Page 53 of Skate the Line

It’s nearly time for dinner.

Rhodes should be home soon.

We’ve fallen into an easy routine. When he gets home from his second practice, he takes over with Ellie. I usually head upstairs, call in and check on Nana, or if I’m really trying to kill time, I’ll sketch or make some sort of figurine out of clay and wait until he's busy with the bedtime routine to slip back into the kitchen to make myself something to eat with the few groceries I picked up.

I can’t expect him to make me dinner, and I don’t want to overstep and make Ellie and myself both dinner without asking him if he’d like some.

It’s too weird.

Too family-like.

Too much likebefore.

“Why don’t you go paint the biggest smiley face ever on the wall and then go wash up before your dad gets home?”

“A smiley face?” Her little brows fold inward.

I smile. “I’d love knowing there was an Ellie-painted smiley face on the wall before I painted the sun. It’ll make the sun happier.”

She giggles and rushes over with a yellow-tipped paintbrush.

I take it upon myself to check out the rest of the room. I dip my own paintbrush in the primer and walk over to the corner while Ellie works on her masterpiece.

I’m not the shortest person in the room, but I still can’t reach the spot I need.

Nibbling on my lip, I try to come up with some master plan to get those hard-to-reach spots. Rhodes went a little overboard with furnishing the room, liking spendingwaytoo much money, so standing on the brand-new nightstand is out of the question, especially when he's due home any second.

I jump up and swipe my paintbrush in the direction I need to reach. A huff rushes from my puffed-out cheeks when I miss.

Ugh.

I glance back at Ellie.

She’s too busy painting to pay any attention to me.

I jump again, but this time, I drop the paintbrush. It hits me in the head. I try to wipe the paint off my forehead, but I end up smearing it.

I quickly grab my worn and tattered art books—something I’d never leave behind in Washington—and begin stacking them.

Perfect.

My own little ladder.

With careful consideration, I quietly climb on top. It’s not that many, three total, but they’re thick and raise me at least a foot.

“A-ha!” I exclaim under my breath.

I’m on my tippy-toes, balancing on a stack of books, which is something my nana would scold me for, but if I just stretch a little farther…there.

I smile and attempt to lower myself.

Only, the books aren’t as stable as I thought.

Oh, shit.

My arms fling backward, and my heart stops.

Except, I never hit the ground.

---