Free Unlit Star by Lindy Zart, Wendi Stitzer

further, but the thought of the two of us sitting on bar stools side by side is a little too farfetched, so I take the plates and glasses over to the table near the sliding glass doors. I scoop ice cream into the melon-colored bowls as I wait for him to make his way to the table, careful to keep my eyes down so he doesn't think I'm staring if he happens to look my way. When he is seated, I head over, sitting across from him.
    The silence is awkward as we eat, neither of us looking at each other for long. I search my mind for conversation topics, deciding on the future. It's either that or the weather and that seems a little too overused. Everyone talks about the weather when there is nothing else easily thought of to talk about. I do it all the time when I'm at the shop and customers approach me. It's safe, non-invasive.
    “Are you going to college in the fall?” It hits me that this was a poorly chosen question at the same time his shoulders tense. Should have went with the weather.
    “No.”
    It's my turn to not reply for once, swirling my melting ice cream around with my spoon. I know why he isn't going, though his reasons are illogical to me. Just because he can't go to college on a football scholarship doesn't mean he shouldn't go at all. He could use his brain or something to get through it. He's smart. Even if the plaques in his room weren't evidence of that, I remember from school.
    “I didn't graduate, not that I would have been able to use my football scholarship even if I had. I suppose I'll have to use my good looks to get by in life now,” he says, sarcasm lacing his words.
    “You didn't get your diploma?”
    “I was in the hospital or at the doctor most of the last month and a half of school.”
    I frown. “Why aren't you in summer school then or working on getting your GED?”
    He drops his spoon, it clattering against the side of the bowl. “What's the point?”
    Anger builds inside my core. “Meaning?”
    Leaning back in his chair, he replies, “Meaning I'm deformed. I can barely walk. I'm ugly to look at. What am I supposed to do with the rest of my life? Sit at some desk job and talk to people over a phone?”
    I jump to my feet and begin to clean off the table.
    “I'm not done,” he tells me.
    “I think you need to go practice up for your future career as a nobody. Go sit in your room and hold a phone in your hand or something.”
    I take his bowl and plate away, dumping the food and tossing the dishes into the sink hard enough to cause a burst of noise, but not break anything. I put the stopper in the sink and begin to fill it with hot, soapy water that smells like synthetic lemons. I count to thirty before I turn around, not surprised to see his back as he makes his way out of the room. Probably going back to his bedroom so he can mope some more and feel bad about his poor, pathetic, worthless life.
    I grab a dishrag and take my frustration out on the dishes. “Deformed,” I scoff. “Ugly. Stupid . He acts like his whole life is over just because he has a few scars and a limp.” I toss the rag into the water and suds fly up to coat my face. I absently wipe them away with my arm, staring out the window at the fence and yellow house beyond it. It seems far away, a different world from where I stand. “Fine. Whatever. That's his prerogative, I guess. It's none of my business.” I talk myself into a better mood and finish the dishes with less animosity.

 
     
     
     
    BY THE TIME I HAVE all of my daily chores done, it is close to four in the afternoon. I haven't seen or heard anything from Rivers since the lunchtime fiasco, and that's okay. He messes up my good vibe. I purse my lips as I shake my head, not understanding his way of thinking.
    Quickly changing out of my clothes, I slip on my two-piece, the neon green of it clashing with my dyed red hair as I study myself in the full-length mirror. The overhead light catches the silver stud in my nose, causing it to shine for an instant. My