APRIL

On the train home from The Whistler, I'm caught up in a world I'm not sure I belong in. I have no idea what Jackson and I are doing or if we should be doing it, but even the wrongness of it feels right. He came to see me sing. He came all the way to Logan Square to watch a single song, and that's not for nothing. No one's ever done that before, no one but Steph, that is. Jackson came all that way just for me.

On the train, I write 'Honey - Kehlani' in loopy script at the top of a new page. I put a heart after the last letter and doodle little stars around it, spending time making it look pretty. It's the first song he's ever heard from me, and that fact sits sweetly on my tongue. I couldn't have picked a better one if I tried. It's almost like, in the back of my mind, I knew he would be in the audience tonight.

"Taking your sweet time writing that," Steph says, and I dart my eyes over for a second.

"Huh?" I say, overlapping the pen-marks.

"I think you got it," she says.

"Oh," I say, laughing breathily. "I know."

I close the book and keep it on my lap, bouncing my knees as we get closer to our stop. We're not talking because Steph keeps her headphones in, but it doesn't bother me. I'm lost in my head anyway, remembering how easily Jackson wrapped his arms around my waist and spoke so close to me. I get goosebumps thinking about it and smile to myself. I turn my face away from Steph and towards the divider, grinning so hard that my cheeks hurt. I pinch my eyes shut tight and shake my head, wiping the silly expression off so I can look forward again.

I glance at Steph to find her expression deadpan, staring straight ahead. Her eyes are half-lidded and unfocused, but her jaw is set firmly and her lips in an even frown. She usually has just as much sparkle after a performance as I do, but that's not the case tonight and I can't help but wonder why.

I don't ask, though. Instead, I hum Honey under my breath and let a smirk paint my lips, swaying with the movement of the train. When our stop finally comes, Steph gets up without motioning for me and waits by the door as it opens. She keeps her headphones in and leads the way down the stairs, but I catch up once we reach the sidewalk. "What are you listening to?" I ask, peering around to look her in the eyes. She doesn't respond, so I point to my ears and ask again, "What are you listening to?"

She takes her earbuds out and shoots me an exasperated expression. "What?" she says, a snap in her tone.

"Oh," I say, pulling back as I realize her mood. "I just asked what you're listening to."

"Youth acoustic," she says. "Troye Sivan."

"Oh, that's such a good song," I say, trying to encourage the conversation. She's been off-kilter since we left the bar and I want to know what's bothering her. I don't like when things are weird between us.

"Yep. Sure is," she states. "I like it so much that I sang it tonight. Maybe you would've known that had you paid any attention at all."

"Wait," I say, blinking hard while trying to process what she just said. "Wait, what?"

"Who were you making out with while my set was up?" she barks.

"Wait…"

"Yeah, wait," she says. "And you weren't gonna tell me, were you? You were nowhere to be found when I came off the stage."

I think back to earlier tonight when I'd been caught up in Jackson while she was singing. I hadn't had a clue what song she was performing, and in that moment I didn't care. I realize it's horrible, but I wouldn't be mad if the tables were turned. We sing for each other all the time, it's not a rare occurrence. I was walking Jackson to the door when applause rang through the room, he was stealing more kisses - and of course, I was letting him. I was enjoying it too much not to. "I saw you a few minutes later!" I say, defensive. "It's not like I left without saying congratulations."

"Yeah, you're a saint," she says. "I pay complete and total attention whenever you're on stage, and you can't do the same for me. That feels really great."

"Why are you getting so mad?" I ask, unlocking the door to our apartment. "It was one song. I was still there. I still heard it. I just didn't see it."

"You heard it, my ass. You didn't even know what I sang 'til I told you."

"Okay…?" I concede. "So, I didn't hear it. It was one song. Will you live to see tomorrow?"

"No," she says. "You're not turning this around on me."

"I'm not," I say, kicking off my shoes. "I just think you're overreacting. I love you, Steph, you know that. Just because I missed one song doesn't mean I don't care about what you do."

"I haven't sung in forever and I was freaking out," she says. "I didn't say anything because I could tell your mind was somewhere else. Guess it was with some fucking guy!"

"I'm sorry you were nervous. I really am. You had no reason to be, you're amazing, but how was I supposed to know unless you told me?" I say, throwing my hands up.

"I don't know, maybe ask?" she says. "I could barely get you to focus on anything while we were backstage. Now I know why. You were thinking about him."

