I glanced across Joe and Sam, over to her window where I could see she was tracing constellations with her finger. She said the names so quietly that they emerged as a little more than a breath.
“Hannah,” I whispered.
Her face turned to me, eyes round and mouth partially open. I’d caught her by surprise.
“What do you see? I only have a view of trees from my side.”
She smiled and took off her bulky, dark rimmed, unfashionable glasses to point to them. I didn’t get the clue.
“What?” I whispered. Joe stirred and mad a quiet snoring sound.
What? I mouthed again.
Her parents had put Sam and Joe between us because we’d been bickering over who got the window seat overlooking the ocean. Of course Hannah got it, and I’d rather be next to her than at “the other window seat” which was apparently just as good. Instead, her brothers got stuffed between us, because Joe refused to move unless Sam came with him, all because Rachel, the oldest, didn’t want to sit next to us. She had a seat to herself. So, I was stuck next to Joe who I “bickered with” way more than Hannah. Oh well.
Hannah rolled her eyes but continued smiling and put her glasses back on.
“I saw glasses,” she whispered.
“Yes, a constellation. Just because Socrates or whoever didn’t draw it in his map of stars doesn’t mean it’s not up there. They didn’t have glasses back then to even know what a constellation of glasses would look like.”
“Do they look like your glasses?”
“No, they’re way uglier than mine.”
I laughed. Joe growled under his breath and elbowed me.
(Photo: Jonatan Pie)
My writing class did a workshop where the instructor called out a little phrase, and we had around 7 minutes to write a short story that included the phrase. This was the only one I liked.