I never thought to look up when my bed was an option. It seemed so silly, until not. So, I look up. Dazzling stars in an ebony black sky shim - mer like tears, moonlight bathes my skin in pale florescent light. It feels fresh, like cool rain on my back. I let out a breath that I didn’t know I was holding. “Beautiful—” I hear myself whisper. “Now you notice?” Classic chuckles, paus- ing his humming to speak. “You can see me there when I leave.”
My skin burns at the idea and I’m not the one with sun sick. When I go to bed that night, Reggae knocks on the underside of my bunk. I peer over the edge, darkness shrouds his face, but he smiles. His teeth shine like the stars in the night sky, and I find myself grinning back at him. His hand reaches for mine and I let out fingers clasp together. “Thank you-” he whispers to me. “- Thank you.” “Just keep holding my hand.” He does, and I sleep much better. . . . Morning comes with the sun, Classic looks far better when I see him. He is still pale, but less so than yesterday. I reach my hand to him, his fingers brushing against mine, and we start work. Hours after the sun is high, when sweat rolls down our backs, Clas - sic sits back on his knees. “How old are you?” Classic asks pointedly. I don’t have a good answer, so I shrug. “I don’t know.” He frowns, “How do you not know how old you are?” His hands dig into the earth, opening wounds running along his hands. His frustration confuses me. “I lost track of the days a long time ago. I know I was ten when the suits took Mom.
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