Free Pieces of Me by Amber Kizer

grief, these two give me a headache
. Neither of them wanted to leave.
So don’t!
    Leif tried to extend an apology, though he had no idea what he’d done. “You wanna get coffee?”
    “I have to stay here and finish up—”
    “Oh, right. Sure.” He picked up his bag and backed away, almost running over an easel.
    Don’t let him leave. Say something
.
    “You like breakfast?” Vivian blurted.
    “Breakfast?”
    “I have to work at ten, but the best omelets and cinnamon rolls are served next door.”
    Leif grinned. “I love breakfast.”
    Vivian returned his smile. “Good. Say eight-thirty?”
    “Yeah, see you tomorrow.” Leif waved on his way out the door.
    She sank into a chair, and how long she stayed frozen I’m not sure, but my heart pounded so hard I thought perhaps she was going to break it. The thundering didn’t stop until long after Leif’s scent dissipated and the door swung shut behind him. I wanted to tell her it was soap and deodorant, but she wouldn’t have listened.
    “I asked Leif Leolin out. I asked Leif Leolin out.” Vivian kept repeating this to herself in a breathless whisper full of shock and disbelief.
    Technically, he asked you out and you responded after shooting him down
.
    “I mean he asked first, but I didn’t say no totally.” Vivian finally felt her legs again and stood up. “Where did I get the courage?”
    Don’t look at me. I never asked a boy out, not a first time, or in retaliation
.
    Vivian smiled through the rest of her cleanup, and I didn’t need to hang around to know who she’d be dreaming about tonight.

CHAPTER NINE
    Samuel untangled the power cords and took his homemade laptop outside. Ma played old hymn records so loud he was sure she thought God himself might sing along. The late spring sun was warm, but low clouds flowed continuously over the sun like a newsfeed on the bottom of the screen. Was Earth God’s reality television? What was His endgame and prize? Who was His target audience? Who did the casting?
    I wasn’t sure God cared about any of us, or if there even was a God. Maybe that’s why I was still here. My parents taught an uninspired lack of faith, while Samuel’s ma was so over-the-top that I hoped truth lay in between. Sam read about religions and works by people like the Dalai Lama, Billy Graham, and Rabbi Shimon Finkelman the way Vivian saw the world through colors. His faith used to be unwavering, but recently I’d started to feel questions rising. But maybe it was just me.
Maybe I question too much?
    Sam flicked through news sites, searching for the latest miracles. Anything was game. He posted video clips, links to websites, photographs, and stories. His definition of miracle was theimportance he wanted people to notice. From the list of comments and the constant flow of incoming messages, the number of people who paid attention to his site grew every day.
    There was a story about a double amputee who successfully summited Mount Everest and another about a kindergartner who hand-raised kittens after she watched a man toss them into a Dumpster. A frog, born without a back leg, living happily in Boston’s garden conservatory, was adopted as the mascot for local Special Olympians. Samuel’s list grew as he weighed the pros and cons of possible posts. Hours he used to spend in dialysis. This was how he filled the other hours of the day. The hours not filled with the hunt for me.
    All Samuel wants is for people to wake up and see the world around them. And to participate in their own lives
.
    He most often posted things about people choosing to do the hard thing, the right thing, rather than taking the easiest path. The unemployed person who returned a full briefcase of savings bonds to a widow. The child who started a school turkey drive because her best friend had never had turkey at Thanksgiving. Parents of a dying three-day-old girl who gut-wrenchingly fought grief by donating her organs and subsequently saved five other babies, five