Free Cornerstone by Misty Provencher Page B

in the same area and I’ve been alienated in the same school where I might have started out with at least one family friend to lean on. Anyone would’ve been better than Jen. Or, maybe it is the same problem as always: the paper. My mom probably stays away, trying to hide the hoarding from them like she does from everybody, or maybe they already know and have decided not to mingle with people who stuff their house full of combustive kindling.
    The Copy, or Sean—if his little sister is correct—is in the enormous kitchen, already on a wall phone that he has wedged between his cheek and shoulder. He comes back around to our side of the counter, stretching the mile long cord, so he can plop Iris onto a stool. He reaches toward me, opening a cookie jar shaped like the Sesame Street Monster, and retrieves a chocolate chip for his sister. It’s the real kind, I think, too dark and misshapen to be made by machine.
    “Yes, I wanted to report an incident.” he says into the phone. He smiles briefly in my direction and then his eyes find something distant through the door that leads off to the living room. He walks out of the kitchen, around the corner and his voice drops to a muted rumble.
    I lean a shoulder on Garrett’s kitchen wall, taking in the place where he has probably stood in pajama bottoms, rustling through cabinets for a box of cereal. The kitchen is the size of our entire living room at the apartment, with a wrap-around counter. The only things on the counter are a bowl of fruit, a roll-top bread box and four decorative jars nestled together. No stacks of paper. The cabinets are dark wood, the appliances are almond color and there’s a wooden spoon cradled in a spoon rest on top of the stove. They don’t store cardboard boxes full of paper in their oven.
    The fridge is taped with Iris’s drawings of her family playing soccer together and another of their crayoned bodies running together under a yellow muffin cup sun and a cotton ball cloud. The rest of the gleaming surface is papered with announcements for upcoming marathons and swim competitions, rosters for whirly ball leagues, baseball teams and soccer clinics.
    The only thing, besides Iris’s artwork that isn’t a notice of some athletic event, is a college course schedule. It sticks out like a tongue from a magnetic clip and it has Sean’s name on it. I scan the list of eclectic courses: Advanced Philosophy, Religion in Literature, Criminal Psychology, Human Anatomy and World Politics. There’s not a blow off class in the bunch. No wonder he looks so serious.
    “How did you know they’re part of Grandpa’s church?” I whisper to my mom. Sean’s still mumbling far off in the living room and Iris is too busy working over her cookie to care about us. “You never told me you knew them.”
    “Ugh, Nali. I can’t tell you every single little thing I know...” My mom smiles at Iris and reaches over to tap the Cookie Monster’s head. “Do you think we could have some?”
    Iris nods and my mom gets out three cookies, slipping another to the little girl.
    “Just for being so generous.” my mom tells her. Iris nods again, her hair floating over her head. My mom winks at her and hands me a cookie, but I shake my head at it.
    “I don’t get why no one else seems...” I begin, but Sean interrupts by walking back into the kitchen and tossing the receiver onto the cradle.
    “They’re going to send a car over to the school.” he announces.
    “Good.” my mom says and she winks again at Iris, who takes another bite of her cookie and giggles as she tries to make her own right eye wink back. I can see that Iris is already in love with my mom. Sean leans on the counter with one arm, looking at me.
    “I’m Sean, by the way.” he says. “Garrett’s older brother.”
    “What are all of your ages?” my mom asks. It’s a goofy question to start with and the way she says ‘ages’, it’s like the Reese’s individual birthdates are something exotic