to shame her for it. And she was letting them win.

Throwing her head back, she let the last of her laughter hiccup out of her. The calm gray-blue bay stared back at her, meeting the sky along the jagged lines of Oakland. She wiped her eyes and patted her bun in place. Everything inside her told her to turn around and run, but there was nowhere to go.

There had never been anywhere to go. From the moment she’d heard that shot, there had been nowhere to go.

The phone rang in her bag.

Shobi.

She touched talk on the screen and didn’t wait for a hello. “You said you wanted to help me, right? Then tell me how you do it. Tell me how you keep from caring.”

“Hello, beta,” Shobi said. Then a breath. “I do care.”

“You were married to someone, had a child with them, and then when they died you weren’t even there to pick up the pieces.”