Every Single Second by Tricia Springstubb

he went to bed, I unlocked the door. In the morning, Anthony was in the kitchen, making eggs. His face was like this.”
    Angela’s face went slack and rigid at the same time. Her eyes emptied out, and she was a zombie.
    “Don’t! You’re creeping me out!” cried Nella.
    “Anthony said he was sorry. Papa didn’t say it, but he acted like it. Then they had this long talk, and Anthony promised as soon as he graduates he’ll get a job.”
    “But he’s supposed to go to art school!”
    Angela twisted her swing tighter.
    “Papa said he wants us to be safe and secure. Anthony said he knows all the sacrifices Papa made, and he wants to make Papa proud. They both got tears in their eyes. Even though real men never cry.”
    Nella looked down at her hands, coated rusty orange.
    “Papa made Anthony eat the extra bacon. It was the first time we were like a real family since . . . forever.”
    Angela tucked her feet up and let go. Head down, shespun in a tight, fast circle. Nella had to look away—just watching made her dizzy-sick. Angela stuck out her foot. Stop.
    “Anthony came back on account of me. Otherwise, he’d run away and marry Janelle and be an artist.”
    “He didn’t have to come back.” How many times had Sister Rosa told them they had free will? “He wanted to.”
    “No he didn’t. He hated to.” Angela’s face was dizzy-pale. “But he did.”

What the Statue of Jeptha A. Stone Would Say if It Could
    T his morning an artiste photographed me and my bird.
    Ahem. The bird.
    I daresay that arty woman found the sight of us quite amusing.
    Could I have spoken, here is what I would have told her:
    Hark unto me, Jeptha A. Stone! First of all, laughing at the plight of another is a sign of low breeding and coarse character.
    Second of all, the true test is not what we choose for ourselves. It is how we deal with what life chooses for us.
    Meanwhile, my bird sings. She sings the sun up in the morning and down in the evening. If one could see her song, it would be a pure, golden ring hovering in the air. A halo. Proof of goodness.
    Ahem.

THE FUTURE AWAITS
    now
    T he school was up for sale. It was being converted into more condos. Or a performance art space. Or a wellness center, with yoga classes and a juice bar.
    “Pedicures and massages in our classrooms?” said Nella. “That would be so wrong.”
    “My mom gets massages all the time,” said Clem. “Afterward I can ask her for the moon and she’ll say why not.”
    Clem didn’t much care what happened to the school. She wasn’t worried about Sister Rosa. She wasn’t attached the same way Nella was—how could she be? Nella didn’thold it against her. Not at all. Not a single bit.
    On the very last day forever, Nella got to school early. The playground was empty. Wait. No it wasn’t.
    “Hi.” Angela stood beside the statue of St. Amphibalus. The spot where they first met. In Another Life.
    “Hi.”
    Walking away would be so awkward. Nella studied the flowers planted beside St. A. They badly needed water.
    “I was thinking something really weird,” Angela said.
    Remember the first day of kindergarten? When we didn’t have a clue, and Anthony tied your shoes, and it all began?
    If anyone in the universe understood how Nella felt right now, it was Angela DeMarco.
    “An-ge-la!” A stampede of abominations. They immediately commenced showing off—throwing rocks, hawking goobers, pulling up shirts to display mosquito bites. Why did they think this would make Angela love them? All these years Nella had lived with boys, and the blueprint of their minds remained a mystery.
    Angela poked Bobby in the armpit, the most ticklish place on his hyperticklish body, and he curled up like a sow bug. Kevin picked her a bouquet of dandelions. Nella saw how much they missed her, and a light switched on in some dim, unused room of her mind. Angela must miss them just as much. It wasn’t only Nella she used to visit.It was Mom, it was the brothers. It was the