My phone screen lit up and vibrated loudly with a call, waking me from sleep.

It was 3:24 a.m. Way too late to be called. I wanted to sob dramatically and go back to sleep. I am not a night person.

But the name on the screen caught my attention. As did the picture.

A smiling, impish face with dark eyes and hair looked out at me. My heart jerked, thudding my rib cage annoyingly.

I picked up the phone, and answered.

"Hey, Nik," Vince said. His voice sounded not at all tired, but excited and jittery.

I blinked slowly. "Um, it's 3:00 in the morning, Vincent." (As I said, I'm not a morning person.)

I could practically hear his grin fade off of his face and fall splat onto the floor. "Oh... you can't talk? I can—we can—if you want—we could talk tomorrow—" he paused, and I could picture his face turning bright red.

I felt a little bad for being rude, but it was three in the morning. "Tomorrow... would be great," I yawned. "Unless—" my heart quickened with fear— "it's an emergency?"

"N—No, no," Vince assured me. "Sorry—it was a stupid idea anyway. But... you will talk with me, er, on the phone... tomorrow? If you want?" He spoke hastily, like he wanted to get it all out before he could mess anything up.

I swallowed. "Uh. Um. Ye—eah, sure," I answered slowly. "Uh... t—talk to you tomorrow, then."

"Cool." I heard the smile in his voice. "G'night, Nik," he said.

"Night." I lay back in bed, staring at the ceiling, wondering what that boy could possibly want to talk to me about. Wondering why I was as giddy as Willa after drinking a two liter bottle of Mountain Dew. Wondering why my cheeks were red. But also hoping.

Just a little.

. . .

"Happy birthday to you!" We sang, smiles beaming on our faces. The candles on the cake glowed and flickered, casting light on Nonna's face as she carried it over.

It was Z and Willa's birthday. They were both turning thirteen today. We had never had any birthdays without Mom and Dad before. It was strange.

The cake was a fancy Italian cake, big surprise there, called Millefoglie. It's a delicious confection, made from layers and layers of puff pastry and a cream called mascarpone. Nonna cut into it with a big knife, and the layers crumbled as the cream oozed out of the cracks. She served it onto plates.

"Buon compleanno, ragazzi!" Nonna told the twins as she set our plates in front of us. "Now eat!"

We ate. It was delicious, and afterwards Z and Willa had a party with some of their friends. They had a good time, and it was really nice to see them smile. But that hole in my heart seemed bigger than ever as I watched them play with their friends and exclaim over presents.

I went upstairs after all the kids left. Walking down the hallway, I spotted Mom and Dad's door.

I hadn't been in their room since a while ago. Since before...

Sighing, I put my hand on the knob. I pushed the door open.

The big bed was made, with the white coverlet and sheets smooth and the pillows arranged neatly. The dresser had framed pictures and baby things on it, like Willa's and Z's bronzed baby shoes, an old rattle of mine, Nolan's teething ring. The closet had clothes hung up neatly in it. The carpet was vacuumed and clean. It looked like they would come in here tonight and go to sleep, like everything was normal. But they wouldn't. And it wasn't.

I went to the dresser and looked at the pictures.

Most of them were photographs of us kids, and there were a few of them with us and Grandmother. Seeing her smile so brightly made my throat ache. Had she known how she would die then? Had she known that she would be gone in just a few years?

There were pictures that we'd drawn, too. A picture of our house, drawn by Willa, a sketch of a pet goldfish by Nolan. I stopped at a picture of the whole family. I had drawn it, years ago, and just now remembered it.

Our family was whole back then. Mom and Dad stood next to us kids, in front of the house. I'd drawn Nolan and I as the same height (I had always hated that he was taller than me), and Z and Willa were small kids then. Grandmother stood next to me, holding my hand, a small, happy smile on her face.

I left the dresser before the tears could come and went to the bed.

Nestling down in between the pillows, I murmured, "Hey, guys." I missed them so much. So. Much.

I buried my face into their pillows, trying to catch a trace of Mom's perfume or Dad's aftershave. Instead, I got the clean, fresh, and disappointing smell of laundry detergent.

Sighing, I felt my phone buzz in my pocket. I answered the call and tried to sound happy.

"Hey!" I greeted. "How's it going?"

"Good," Vince answered. "It's Z and Willa's birthday, right? How was the party?"

"It was fun." I told him about it all. It felt nice to talk to someone like that—easily with no worry of messing things up.

"So... I heard you're going to live with your grandpa?" Vince wondered.

"Yeah," I replied softly.

"Ever met him?"

"No."

"Oh." Vince seemed unsure of what to say next.

I decided to change the subject. "How're your parents doing?"

Vince's voice went flat and emotionless. "Fine. They're usually at parties or dinners or something, so they aren't around a whole lot. I get the house to myself most of the time."

"Oh, yeah." I struggled for something to say. "Well... at least you don't have anyone around to tell you what to do," I tried to joke.

He laughed awkwardly. "Yeah, that's a plus."

There was a pause. Then I heard a yell in his background. Mrs. Clarke? Vince muffled the receiver and yelled back. "Yeah, sure, I don't care," I thought I heard him say. Another yell, from a different person. His father, maybe?

After a minute, the yelling stopped and he put the phone to his ear again. "Hey, sorry, that was my parents."

"Speak of the devil," I said stupidly.

"Hah, yeah."

Another silence.

Do they give out classes for talking on the phone? I need to take one.

"So—" Vince started.

"So—" I said at the exact same time.

We laughed in unison. I was so glad that it was a phone call and not in person. My cheeks were hurting from grinning so much, and my whole face was red, I was sure.

"So, what are you doing?" I asked him.

"Uh. Not much. Trying to draw this picture I found online. Not making much progress."

"Oh. Yeah. That's, um, cool," I fumbled.

"Yep. What about you?"

I swallowed. "Sitting and talking on the phone."

He laughed, his nice laugh. "Nice. Say, Nik..."

"What?" I asked.

"Listen, I, um..."

The serious tone in his voice made my smile fade.

"Is... everything okay?"

"Oh, yeah, fine. I just... wanted to tell you... that... you're really pretty. Okay? You are."

I blinked. I would've laughed if I weren't so angry. "What are you talking about?" I glowered at the phone. "No, I'm not. Please don't say that."

"Why not? It's true. It's really true," he said quickly.

"No. No, it's not."

And before I could think about it, I hung up and shut off my phone, stuffing it under Mom and Dad's bed. I walked downstairs to the kitchen.

I don't know what made me so angry about it.

Maybe... I just didn't want to grow up yet. Or maybe... I was scared.

. . .