Free A Bird on a Windowsill by Laura Miller Page B

don’t know, Eben.” She breathes out a sigh and goes to picking at a tear in her jeans. “For starters, I have a boyfriend.”
    I let go of a puff of air. I hate that she brings up the boyfriend.
    “ And I’m still a thousand miles from where you are,” she adds.
    I go to gnawing on the inside of my cheek. I think it’s a nervous habit.
    “I really do like Aaron. And he lives in the same part of the world.” She smiles. “That’s a plus.”
    “But what about when you turn eighteen? You could come back then.”
    She exhales, but she keeps her stare on that moonlight, reflecting off the water as if it’s little pieces of broken glass. “I thought about it. And I’m not sure how I’ll feel in a year, but...”
    I already know I’m not going to like the rest of this story.
    “But I think I might stay and go to college there, maybe. My dad said the in-state tuition would be a good thing.”
    She briefly looks up at me.
    “Well, I could go there. After I graduate, I could go to South Carolina.”
    She shifts her face, so that her eyes are in mine. And a piece of her long hair falls from her shoulders and comes to rest on her chest.
    “What about the lumberyard?”
    I feel my lungs fill with air. She’s right. I don’t want to say it, but she’s right. I know I’m the next in line. I’ve already closed up shop on my lawn-cutting business, just so I can start learning my way around the lumberyard again.
    She rests her head on my shoulder. “Have you ever thought that maybe the universe just doesn’t want us together? That maybe that’s why it made us friends?”
    I sigh. I don’t know what to say. What do you say when you’re coming to terms with the fact that you might have missed your chance...for good? Or that maybe you never even had a chance at all?
    “Do you remember when we were in fourth grade, and we did that play?”
    I know she’s trying to change the subject, but I don’t even have the heart to fight her on it.
    “What was it?” she asks.
    I stare off into the water and think about it for a second.
    “ Pocahontas ,” I finally say.
    “Yeah.” I can hear the smile in her voice.
    “You forgot your lines,” I say.
    “And you said them for me.”
    Her head is still on my shoulder, but I know she’s looking up at me.
    “ ‘It would’ve been better if we had never met,’ ” I recite the line. “ ‘None of this would’ve happened.’ ”
    The irony isn’t lost on me, and she seems to notice, too.
    She nestles her cheek more into my shoulder. “Those were the words.”
    I don’t say anything.
    “You were manning the curtains off stage, weren’t you?” she asks.
    I feel a small smile start to cultivate on my face as I think back. “I was.”
    “And no one ever questioned the voice from above,” she says, dramatically raising her hand.
    “No one was the wiser,” I agree.
    “I was,” she says, turning her face up toward mine.
    I catch her stare. And as if it’s pure instinct, I put my arm around her.
    She stiffens a little.
    “I know. I know,” I say. “The boyfriend.”
    I feel her body relax.
    “We’re friends, though, right?”
    She breathes out a smile. “Right.”
    It’s quiet then, until a memory rushes into my head like a freight train, drowning everything else out.
    “The day after that play, I got my first shiner,” I say.
    “Oh, that’s right. The hockey puck.”
    “Yeah.”
    “I got you ice from the cafeteria.”
    “No,” I say, chuckling under my breath. “The ice melted before you got to me. You brought me your cold hands, instead, and held them to my eye until the nurse came.”
    There’s a surprised look on her face, until something new washes over her. “That’s right. I couldn’t find a bag to put the ice in.”
    I shrug. “It was fine. Your hands were nice.”
    She looks at me and smiles before reaching for my hand. And I must look a little shocked because her next words come out in a scolding tone.
    “Friends can hold