"Him!" I burst. "I didn't even know he was gonna be there. I was present for you. I always am."

"Oh, always."

"Yes, always!" I say. "I'm behind you no matter what. Don't try and pretend otherwise, because that's stupid. You just wanna pick a fight."

"No, I don't," she says. "I'm upset because you're keeping shit from me. We don't keep shit from each other, April. You're my best friend. I thought I was yours."

"God, Steph, of course you're mine," I say, rolling my eyes.

"Then why are you keeping secrets?" she asks, sounding a little desperate. Her eyes are glassy, and I will her not to cry. I don't know what'll happen if she does - she doesn't break down often.

"Oh my god, it's not some big thing," I say, widening my eyes and turning around. "He's just this guy I'm seeing. It's nothing." She doesn't have to know how thin those words are if they'll get me out of this situation. I have no idea what Jackson and I are doing or if I'm 'seeing' him - all I know is that he makes me feel alive and excited and I haven't had that for a while. I don't want to tell her because she won't understand, all I'll get is a lecture. If I ever do, it'll be at my own pace, in my own time. Not like this.

"So, you can bring this guy to the bar, but you can't tell me who he is," she says flatly.

"Oh my- I didn't bring him!" I shrill. "He showed up. I told him to leave. What more did you want me to do, call security?"

"Told him to leave before or after his tongue was down your throat?" she counters.

"Holy shit," I say. "Why do you care so much? I don't owe you every bit of information! I'm aware that I don't have a mom, Steph, but you're not her substitute."

"Oh, please don't," she says, rolling her eyes. "That's so cheap. Who has to pick you up after these assholes hurt you? Me! No one else is gonna do it and you sure as shit don't do it yourself; it's always me. So, yeah, I think I'm owed a little more information. I would tell you."

"What we're doing isn't serious!" I say.

"Oh, that's smart," she says.

"What's that supposed to mean?" I retort.

"'Cause you're clearly over Izzie," she says with an eyebrow raise.

"Hold up," I say, laughing for effect. "Wait. Are you serious?"

"Yeah, I am," she says. "You're being dumb about this and you know it. You and Izzie broke up, what, five months ago?"

"Yeah, five freaking months!" I say. "Five months is a long time. I don't even think about her anymore."

"Sure," she says. "Which explains the pictures, the Facebook relationship status, and how upset you were over that notebook."

"That doesn't mean anything!" I say, voice rising higher. "You wonder why I don't tell you things. Because of this! I can handle my own shit, Steph. Jesus."

"You sure couldn't when she dumped you," she argues. "Who picked you up then?"

"Thank god for you, Steph, otherwise I'd probably be dead," I spit.

The giver of my notebook, Izzie, was my first and so far, last girlfriend. We met at Uncommon Ground - she had been stood up for a blind date and lingered by the piano all night with a single glass of wine. No one ever hangs out by the piano – not now and not then – so instantly, she piqued my interest. She kept smiling at me while I was playing, which made my heart lodge itself in my throat. I had no clue what to make of her.

We ended up going home together that night, which was something I'd never done before and haven't done since. We didn't have sex, but we made out and she slept over. It was my first time being with a girl - I had no clue what I was doing, no clue if I should have done it, but it felt right. Izzie was fun and lighthearted, and she made me laugh. She also made me realize my bisexuality, which I had suspicions about previously that I never knew what to do with.

I don't regret our relationship ending, but I do miss her. It's natural. Just because I erased my relationship status on Facebook instead of switching it to 'single' doesn't mean I want us to get back together. Just because I still have pictures hanging in my room doesn't mean that I'm still in love with her. Getting upset over the notebook doesn't mean my heart is still broken.

"You're so dramatic," she says. "I'm not trying to fight with you."

"Obviously, you are," I say, turning my back. "You're throwing old shit in my face and making me feel awful. I can't breathe without you judging me."

"Whatever, April," Steph says. "Whatever."

"Mature."

"If you don't wanna tell me about this guy, fine. Don't. But don't expect me to come in and rescue you when you get hurt."

"I never asked!" I say.

"Not yet," she says.

"I'm done with this," I say, waving one hand as I head towards my room. "I'm done. I'm going to bed."

"Fine," she says.

I don't slam my door, but I shut it hard and flop down on my bed to face the wall. I stare at it and my eyes burn with tears; I feel alone and completely at a loss. Steph and I almost never fight, and when we do, it's usually just petty disagreements. Nothing like this. She's never brought up Izzie like that, and the fact that she would hurts. I didn't know she had the propensity, nor do I like that she apparently does. Bringing up my ex only puts her on my mind, which hurts, too. I'm not lying to myself - I don't want her back. But I do miss her.

