fallen stars

fallen stars

W

hat are you doing?” Roy wanted to know.

We had been at the park waiting for Marcel’s lesson to end. At an open table there, Roy and Peaches did their homework while I did nothing. We sat companionably in this way until a bug or something shiny drew my eye down to the metal slats that composed the table top. There, between my hands, was a shower of silver stars, penciled in by someone who’d been sitting just where I was.

Only my predecessor had been secretly doing something.

I climbed onto the bench with my cell phone to take those subversive stars home with us. It was while I pushed the phone away from me, trying for a better angle, that Roy took notice.

“Why are you taking a picture of that?” he asked, uncertain. “People aren’t allowed to do that.”

(Roy likes to know what the rules are, the better to subvert them to his own ends.)

“She knows they’re not supposed to do it but she still thinks it’s cool,” Peaches explained.

Exactly.