as I return home.

How I feel after dinner at Catalina’s

is so different from

how I feel after dinner at my house,

when I get muscle cramps from

drawing in my shoulders and legs

to try to take up less space and

make myself smaller.

I didn’t need to do that today.

Catalina’s family showed me

food can bring you together

instead of tear you apart.

And I’m thankful.

THANKSGIVING PRAYER

The first sign

our family Thanksgiving

is going to be a disaster

is when Liam

sticks a finger into one of the bowls and

scoops up a mouthful.

He quickly spits out the food.

“These potatoes are spoiled.”

“It’s mashed cauliflower,”

Mom says.

“Fewer carbs and calories.

And never put your finger in a bowl.”

Dad passes the

platter of sliced turkey breast

around the table,

then a bowl of steamed Brussels sprouts

and the mashed cauliflower.

Mom had already dished up

what I’m allowed to eat,

so I stare at the cornucopia-shaped

salt and pepper shakers as

I wait for Dad to bless the meal.

And I say a Shakespeare-style silent prayer

under my breath

for an asteroid to hit.

O asteroid, asteroid.

Wherefore art thou, asteroid?

“So where’s the rest of the meal?”

Liam searches the kitchen.

“The turkey legs?

Gravy?

Cranberry sauce?

Dressing?

Creamed corn?”

“All of that’s fat,

carbs, and sugar.”

Mom spears a sprout.

“So we can’t even have

Thanksgiving like normal people anymore?

It’s always all about Ellie.

I’m gonna go find some real food.

Maybe one of my friends

will take me in.

I’m outta here.”

ODDS ARE

Like jumping in front of a

runaway train,

Dad stands up,

stops Liam in his tracks.

“Apologize to Ellie—now!”

Liam looks at me.

“Sorry we all have to suffer

because you’re fat.”

“Liam Isaac.”

“Sorry you ruin everything.”

“Liam Isaac Montgomery-Hofstein.”

“Sorry you’re my sister.”

“That does it.

Give me your car keys.”

Dad stretches out his right hand.

Liam digs through his pocket and

dangles the key ring midair.

“How long?”

“After you go two weeks

without insulting your sister.

One insult and

we start over with the count.”

“That’s not fair!”

“You’re right.

Make it a month.”

Liam has to go a month

without insulting me?

The odds are better

that the asteroid will hit.

AND WE HAVE TAKEOFF

Taxiing down the runway,

the seats shimmy

and the plane squeaks,

like driving a car quickly

down a bumpy road.

Soon the nose is in the air.

Thump goes the landing gear

as the wheels retract,

tucked back in like

a bird tucks its legs

during flight.

Everything that seems so

big and overwhelming,

like school and home,

suddenly grows small

and slowly disappears.

I’m free from it, for now.

Free as a bird.

STRETCHING

I have two seats,

so I starfish,

lean my head against the window,

lift the seat arm,