Strings of Fate: The First Loop

CHAPTER 26

There she was. Betty.

Muted pink long sleeves, delicate and soft like she stepped out of a watercolor painting. Her dress flowed just above her knees like it belonged to a different era, something you’d wear if you were the girl in a memory someone treasured forever. A little gold chain glinted on her neck, and at the center of it, a small flower pendant caught the light. But it was her hair that made me stare the longest. A single braid starting at her forehead, neatly swept into the back like a ribbon of intention, holding everything in place. She wasn’t trying to look beautiful. But she did anyway.

God, she always did.

She saw me. Her smile bloomed like it had roots in the center of my chest.

“Good morning, babe,” she called, her steps turning into skips, her arms already outstretched.

And when she wrapped herself around me, I let every wall fall. I kissed her forehead, grounding myself in the scent of her, vanilla and something floral, soft and warm and laced with a hint of musk that made me close my eyes just to take more of her in. Somewhere behind us, I heard teasing gasps and giddy giggles. Probably classmates pretending to be scandalized. But I didn’t care. I didn’t even look.

I only saw her. Only ever her.

“Good morning, angel,” I muttered into her hair.

She smiled against my chest, arms around my waist like they belonged there. “Let’s go. They’re waiting by the auditorium. The opening program’s about to start.”

I nodded, but it was hard to let go.

Still, she laced her fingers in mine and tugged me gently forward, like faith leading doubt into light. We walked together, past faces and voices and glances that once used to matter. They didn’t now. Not anymore. I had my heaven in her arms. And for once, I wasn’t looking for a way out. I was looking for a way to stay. We sat side by side on the bleachers, the morning sun tracing soft gold outlines on everyone it touched.

Inez handed Betty one of those long orange balloons, ridiculously bright and twisting like a flame, and she waved it in the air like a banner of joy. Her other hand was in mine, our fingers knotted so tightly it felt like prayer. Not pleading but grateful one. A rosary between us, sacred and steady in the middle of the chaos.

Drake and Corey were at it again, twisting their balloons into strange little animal shapes, one looked like a dog, the other like a chicken with scoliosis. Inez had somehow fashioned hers into a halo that sat lopsided on her head. She was now dabbing face paint on Tim’s cheek, careful but bossy.

"I won’t get pimples from this, right?” Tim asked, sounding nervous.

Inez snorted. “Do you realize you sound like a girl?”

He pouted. “That’s gender stereotyping.”

“And that’s your pimple problem, not mine,” she replied, patting his face like a masterpiece in progress.

I laughed quietly, but my gaze drifted to the other side of the court.

Matt.

He was everywhere, checking clipboards, passing out shirts, adjusting the sound system, herding people like a camp counselor who took his job too seriously. His shirt clung to him from running around so much. His hair still perfect, somehow. His eyes focused. He was good at this. Good at being steady. And for a moment, guilt curled in my stomach.

I remembered that night on Betty’s porch, the way the wind carried silence between us. We sat there for a moment, beer in our hands like kids pretending to be adults.