I pull out my phone and stare at the screen, swiping away notifications from Twitter and Facebook and the like. I go to the Messages app and click the Compose button on the upper right and type in "I." Immediately, Izzie's contact - the one I never thought to change - comes up. 'Izzie Baby' with heart emojis on either side. I wipe my eyes as the tears have begun to leak out and sniffle dramatically, knowing it's not a good idea to call her. I don't need to. I'm happy in the beginning stage of something new and I shouldn't do it. It'll only confuse me, and I don't need that.

Should I call Jackson instead? That doesn't seem right, either. He doesn't want to hear me crying after he left me so giddy at the bar. It won't make any sense to him, and what am I supposed to say? Hi, Jackson, sorry but I'm thinking about my ex and how we didn't work out, and I don't want her back but I don't know what you and I are doing so I'm really confused can you just talk to me? I refuse to burden him with that. It sounds crazy.

So, I press the phone button next to Izzie's contact and surprisingly don't feel any nerves as the phone rings. Instead, I feel calm knowing I might get to hear her voice - with her comes a powerful sense of familiarity and home. "Hello?" she says, and I can't help but remember the nights I spent on the phone with her in this same bed. "April?"

"Hi," I say, realizing my voice is wavering. I don't want to cry, that would be pathetic. I won't do that. "Hi… I'm sorry. I don't know why I called. I'm sorry."

"Are you okay?" she asks, using the same comforting tone she always used to.

"I'm okay," I say. "Well, mostly. I just wanted to… talk, I guess."

"Okay," she says. "What's up?"

"I've been having kind of a hard time lately," I say, digging the nail of my pointer finger into the pad of my thumb. "I don't know."

"What's going on?" she asks. "You sound upset."

"I am," I say, looking towards the ceiling to keep my tears from falling. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have called."

"But you did," she says. "And I'm listening. Just tell me what's wrong."

"Remember the notebook?" I say, blinking towards the ceiling. "The red…"

"Yeah, for our one-year," she says. "Yeah."

I smile a bit, one corner of my lips twitching. "I loved that thing."

"I know you did," she says. "I knew you would." She pauses. "Did you really call me at midnight to talk about the notebook, April?"

I take a deep breath and let it out slowly. "No," I admit.

"I didn't think so."

I drag one fingernail over the palm of my head, drawing slow circles while trying to piece together my thoughts. "This makes me sound totally crazy," I begin, trying to get into it. "Like, why do you care? But…" I sigh. "I met someone."

"Okay…"

I close my eyes and wrap one foot around an ankle, pulling my knees up to my chest. "I really, really like him. But… it's hard to for me to admit that I'm still sad about you." A tear slides out of one eye and over the bridge of my nose. "About me and you. Steph and I just got in a huge fight and she threw it back in my face and… I didn't wanna talk to anyone but you. Is it okay? That I'm still sad?"

"Yeah," she says softly. "I'm still sad about you, too."

"Oh," I say, not expecting her to agree. "You are?"

"Yeah," she says. "But we weren't gonna work, April."

"I know," I say. "And I'm not even saying I want that. I just didn't know if it was normal to be sad and still wanna move on."

"I think it is," she says.

"I didn't call to ask for permission, by the way," I say defensively.

"I know," she says, then I hear a smile. "It's nice to hear your voice, though."

I grin with her. "You, too," I say, feeling weight lift off my chest. This makes things at least an inch easier, which is all I can ask for. "Can I tell you something else?"

"Sure."

"I'm his daughter's nanny."

She chuckles a little, just lightly, just enough. "You never did take the easy route," she says. "I'm happy for you."

"Thanks," I say.

"I'm gonna have to let you go now, though," she says.

"Oh," I say. "Why?"

"Well, there's someone waiting for me."

I hear a beeping sound in my ear directly after she says the words and see Jackson's name come up on the screen. "Oh," I say. "Me, too."

"Good luck," she says.

"You, too," I respond. "Bye, Iz."

By the time I hang up with her, I feel lighter and all talked out. I don't think I'm capable of saying much to Jackson right now, at least not speaking aloud. So, I let it go to voicemail and send him a text.

SENT, 12:21am- Sorry I'm just about to fall asleep. But thanks for coming tonight… really :)

RECEIVED, 12:21am- Hey no problem. And of course. It was my pleasure. Maybe one of these days you'll let me stay.

