“Then your budget is your boundary,” I said again, softer. “And you might have to write it somewhere she can’t erase it.” He nodded like he knew exactly where that would be. After, a girl with coins braided into her hair sidled up. “Is there a bank that won’t let my stepdad see my balance?”
“Yes,” I said, and wrote three names on a sticky note and slid it into her palm like contraband. Adults whispered later about “these kids” and how early they learned hardness. I wanted to say that hardness is not a personality; it is a technology. They’re early adopters because they have to be.
June again. Heat ripened on the sidewalks and the air tasted like melting rubber bands. The table was finished. We christened it with watermelon and feta and a bottle of wine you could drink without wincing. Amber came. So did Mina and Jonah and Janelle and Mr. Ellis (in a normal hat) and Morgan who brought a cake with MY YES IS FOR ME piped in swirled icing that looked like a storm. We ate and then used the table for its other job: standing on it to change the dead light bulb no one could reach.
“Speech!” Amber yelled, as if it were a wedding and not an ordinary Thursday.