We're always asking for too much in this office. First it was raspberries. Now it is kiwis. The kiwis roll around on the table in our office kitchen then rot.
At work, I sit on the second floor of
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Sylvia Heike is a writer from Finland. Her short fiction has appeared in Nature Futures, PodCastle, and Flash Fiction Online. Follow her on X @sylviaheike or find out more at www.sylviaheike.com. "Raindrops" is in Short Circuit #15, Short Édition's quarterly review
A door slam later, Hannah stood in the rain, her back to Isabel's house.
The rain felt heavier than it was, large plump droplets bouncing off the ground. They cooled her hot cheeks and dappled her jeans with dark spots while she fumed inside. If only the raindrops could wash away the last ten minutes of her life.
Beside her on the porch, the owl statue sighed its usual farewell. Hannah didn't respond. She ran toward the gate and didn't look back.
Hannah had fought with her best friend Isabel. The ugliest argument of their friendship—if they were even friends anymore. Ever since that new girl, Coco, had started in their class, Isabel had been spending more and more time with Coco—and less and less time with Hannah. Last weekend, Isabel and Coco had even watched Sakura Sisters 7 without her. It didn't help that Isabel kept calling it "just a stupid movie." That was the whole point. It should've been their stupid movie.
Hannah frowned at the dark clouds. It didn't look like the rain was going to stop anytime soon. Sneakers already soaked, she splashed angrily through another puddle.
She briefly considered turning back to get her umbrella, but decided against it. What would be the point? She was already wet. Hannah slowed her pace, realizing she didn't want to go home, either. Sitting home alone would make the argument more real somehow, maybe even their last. Out here, she was just a girl in the rain, and tears weren't really tears.
Hannah took a shortcut through an old playground. The swing set called to her with a rusty voice. "Hi, Hannah! Want to play? We used to have so much fun."
Hannah shook her head. "Not today."
She pushed past the squeaky swing. This was the park where she and Isabel used to play as children. On the yellow slide, trying to climb the huge maple trees, giggling and screaming and learning about the world, keeping no secrets from each other. Since kindergarten, they'd been inseparable, calling themselves "Sakura Sisters," like in the movies. When had they splintered apart?
Hannah tried not to think of how dull and gray the world would be without her best friend.
The summer rain, at least, made everything green. The plants devoured the downpour. The flowers, humming softly, were more subtle, but Hannah could tell they enjoyed the rain. Their feelings were just better contained within their bright, flawless petals. Hannah bit her lip, wishing she were more like them. More like stupid perfect Coco.
Hannah reached the old wooden bridge, a halfway point between her house and Isabel's.
"Good afternoon, Hannah. Waiting for Isabel?" the bridge said, its voice resonating with a deep timber. It was old and forgetful, losing track of which way people were going, but still knowing who.
Hannah decided to play along. It wasn't like she had anything better to do. A little game of make-believe seemed a whole lot more appealing than the friendless reality awaiting her across the bridge.
"Yes. We're going to watch a new movie that just came out—Sakura Sisters 7. The one with the space poodles."
"Sounds fun," the bridge said. "I will wait with you."
Raindrops drummed against the wooden planks and danced along the creek. Hannah shifted her weight from one soaked sneaker to another. She didn't know how much time it made sense to wait for someone who wasn't coming, but it probably wasn't very long.
Hannah gathered herself to leave. "I should go." She patted the wet railing. "See you later, old friend." Something about the words nearly caught in her throat.
"Safe travels," the bridge creaked.
Hannah's footsteps echoed along the bridge.
"Wait!"
The voice came from somewhere behind Hannah. She whipped around. A girl in a rain-spattered dress was running toward her, a yellow umbrella tucked under her arm. Isabel?
When the girl reached Hannah, she handed her the umbrella, and said, "You forgot this."
"Thanks, Isabel. You didn't have to."
Isabel shrugged as if it was no big deal.
Hannah didn't open the umbrella. Instead, she scanned Isabel. Isabel, who always took such good care of her shiny locks, currently resembled a wet rag doll. Where was Isabel's own frilly umbrella?
"What about you?" Hannah asked. "You'll be soaked by the time you get back home."
Isabel wiped wet strands off her face. "It's just water. There are worse things."
It didn't take long for Hannah to think of several.
Such as . . . fighting with your best friend.
Such as . . . losing your best friend.
And even . . . being the new girl in school without any friends at all.
Hannah raised the umbrella above her head and unfurled it, releasing the magically captured sunlight within. It burst forth like a spotlight, golden and warm. Outside, everything looked miserable and wet. Including Isabel.
"I'll walk you home," Hannah said, holding the umbrella over them both. Two girls could easily fit under it, maybe even three.