SENT, 12:22am- Maybe ;) Night.

…

The next day, I work the early shift at Uncommon Ground and successfully avoid Steph in the apartment. I try to take my mind off of everything that happened last night as I play, and it works for the most part. Music always helps to clear my head and when it's time to pick Athena up, I'm feeling better than I have all day.

And upon seeing her, it's clear that she's feeling good, too. For possibly the first time ever, she trots down the front steps with a smile on her face and a bounce in her step, grabbing my hand the moment she sees me. "April," she says.

"Hey, Athena," I say, squeezing her palm and relishing the feeling of it tucked inside my own.

"Tag! You're it!"

Suddenly, two blonde heads come rushing by and tag Athena at the same time, jostling her shoulders and knocking her off-balance. She scowls for a moment, then looks confusedly towards me. "They tagged you," I say, nodding towards the twins as they run off. I can only assume they belong to Lexie, whom I met the other day. "You gotta chase them."

"I don't wanna play with them," she says. "They pick their noses and wipe it on the rug."

I snort with laughter but try to keep it in. "They might be fun, though. Never know."

"I do know," she says. "I just wanna play with you. Come on." She tugs me towards the playground with surprising strength and I follow without a fight, smiling along the way. I like seeing her so eager to do kid things instead of going straight home without a word traded between us. I've wanted to spend time at the playground with her since the day I started. "What now?" she asks once we're standing in the middle.

"We play," I say, shrugging.

"Play what?"

"Anything you want," I say. "Wanna try the slide?"

"It electric shocks me," she says. "No."

"Okay…" I say. "Then, how about the monkey bars?"

"I don't know how," she says, still standing in the same place.

"You don't?" I say. "I'll teach you. Come on."

"You're big," she says. "You can't do the monkey bars."

"Wanna bet?" I say, challenging her. "I can do them better than anyone here. Come watch." Dubiously, she follows and watches me climb up onto the platform and rub my hands together. "The key to monkey bars isn't in your hands," I say. "Much to most people's surprise. It's all in the legs."

"That makes no sense."

"It will," I say. "Just give me a second." I pretend to spit on each palm and that makes a smirk appear on her lips even as she tries to fight it. "One, two, three," I say, then take a leap to the first one. I swing my hips back and forth and use the momentum from my legs to propel me to the next bar, then move along the row fluidly until the end. "Ta-da!" I say, arms above my head. "Easy."

"That is not easy!" she says.

"It is if you make it easy," I say. "Here. Look." I go back the way I came except this time, singing a little tune. As I land on my feet, I lift my arms over my head a second time. "See? So easy I can sing right through it."

She shakes her head and looks at me like I'm crazy. "You're being silly," she says.

"It's fun to be silly," I say, hopping down from the platform. "You wanna try?"

"I can't," she says.

"What, be silly? Or do the monkey bars?"

"My daddy was silly this morning," she says. "I didn't even know he could be silly because he's never done it before, but he was acting crazy."

"Oh, was he?" I ask, watching as she climbs onto the platform of her own volition. "What was he doing?"

"Singing crazy," she says. "But still good. He's good at singing."

I smile to myself as I picture it. "Oh, yeah?" I say. "What song?"

"I don't know," she says. "But he was singing loud. And twirling me around and smiling and making me laugh. We didn't even fight."

"That's great news," I say, something warm spreading in my chest. "That's really great news. So, you had fun this morning?" She nods. "Fun mornings are the best," I add.

"Yeah," she agrees. "Maybe you want to ask him to sing later when he gets home."

"I don't know about that," I say. "Maybe singing is just something special he does for you."

"Maybe," she says. "Don't know." Then, she lifts her arms as high as she can only to realize she can't reach the first bar. So, she looks over and makes eye contact, saying, "Help."

"Lift you?" I ask, wanting to make sure it's okay. The last thing I need is her faking me out and throwing a tantrum because I've laid hands on her.

"Yeah," she says. "I can't reach."

"Alright," I say, solidifying two hands around her tiny waist as I raise her up. "Okay, now swing your legs back and forth and try to force one hand to the next bar."

With a concentrated look on her face, she tries it out. Her hips swing back and forth much like mine did, but her focused confidence soon turns into something like desperation. "I can't do it!" she shrieks. "Help! Grab me!"

