Fiona Loomis, back home, seven years old, in a swimsuit, her hair even blacker when drenched in water. It was blazing hot, and Keri had set up a Slip’N Slide in the yard, and while she was in the house fetching watermelon, Alistair and Fiona traded turns.
“I want a Slip’N Slide that’s a mile long!” Alistair hollered as he ran, jumped, and skidded over the wet yellow plastic.
“I can make one a million miles long!” Fiona hollered back as she followed in his wake—leaping, sliding, almost kicking Alistair, who had to roll out of her way.
They lay there for a moment—Alistair in the grass, Fiona on the plastic—and they looked up at the clouds. Not puffy clouds, wispy ones, the shape of cotton pulled thin. There were no puppies or dragons to imagine, but they were nice clouds all the same. Inside, a phone rang, and seconds later Keri was at the window, watermelon juice running down the front of her swimsuit.
“Fiona,” she called out. “That was your mom. She says it’s time to come home.”
“Tell her I want to stay,” Fiona replied, not looking away from the clouds.
“Already hung up,” Keri replied as she dabbed her chin with the shoulder strap of her swimsuit. “You can call her and tell her yourself.”
Fiona harrumphed, rolled over, and looked at Alistair. “If you could do magic, what magic would you do?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “Fly, I guess.”
She rolled back over and looked at the sky. “Flying gets old. Trust me. Freezing time. That’s the best magic. Know what I mean? Stop everything so you can keep doing what you want. You don’t ever have to go home if you can freeze time.”
It was a good point. Alistair could see the appeal of freezing time, of continuing to play, of cherishing a sun that never sets. And yet, he didn’t want that now. He wanted to go inside.
He stood up and wiped grass from his legs. “Later, gator,” he said.
“Where are you going?” she asked.
“Inside. Don’t you have to go home?”
Her eyes narrowed. “I’m freezing time. I don’t have to go anywhere.”
“I have to pee,” Alistair admitted, his hand fidgeting, clawing at his thigh.
“Pee on a tree,” she said. “Time is frozen. No one will see you.”
“Later, gator,” Alistair said again, because even if time was frozen, he was not settling for a tree. He waved over his shoulder as he waddled to the house.
A little bit later, with a slice of watermelon in hand, Alistair joined Keri at the window that looked out into the backyard. Fiona rolled off the Slip’N Slide, stood, and walked across the grass, water streaming from her hair like heavy rain out of a gutter.
“She lay there for, like, five minutes,” Keri said. “Looking up. Not even moving.”
“She’s weird,” Alistair said as he took a bite of the watermelon.
“You can say that again.”
He swallowed. “She’s weird.”
Keri chuckled. “Mom and Dad don’t hang out with her parents anymore,” she said. “Why do you still hang out with her?”
Alistair shrugged in response. “Because she comes over.”
By that point, Fiona was gone, beyond their yard and line of sight. Keri turned away from the window. “There’s a mouse in the attic that plays the violin,” she said. “If you find it and kill it, I’ll let you have my allowance.”