The Weight of Rain by Mariah Dietz

expanse of wet leaves.
    “I like watching you ride. Besides, I have to keep my arms out of casts since my job and education both rely on them.”
    “You can’t scare yourself. You did so well!”
    “I’m not scaring me. The giant cement pool does that.”
    Mercedes shakes her head, rolling her eyes. I know she’s about to let the control freak in her spout attitude, because she’s balled her small fists and stamped them on either hip. “You’re being ridiculous. If you quit everything because it’s scary, how far would you ever get in this world?” Her green eyes are wide, waiting for my reply.
    “When did you start listening to anything an adult says?” I tease. “I have to get going. I have a scene I have to finish that I’m dreading. We can argue about this tomorrow.”
    Her scowl falls as the front door opens and a loud hello is called.
    “Uncle King!” Mercedes sprints down the hall, her sock-covered feet sliding along the wood floors, nearly making her lose her balance, which elicits giggles, and rather than slow down she speeds up.
    “Easy, monkey. No breaking bones on my watch. Remember?” His voice is deep and warm, with a slight trace of gravel, much like Mercedes’.
    My heartbeat is still accelerated from watching her Evel Knievel sprint down the hallway as I watch her wrap around his waist, her head tilting back as she laughs. He’s tall—taller than Kash—and wearing skater shoes, a pair of black and gray plaid shorts, and a black hoodie, along with a black baseball hat that’s shadowing his face as he looks down at his niece.
    “Are you hungry?” he asks. His voice paints an image of burlap in my mind with the soft roughness.
    “Yeah, Lo doesn’t know how to cook,” Mercedes says.
    “Lo?”
    “My new nanny,” she explains, sounding burdened by the question. “Come on, catch up.”
    “Oh, that’s right. I forg—”
    My eyes climb at the break in his words and find the same dark brown eyes I’ve been seeing everywhere over the past three months, staring at me. My heart wasn’t racing solely because of Mercedes’ daredevil race—it recognized his voice before my conscious mind did.
    “King, can we order pizza?”
    King?
    “Yeah, yeah. Um, why don’t you go pick a movie and I’ll order.”
    “I don’t want any toes on my pizza.”
    “No olives, got it,” he says impatiently, his eyes still focused on me.
    “And no mushrooms, or onions, or anything besides—”
    “Cheese, yeah, I know.”
    “Last time you tried to sneak pineapple. None of that this time.”
    His head shakes and finally turns to look at her. “Cheese on top of cheese, nothing else.”
    “I want sauce, duh!”
    “Watch the attitude. Go pick a movie.”
    “Maybe my uncle King can teach you to cook. He’s really good,” Mercedes explains, turning to face me again.
    “Mercedes, get your butt in the game room and pick a movie.”
    “What’s your problem?” Her scowl has returned, but rather than firing off a reply, she shuffles down the hall.
    “Lo?” I can feel his eyes inspecting me, bringing my arms to cross over my chest.
    “I thought your name was Bentley?”
    “It’s my middle name, but … What are you doing here?”
    My eyes widen. It seems that my reason for being here is fairly obvious, yet the explanation seems lost on me as well for a moment.
    “I mean, I know why, but … how? How did you find me?”
    “Find you?”
    “You never called. I thought…”
    I don’t know that I’ve ever been this embarrassed. The brown eyes that haunt me in my sleep are wide, making his hat rise slightly so I can see more of his face without shadows from the bill. He looks terrified to see me. Not only does he look afraid, but there’s something else. When you draw people, you study them and learn there are certain expressions that are nearly unanimous. Humiliation has my eyes darting from his before I can grasp what other emotions are mingled with his surprise.
    “King!” Kash nearly hits