With a smile, I wrap my arms around her and gently set her down on the ground. She dusts off her hands and looks up, winded. "That was hard," she says. "And it hurt my hands. My hands have to stay special."

I laugh a little. "They do?"

"Yeah," she says, wiggling her fingers. "For playing piano."

"Oh, of course," I say.

"Daddy said he would sign me up for lessons," she says. "From a really good teacher. But I told him no."

I recoil, surprised at her answer. I expected her to jump at the prospect of lessons. "Oh, really?" I ask. "Why? I thought for sure that lessons would be something you're interested in."

"No," she says, taking my hand to lead me away from the monkey bars. "I don't want lessons from a stranger." She looks up and gives me a sparkling look, one in which I can see so much of her father. "I just want to learn from you."

…

When Jackson gets home later that night, Athena is at the piano and has been there for a couple hours. Admittedly, I didn't force her to read or do homework because she cares so much about the music she's creating. I think, for right now, that it's okay to let her prioritize it over other things. I was sitting and working with her for a while until it was time to make dinner, and I'm still in the kitchen as I hear Jackson greet her.

"Hey, beautiful," he says. "Just playing away?"

"Yep," she says, notes flowing.

"Good day?"

"Yeah."

"Did you think more about what I asked you this morning?" he says. "About taking lessons?"

"Still don't want to," she says. "I told April I just wanna learn from her and that's it. She said okay."

"I just wanna let you know," I say, peering out from the kitchen while wearing oven mitts. "I'm not the best there ever was at playing piano. I might not be as advanced as what you need. There might come a day where you know more than me and I can't teach you anything else."

"Yeah, but that day's not now," she says, and Jackson looks at me with his eyebrows raised, as if to say his daughter has made a point.

"Alright," I say, conceding with a smile. "Dinner's almost ready."

"I need to play more," she says. "I'm not hungry yet."

I walk back into the kitchen and hear Jackson and Athena's conversation finish up before he heads in to join me. "Hey," he says, keeping his distance, standing at the island as I'm peeling potatoes. "How was your guys' day?"

"Good," I say, eyes in the sink as the peels fall. "Really good."

"Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah," I say, glancing over my shoulder. "We actually played on the playground for a little bit. I showed her how to do the monkey bars."

"You got on the monkey bars?"

"Yeah," I say, laughing. "You sound so surprised. You think I'm a weakling?"

"No," he says with a smile. "Not at all. But it is a funny image."

"She thought so, too," I say. "She didn't quite master them, but we'll get there."

"Good," he says. "I like that you have her doing things kids her age are doing. She's never been great at that."

"The other day she asked me what I meant by the word 'play,''" I tell him. "After that, I knew something needed to be done. I still play and I'm 27."

"You play too much," he says with a chuckle.

"Ha," I say, noticing that he's getting closer.

My cheeks heat up as he leans against the counter, resting his weight on one hand as he faces the side of my body. We're both quiet for a long moment, only the sounds of the potato peeler and faraway piano filling the space. Then, he takes a breath to say, "So… about the other night."

"Mm-hmm," I prompt.

He smiles and exhales at once. "Yeah. I… I don't know if that was too much, if I came on too strong. I couldn't stop thinking about what happened between us. I might have acted irrationally. If it made you uncomfortable, me being at the bar…"

"It didn't," I cut in.

"Oh," he says. "No?"

"No," I say, then turn my head. "I'm just not ready for people to… know."

"To know."

"Yeah."

"About what we're doing," he says.

"Yeah," I say again. "Whatever it is." I pause for a moment, take a breath, then ask, "What is it, anyway?" I motion between the two of us with a wet, potato-covered hand. "This."

He licks his lips and looks at mine. "I don't know," he says.

"Yeah, me neither," I agree.

"I know that I like you," he says.

"I like you, too," I say, cheeks warming even further.

"And I haven't felt like this in a long, long time," he says. "I can't stop thinking about you. That's where I'm at." I duck my chin and blush, grinning uncontrollably. "What?" he says playfully. "Are you laughing at me?"

"No," I insist. "No, no. It's just… so much. It's a lot to take in. My heart is doing flips."

"Thank god I'm not the only one."

"Oh, my god," I say, nudging hair out of my face with my shoulder. Seeing my struggle, he reaches to tuck it behind my ear slowly, fingertip dragging along my cheekbone. "Thanks," I breathe.

"Do you want to… see each other?" he asks nervously. It lights me up inside, knowing he's nervous. I can tell, even just after a few weeks of knowing him, that he is not someone who gets nervous. I feel a sense of pride that I'm able to make him feel as much.

