Gasp (Visions) by Lisa McMann

triumphant smile, and wait for the cracks to come back and ruin it all.

Twenty-Two
    Mom and Dad start preparing the sauce on Aunt Mary’s stove for tomorrow’s big day in the meatball truck. We go back to our game, eventually forfeiting so the little kids win, because Aunt Mary says they have to go to bed as soon as the game is over, and we just want to get rid of them because we’re selfish teenagers like that.
    Nick sticks around and hangs out with us because all his friends are working tonight. He doesn’t say much. We don’t really have anything in common, even though he’s between Trey and me in age and we played together a lot when we were little. We haven’t been close since I started elementary school, even when he spent an occasional day working for the restaurant.
    So things are somewhat quiet, and we can’t talk aboutwhat happened with the vision even if we want to. And strangely, I don’t want to. I snuggle into Sawyer and he drapes his arm over my shoulders, and it feels wonderful to be safe and stress free for once.
    I think about the man who has to bury his parents. I look up at Sawyer and murmur, “Should we go to the funeral?” And I love that he immediately knows what I’m talking about.
    “We can do that. I’ll try to find out when it is.”
    I nod. He smiles.
    When I get a text message, I look at my phone. “It’s from Tori,” I say. I open it and read: I’m so sorry.
    That’s all there is.
    I raise an eyebrow and mutter, “Jules is not impressed.” I shove the phone back into my pocket.
    “What was that?” Sawyer says near my ear.
    “Tori says she’s sorry.”
    “Good. Maybe she understands it now. What did you say back?”
    I grunt.
    Sawyer shifts so he can look at my face. “Jules,” he says, “I know how you feel, but there are a few factors here that you’re not really considering. One, she couldn’t see the phone screen because of the vision playing out on it. Two, her mother dictates absolutely everything.”
    “Her mother ought to be the one saying sorry,” I mutter.
    “And three,” Sawyer continues in a louder voice, pretending he didn’t hear me, “Tori has been heavily medicated this entire time. Do you even remember when you were on your pain medication in the hospital? Do you happen to recall Trey on pain meds?”
    “I do,” Ben offers from across the room. “He was . . . emboldened .”
    “Whoa,” Trey says. “We agreed not to talk about that.”
    I glance at Nick, who is playing some game on his phone and ignoring us.
    “Anyway,” Sawyer says, “you can’t judge her equally with someone who can actually stay awake for a four-hour stretch and doesn’t appear to be stoned all hours of the day and night.”
    I sigh. “You’re right, I know. I just don’t want to forgive her.”
    “That’s up to you, I guess,” Sawyer says.
    “Yes, it is,” I say. But I know Sawyer is the one being reasonable here. “I’m sorry,” I say. “I’ll think about it.”
    •  •  •
    Dad and Mom say they can’t afford to hire us to help them quite yet. We say we’ll work for free, but it’s like they’re having some sort of weird bonding time or something and they don’t want us along. So while they head off to the public market Saturday morning, Trey bolts for the shower, and Rowan and I are supposed to pack.
    “Pack what?” Rowan asks from the middle of the living room floor, where she’s sitting like a pretzel with her hair all messed up from sleep. She’s cranky. “We don’t own anything.”
    I look around the living room, realizing we’ve managed to collect a good deal of stuff since the fire. “I don’t know. All this stuff, I guess.”
    “What are we supposed to put it in?” she whines.
    I glare at her. “How about we shove it in your face hole?”
    “How about we cram it up your butt . . . nose.”
    We stare each other down. Finally I concede. “Buttnose is funny.”
    “Thank you. It was an accident.”
    “Oh,