"I see you every day," I tease.

He sighs, puffing his lips out. "Okay," he says. "You want me to say it." He inhales to clear his head and starts again. "April, would you like to go out with me?"

"Sure," I whisper, setting the peeler down while checking the kitchen entryway to make sure it's empty. "As long as you take me somewhere nice."

"Of course I will," he says, looking over his shoulder to check if the coast is clear as well. Finding that it is, he winds his arms around my waist and looks into my eyes, smiling at our close proximity.

"Okay," I say. "Then, yes. I'd love to date you. Go on a date with you."

"I wanna know more about you," he says.

"All you have to do is ask," I say, standing on tiptoes to touch his nose with the tip of mine. "On our date."

"I can't wait," he says, then kisses me. I close my eyes and let it linger, swaying back and forth as I drop onto my heels.

"Mm," I hum against his lips before pulling away. When we do, he keeps me in his arms, and I make no move to leave. "Athena said you were singing this morning," I murmur.

"She ratted me out, huh?" he says, fingers spread out on the small of my back. It amazes me how far his hands reach - how big they are. He digs the pads into my spine and gives me a subtle little massage that I melt into.

"Yep," I say. "I asked her what you were singing, but she didn't know." I pause for a second then flatten my hands on his chest, thumbs moving in circles. "Wanna tell me?"

"Though I've tried before to tell her of the feelings I have for her in my heart, every time that I come near her, I just lose my nerve as I've done from the start…" He smiles softly and I'm floored by the quality of his voice. I never expected it to sound so clear, so strong, yet sweet at the same time. "Every little thing she does is magic, everything she does just turns me on, even though my life before was tragic, now I know my love for her goes on…"

"I love that song," I say, kissing him. "You didn't tell me you could sing."

"You didn't ask," he says. "Guess there's a lot you don't know about me, too."

"Guess so."

Interrupting us, the sound of the doorbell rings throughout the house. Given that the music from the piano doesn't stop, it's clear Athena doesn't plan on getting it, so Jackson makes his way over with me at his side. He pulls open the door, and there's a woman there holding a bag over one arm and looking expectant. "Maggie," Jackson says, and I instantly know this is the aunt Athena talks about. "What are you doing here?"

"Hi to you, too," she says, stepping inside. As soon as she does, she eyes the nonexistent distance between Jackson and me - the way our upper arms touch, the easy way we stand near each other. I see the judgment flit behind her eyes, quick as a flash, before she says, "You must be the nanny."

Before I know it, Athena is next to me - equally as close as Jackson. "That's my April," she says, both hands wrapped around my wrist.

"Ah, yes," Maggie says. "I've heard plenty about you." She eyes Jackson. "Is this the one Thena said you liked?"

"Yeah, but don't tell her what else I said. I like her now. So, don't say it," Athena says insistently, eyeing her aunt.

"Can I ask the reason for your visit?" Jackson asks, taking a step away from me. I take the hint and keep close to Athena without looking his way.

"You left these at the house," she says, handing over the bag she'd been carting. "I washed them for you." She looked pointedly at Athena. "Your clothes, little miss." Then, she looks to me. "How do you like working for my brother?"

"Oh," I say, blushing. It's like she knows what we're doing and is shoving the fact that I'm employed by him in my face. "I like it. It's… well, it's Athena's world, we're just living in it."

"I hear you're the only one she'll play piano for," Maggie says tersely.

"No. I play for Daddy now, too," Athena says.

"And what about me?" Maggie says.

Athena takes my arm and places it in front of her face, hiding as she says, "I don't know."

"Maybe you could play something now," I encourage.

"I don't need your help," Maggie snaps.

"Hey," Jackson says, narrowing his eyes. "What's up with you?"

Her eyes flash between her brother and me as she shakes her head. "I gotta go," she says. "I'll see you later, Thena. Jackson."

"You're not being very nice!" Athena calls after Maggie has already started down the steps. She doesn't turn around, though. She either doesn't hear or pretends not to. So, Athena turns to Jackson with both arms thrown around my waist in a protective, territorial manner. "She wasn't nice to my April."

"Oh, your April," Jackson says. "She's your April now?"

"My April," Athena repeats for emphasis, hugging me closer. I rest a hand on her back and smile down at her, feeling a deep sense of accomplishment and affection. "Only I can have her. Nobody else. Not even you."